This is gonna be a breeze...
I had no idea a person could wake up so often, roll over so many times and hear so many things, that I was simply certain was a bear, as I did the first night. I felt like a Whirling Dervish but without the cool hat (Google it). The night started out warm but began to cool somewhere around whirl number 549. It had cooled so much I needed to refill my air mattress. Some of the neighbors were not thru hikers and felt it necessary to stay up late, use fowl language and scream various commands at their dog (none of which were "hush") until the after midnight:30. I awakened for no reason at 4:15 A.M. and as if it were scripted, I did not wake up for my alarm at 6:00, because, once again, my alarm did not ring as I had intended. Hmmmm? Perhaps there is a pattern beginning to build here. I was up and moving around inside my tent by about 6:30 and could hear that most others around camp were beginning to stir. Larry was already packed and started out on the trail. Leaning outside my tent flap, I kindly pointed the right way upon which he did not see the humor.
I wormed out of my tent, which is more of a process than an event, but nevertheless my day was off to a good start. I fetched my bear bag from out of the nearest tall tree. It was comforting to find it fully intact and still weighing 900 pounds (give or take a tortilla or two). I sorted thru and grabbed from my breakfast bag, coffee and oatmeal; the breakfast of champion hikers everywhere. If I do say so myself, I make a mean cup of Joe in the morning in town and even a better one on the trail. I made it a bit foo foo by adding powdered milk and a scoop of vanilla instant breakfast powder to assure I was getting my minimum daily requirements of manufactured vitamins, iron and artificial flavors. It tasted darn good though. When I picked up the baggy of instant breakfast, I quickly realized I had found the first item that needed immediate disposal. It must be all the fortified iron. It did not get re-packed knowing I would live to foo foo another day.
I was not the last one to break camp, but I needed to refill my water bottles to assure I could get through this next section. Like a troll, I sat in the shade of the Gudy Gaskill Bridge and filled my water bottles stopping only to pre-hydrate and watch thru hikers and numerous geriatric day hike contingents cross the bridge without me. Like the night before, I would fill one bottle, half or more and drink it down until I was as full of water as the bottles. This next section was 11+ miles with a 2400 foot elevation change. There is no water until the end and the area is blighted by a previous forest fire, which makes shade a precious commodity. But I am from Arizona, elevation change with no water and no shade, this is gonna be a breeze.
I nearly had a mini melt down when I loaded my pack and saw that it was nearly 10:30 A.M. Where had my morning gone? Downstream I guess. I knew I needed to put on the hustle to make up for lost time. The first thing I should have done was watch the other hikers to see which way I needed to turn when I crossed the bridge. There is nothing like having to take off your pack for the third time in 100 yards to get the guide out to figure out where to go. Glad Larry wasn't around to watch. For future hikers, you go under the bridge and head upstream. Even Larry could find it from there.
It did not take too long to figure out the passing on of the iron fortified instant breakfast to some nice lady at the trailhead was going to make that much of a difference. Maybe I should have had two oatmeal packets for breakfast. This was going to be a bit tougher hike than I thought and leaving so late in the day was a huge judgement error. As Cher would say, If I could turn back time... but I can't so I have to deal with the issues at hand as I try to keep from making similar mistakes.
It was not too long before I ran into the first geriatric squadron heading back down the hill. They were full of life, energy and brought less than good news when they said you have miles to go before you get into any shade. "Shade? I don't need no stinkin' shade" I mumble under my breath. Yeah I did. And the lack of it was making itself very well known as I trudged up this long hot hill. Around early afternoon, I found a flat spot near the top and had some lunch and dried out my tent. For some strange reason, I had managed to create an abundance of condensation on the inside of my tent. A nice breeze picked up and I was able to get it dried out pretty quickly.
While waiting for the tent to finish drying, I broke out my gallon Ziploc bag dedicated to lunch. Once again looking for the heaviest things in my pack to eat, I went for the chicken salad and crackers. It needed cheese, but I had given away the spray cheese along with the iron fortified instant breakfast. I was beginning to see there was definitely a sharp learning curve beginning to form on this hike. Just as I was getting every microgram of chicken out of the can to help lighten my pack, I observed another geriatric hiker as she came bee bopping up the trail. She was full of life as well as piss and vinegar. With a confident smile and the lost art of knowing how to make conversation, we chatted like old friends. She had two more days of hiking and then she will have hiked the trail in its entirety. She admitted it has taken her a few years to get it done but she is using a trekking company to assist her as she knocks out each section. Hmmmm? Something to think about. We talked about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness as well as the weight of all that food, the water at the fire station, where it was and how to find it and of course how good the water was going to taste. She told me it was not too far and to keep drinking my water.
