Riding the Narrow Gauge from Durango to Silverton
An early morning chill hangs in the Durango fall air, the streets quiet, yet to wake fully. A shrill whistle pierces the stillness, cutting straight to the wandering soul of any traveler, a sound filled with new horizons, teary goodbyes and promises. The train’s steam whistle even seems to foretell the changing seasons, as fall reveals its golden autumn coat.