Peach Valley Native Jim Yoast Dies at 83 After 32 Years in Glenwood Springs

The wind off the Flat Tops doesn’t just blow; it scours, stripping moisture from the air until your lungs feel like dry parchment. It’s a specific kind of cold that demands respect, a cold that Jim Yoast knew in his bones long before he handed over his keys to the Colorado Department of Transportation. He died on March 26, 2026, at the age of 83, leaving behind a landscape of memories that stretch from Hayden to Peach Valley, and now, finally, to Arkansas.

Yoasty, as his family called him, wasn’t just a man who worked for the state; he was part of the infrastructure that kept the Western Slope breathing through winter. For 32 years, he operated heavy equipment in the Glenwood Springs and Rifle corridor, his hands finding a "magic touch" with machinery that would have terrified a lesser operator. He didn’t just drive the plows; he seemed to converse with them, moving with an ease that turned the brutal task of snow removal into something almost rhythmic. His favorite shift was always the snow plowing, that quiet, relentless work of clearing the way for neighbors who might never know his name but who depended on his skill every time the sky turned gray and heavy.

There’s a particular intimacy to rural life here, a sense that your neighbors are also the people who clear your driveway. Yoast lived that reality for decades. He and his wife, Sharon, spent nearly 50 years in Peach Valley, a community that clings to the foothills with the same stubborn resilience he showed in his work. They only recently left, moving south to Arkansas to be closer to their daughter and her family, a move that felt less like an end and more like a pause. But the mountains called to him, and he will be laid to rest back in Colorado, returning to the soil that shaped his early years as the first of seven children born to Gilbert and Elna in Hayden.

If you look closely at the history of the Rifle Snowmobile Club, you’ll find the quiet dedication of men like Yoast. He didn’t just ride the trails on the Flat Tops; he groomed them. He put in the hours, the sweat, and the care that turned rough terrain into paths for others to enjoy. He rode until his body told him to stop, which it did at the "young age" of 83, a sign of a life lived in motion. Even in retirement, he kept busy with odd jobs and the gentle, repetitive motion of "puttering" about the house, a habit that speaks to someone who found comfort in utility, in making things work.

The loss ripples outward through a large, loving family. Sharon, his wife of 65 years, survives him, as do their three children — Sharan, Donald, and David — and their spouses. The legacy continues through three grandchildren, Trisha, Trevor, and Koa, and six great-grandchildren: Bryce, Aryca, Leighton, Lacey, Lynnlee, and Leilani. His sister Bett and brother Bill also survive him, along with a host of nieces and nephews who will carry the stories of the individual who could fix anything and joke about it while doing it.

He was preceded in death by his parents, his brother Frank, and his sisters Jody, Linda, and Marian. But the void left by his passing is filled with the sound of snowmobiles on crisp mornings, the memory of a plow blade cutting through drifts on Highway 6, and the warmth of someone who was always quick with a smile. The Flat Tops will still be there in the spring, the trails will still need grooming, and the snow will still fall, but the specific, steady rhythm of Yoasty’s presence is gone.