Welcome, Dino-Spotters!


These Triceratops graze on private pasture generously donated to Wildlife Protection Solutions—a Colorado nonprofit that uses cutting-edge technology to protect endangered species around the world.

If the herd brightened your drive or inspired a photo-op, please consider “protecting” real wildlife by making a quick gift to WPS. Every dollar helps keep modern species from going the way of the dinosaurs

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THE STORY:


Those brightly colored Triceratops you spot on the west side of Highway 93—about three miles north of downtown Golden—are a piece of home-grown roadside art, not a museum exhibit or marketing stunt.

Next time you’re driving the Golden–Boulder corridor, slow down as you crest the rise north of Golden; the kaleidoscopic herd appears suddenly against the foothills—a cheerful reminder that art (and a bit of Jurassic history) pops up in the most unexpected places.

  • Pat Madison, a long-time Golden resident and part-time sculptor, built the four dinosaurs (a “dad,” two “moms,” and a calf) in 2020 while Colorado was under its COVID-19 stay-at-home order. He jokes that he “put a family together” while the rest of us were puzzling over sourdough.

    Madison fabricated the frames from scrap steel and filled the angular panels with brightly tinted plexiglass, giving them a stained-glass, “fractal” look that throws jewel-tone light when the sun hits just right.

  • Golden sits on the edge of Dinosaur Ridge and Triceratops Trail, where some of the very first Triceratops fossils were discovered in 1887 near present-day Denver. Madison chose the species as a playful nod to that local paleontology heritage.

  • Madison originally entered the herd in Golden’s public-art competition, but another piece was selected. Friends who own the pasture at Hwy 93 & W 56th Avenue offered their land so the dinos could still “roam” in public view.

    The sculptures sit on private property, anchored with cables and rocks to survive the notorious wind that barrels down the Front Range. There’s no official parking or signage—just an impromptu photo-op for motorists creeping along the two-lane highway.

  • Locals (and RoadsideAmerica) have nicknamed the installation the “Fractal Triceratops Family.” Madison hasn’t assigned formal names, preferring that passers-by make up their own stories.

  • For now, yes. The landowners are happy host-parents, and Madison periodically stops by to tighten the guy-wires or replace cracked plexiglass panels. Unless the property changes hands—or a new public-art slot opens in town—the dino family is likely to keep grazing that field and brightening commuters’ day.