With warm words of encouragement, she scurried on her way disappearing into the twists and turns of the trail. I was amazed at how much she looked like the trail founder, Gudy Gaskill. As I pondered about legal ways to get rid of some of this weight, I gathered my tent, which was now drier and lighter, attached it to my pack and started down the trail. My enthusiasm heightened with the warm thoughts of making it into the fire station and to an early camp. I marched down the trail looking around every turn and over every tree in hopes of finding that fire station and that wonderful source of water.
My heart sank. My spirit crushed. I found and read a note from my momentary hiking buddy. Using her trekking pole, I reckoned, she scraped this quaint message in the dirt. "I was wrong. Water not close." That was a real mood killer. I mumbled some expletives under my voice and just kept trucking. Not too much longer and I had made my way past the high point, Raleigh peak, and meandered a slight down hill trod towards the water and my respite for the day. The sun was hot and searing as I made my way across the second burn area. I could see the thunder heads looming and it was not too long before I could hear the distant rumble. No rain in sight just yet, but I made sure my bright orange rain cover was secure even if it meant taking off my pack; a feat that was becoming toilsome and causing me to grow more weary than I thought possible. Pain was becoming ever present now. Taking off the pack only provided momentary relief, which was negated by the compounded pain from the twisting and turning and fighting with putting it back on. This fighting with the pack, the worrisome issue of running out of water, the heat, the sun, the lateness of the day and the uncertainty of being able to carry all this weight was working against me more than I had ever expected. For the first time since I embraced the idea of hiking this trail, had the thought of not completing it began to surface. I did not even have a contingency plan and here it was only the second day.
Having crossed the high point, I began to see more thru hikers. They were specks in the distance that too quickly came up behind me, chatted briefly about the heat, the uncertainty of water and that they too had brought too much food then disappearing into the twists and turns of the trail.
I had crossed into another burn area, which meant the trail was open and unprotected making shade once again a premium. The distant rumbling was closer now. I did not like being in the open but there was no place to go. I was in pain. This trail wasn't pretty. I wasn't having fun and was beginning to think this was all a huge mistake. My spirit was sinking lower and lower with each step.
I persisted because that is what you do to reach your goal, even if it is only a fire station. I finally saw the oasis, the big metal shed on the hillside just like the Gudy look alike had told me. It was like the Taj Mahal but sheet metal and old fire truck parts that smelled like grease scattered along the side of the building. It was heavenly. I dropped my pack on the bench, with about a cup of water left, I filled my water bottle and began sucking down the nectar of life. I had pain from my hips to where the neck meets the head and found it difficult to get the good air in to my body and the bad air out. It was intense and my will was severed. I knew I was done, at least for that day. I sat on the bench next to my pack and whimpered only because I was too exhausted to cry. Then I prayed. Then I whimpered some more.
As I sucked down more water, I looked around at the storm approaching. Feeling as alone as I have ever felt, I began to ponder as to what I would do next. I had a cell signal. Maybe I could Uber out of there. Too embarrassed to call for help and too tired to move on to make camp. I noticed a large tin awning across the parking lot. On the other side was a large commercial size dumpster. The awning was full of either cinders for snow or dirt for sand bags. I am not sure which, but there was enough room for an old guy with a heavy pack and a broken spirit to seek refuge from the storm. Perhaps I could sort thru my pack and find what I could throw away. I sat and stared and contemplated and prayed and cried and was generally just miserable. This is not how this adventure was suppose to go. There were pictures to take, adventures to be had, friends to be made and the freedom, oh the sweet freedom of being on the trail. All I had was a half empty bottle of warm water and a way too heavy pack that I decided to name Wilma, after my mother-in-law.
As I prepped to pick up Wilma to move her to the awning, I heard the rumble of a diesel coming around the building. I figured it was one of the fireman that had been watching me on the surveillance and was coming by to shoo me away or perhaps the local law enforcement responding to a call for a suspicious vagabond spending too much time around the watering hole. It was a camper, an RV, a Winnebago style. A man hopped out of the camper with his wife and a couple of teenage kids.
Small talk is a wonderful thing. He introduced himself as Todd and asked how I was doing. I lied. As small talk began to run its course, I asked some more pertinent questions, like is there a post office close by and how far is it in to town (Denver)? He told me he was familiar with the area and yes there was a post office just a few miles down the road. Realizing it was closed due to the lateness of the day, he offered me a ride into his camp, which was less than a mile away. He told me I was welcome to stay there as long as I wanted/needed and he could run me into the post office in the morning. Initially my pride was reluctant but since they may have been an answer to prayer, I figured it might be bad juju not to take the ride.
One of the young men came out of the camper and offered to carry my pack. He was a strapping young man and you could tell he had a good work ethic. He grabbed ahold of the pack straps and gave it a lift. He set it back down, got a better grip and with a grunt he looked questioningly at me and said "And you have been carrying this?" I responded, "It is a bit stout isn't it?" He nodded his head as he wrestled it into the RV. A few short minutes later, I was at their camp. Todd's wife, Chalice, introduced me around and gave me carte blanche to camp anywhere.
