Historic, 19th-century wagon wheel ruts cut into soft volcanic ash.

A tiny nondenominational church harkens back to the days of the first homesteaders in the region.

The giant stump of the once towering cottonwood where Ute people held tribal meetings.

According to local legend, a tree grew from the stake that killed this alleged vampire. In reality, he probably died from influenza.

This old train trestle and collapsed tunnel once allowed the railroad to negotiate the steep slopes of the Colorado Rockies.

Once a lonely sentinel on the edge of the Great Plains, this rebuilt trading fort offers a glimpse of life on the Santa Fe Trail.

A prehistoric rock shelter that's literally in someone's backyard.

A coal fire has been burning underground here since 1896.

An antique narrow gauge railway line still running through the Colorado and New Mexico mountains.

The site of the "Bone Wars" between two rival paleontologists during the dinosaur rush of the 19th century.

This once-popular otherworldly landscape was formed by one of the largest volcanic eruptions in history.

While comics are the main attraction at this megastore, the second floor plays host to an exhibit fit for a museum.

A river runs through this remote valley in a very unexpected way.

A fake mine that was made using real mining techniques which is also used as a community center.

There are eight natural springs around town, each with a slightly different taste.

Climb to the top of this spiritual tower, and you'll be rewarded with spectacular views.

This interpretive path lets you get up close and personal with dinosaur bones.

This razorback ridgeline has doubled as a scenic drive since the early 1900s.

The remains of the dam that unleashed a 15-foot wall of water on Denver.

In the middle of a suburban Denver neighborhood is a cave that once provided solace for a prominent Ute chief and his family.

The largest dinosaur trackway in North America is tucked away among this canyon's ghosts and archaeological gems.

This deserted Gold Rush town is home to a Masonic lodge that, strangely enough, still holds meetings.

Even in death, he's still your huckleberry.

The scene of one of the darkest moments in American labor history has been left essentially untouched since the tragedy.