Todd, Chalice and about one hundred or so of their closest friends host an endurance horse ride in the area. They have 30 and 50 mile rides that skirt part of the Colorado Trail. I am not sure how many years they have been doing this, but they seemed organized and full of enthusiasm.
Beaten down and holding on the best I could, I set up my tent about 100 yards from their compound. I called my lovely bride because I needed to hear her voice. Perhaps I should have waited until after I had eaten and was a little more rested. I broke down when I heard her voice. I am regretful for putting that much worry on her shoulders. After the phone call, I made dinner. It wasn't the heaviest thing in my pack, but noodles in garlic sauce seemed easy enough to cook. It was like dining in a 5 star resort it tasted so good. Just as I was finishing dinner a storm began to blow in. The same one that had been taunting me all afternoon. Zipped in and staked out, I felt safe in my little tent and I began to feel a refreshing spirit. I made some notes in my Write in the Rain Outdoor Journal and drifted off to sleep before the sun was down. The storm raged most of the night but my $40 dollar tent stayed dry and comfortable. I woke again at four something, filled my air mattress and drifted back to sleep with the thoughts of let's see what the sunrise brings. Maybe I could do this. Just sayin'...
I wormed out of my tent, which is more of a process than an event, but nevertheless my day was off to a good start. I fetched my bear bag from out of the nearest tall tree. It was comforting to find it fully intact and still weighing 900 pounds (give or take a tortilla or two). I sorted thru and grabbed from my breakfast bag, coffee and oatmeal; the breakfast of champion hikers everywhere. If I do say so myself, I make a mean cup of Joe in the morning in town and even a better one on the trail. I made it a bit foo foo by adding powdered milk and a scoop of vanilla instant breakfast powder to assure I was getting my minimum daily requirements of manufactured vitamins, iron and artificial flavors. It tasted darn good though. When I picked up the baggy of instant breakfast, I quickly realized I had found the first item that needed immediate disposal. It must be all the fortified iron. It did not get re-packed knowing I would live to foo foo another day.
I was not the last one to break camp, but I needed to refill my water bottles to assure I could get through this next section. Like a troll, I sat in the shade of the Gudy Gaskill Bridge and filled my water bottles stopping only to pre-hydrate and watch thru hikers and numerous geriatric day hike contingents cross the bridge without me. Like the night before, I would fill one bottle, half or more and drink it down until I was as full of water as the bottles. This next section was 11+ miles with a 2400 foot elevation change. There is no water until the end and the area is blighted by a previous forest fire, which makes shade a precious commodity. But I am from Arizona, elevation change with no water and no shade, this is gonna be a breeze.
I nearly had a mini melt down when I loaded my pack and saw that it was nearly 10:30 A.M. Where had my morning gone? Downstream I guess. I knew I needed to put on the hustle to make up for lost time. The first thing I should have done was watch the other hikers to see which way I needed to turn when I crossed the bridge. There is nothing like having to take off your pack for the third time in 100 yards to get the guide out to figure out where to go. Glad Larry wasn't around to watch. For future hikers, you go under the bridge and head upstream. Even Larry could find it from there.
It did not take too long to figure out the passing on of the iron fortified instant breakfast to some nice lady at the trailhead was going to make that much of a difference. Maybe I should have had two oatmeal packets for breakfast. This was going to be a bit tougher hike than I thought and leaving so late in the day was a huge judgement error. As Cher would say, If I could turn back time... but I can't so I have to deal with the issues at hand as I try to keep from making similar mistakes.
It was not too long before I ran into the first geriatric squadron heading back down the hill. They were full of life, energy and brought less than good news when they said you have miles to go before you get into any shade. "Shade? I don't need no stinkin' shade" I mumble under my breath. Yeah I did. And the lack of it was making itself very well known as I trudged up this long hot hill. Around early afternoon, I found a flat spot near the top and had some lunch and dried out my tent. For some strange reason, I had managed to create an abundance of condensation on the inside of my tent. A nice breeze picked up and I was able to get it dried out pretty quickly.
While waiting for the tent to finish drying, I broke out my gallon Ziploc bag dedicated to lunch. Once again looking for the heaviest things in my pack to eat, I went for the chicken salad and crackers. It needed cheese, but I had given away the spray cheese along with the iron fortified instant breakfast. I was beginning to see there was definitely a sharp learning curve beginning to form on this hike. Just as I was getting every microgram of chicken out of the can to help lighten my pack, I observed another geriatric hiker as she came bee bopping up the trail. She was full of life as well as piss and vinegar. With a confident smile and the lost art of knowing how to make conversation, we chatted like old friends. She had two more days of hiking and then she will have hiked the trail in its entirety. She admitted it has taken her a few years to get it done but she is using a trekking company to assist her as she knocks out each section. Hmmmm? Something to think about. We talked about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness as well as the weight of all that food, the water at the fire station, where it was and how to find it and of course how good the water was going to taste. She told me it was not too far and to keep drinking my water.
With warm words of encouragement, she scurried on her way disappearing into the twists and turns of the trail. I was amazed at how much she looked like the trail founder, Gudy Gaskill. As I pondered about legal ways to get rid of some of this weight, I gathered my tent, which was now drier and lighter, attached it to my pack and started down the trail. My enthusiasm heightened with the warm thoughts of making it into the fire station and to an early camp. I marched down the trail looking around every turn and over every tree in hopes of finding that fire station and that wonderful source of water.
My heart sank. My spirit crushed. I found and read a note from my momentary hiking buddy. Using her trekking pole, I reckoned, she scraped this quaint message in the dirt. "I was wrong. Water not close." That was a real mood killer. I mumbled some expletives under my voice and just kept trucking. Not too much longer and I had made my way past the high point, Raleigh peak, and meandered a slight down hill trod towards the water and my respite for the day. The sun was hot and searing as I made my way across the second burn area. I could see the thunder heads looming and it was not too long before I could hear the distant rumble. No rain in sight just yet, but I made sure my bright orange rain cover was secure even if it meant taking off my pack; a feat that was becoming toilsome and causing me to grow more weary than I thought possible. Pain was becoming ever present now. Taking off the pack only provided momentary relief, which was negated by the compounded pain from the twisting and turning and fighting with putting it back on. This fighting with the pack, the worrisome issue of running out of water, the heat, the sun, the lateness of the day and the uncertainty of being able to carry all this weight was working against me more than I had ever expected. For the first time since I embraced the idea of hiking this trail, had the thought of not completing it began to surface. I did not even have a contingency plan and here it was only the second day.
Having crossed the high point, I began to see more thru hikers. They were specks in the distance that too quickly came up behind me, chatted briefly about the heat, the uncertainty of water and that they too had brought too much food then disappearing into the twists and turns of the trail.
I had crossed into another burn area, which meant the trail was open and unprotected making shade once again a premium. The distant rumbling was closer now. I did not like being in the open but there was no place to go. I was in pain. This trail wasn't pretty. I wasn't having fun and was beginning to think this was all a huge mistake. My spirit was sinking lower and lower with each step.
I persisted because that is what you do to reach your goal, even if it is only a fire station. I finally saw the oasis, the big metal shed on the hillside just like the Gudy look alike had told me. It was like the Taj Mahal but sheet metal and old fire truck parts that smelled like grease scattered along the side of the building. It was heavenly. I dropped my pack on the bench, with about a cup of water left, I filled my water bottle and began sucking down the nectar of life. I had pain from my hips to where the neck meets the head and found it difficult to get the good air in to my body and the bad air out. It was intense and my will was severed. I knew I was done, at least for that day. I sat on the bench next to my pack and whimpered only because I was too exhausted to cry. Then I prayed. Then I whimpered some more.
As I sucked down more water, I looked around at the storm approaching. Feeling as alone as I have ever felt, I began to ponder as to what I would do next. I had a cell signal. Maybe I could Uber out of there. Too embarrassed to call for help and too tired to move on to make camp. I noticed a large tin awning across the parking lot. On the other side was a large commercial size dumpster. The awning was full of either cinders for snow or dirt for sand bags. I am not sure which, but there was enough room for an old guy with a heavy pack and a broken spirit to seek refuge from the storm. Perhaps I could sort thru my pack and find what I could throw away. I sat and stared and contemplated and prayed and cried and was generally just miserable. This is not how this adventure was suppose to go. There were pictures to take, adventures to be had, friends to be made and the freedom, oh the sweet freedom of being on the trail. All I had was a half empty bottle of warm water and a way too heavy pack that I decided to name Wilma, after my mother-in-law.
As I prepped to pick up Wilma to move her to the awning, I heard the rumble of a diesel coming around the building. I figured it was one of the fireman that had been watching me on the surveillance and was coming by to shoo me away or perhaps the local law enforcement responding to a call for a suspicious vagabond spending too much time around the watering hole. It was a camper, an RV, a Winnebago style. A man hopped out of the camper with his wife and a couple of teenage kids.
Small talk is a wonderful thing. He introduced himself as Todd and asked how I was doing. I lied. As small talk began to run its course, I asked some more pertinent questions, like is there a post office close by and how far is it in to town (Denver)? He told me he was familiar with the area and yes there was a post office just a few miles down the road. Realizing it was closed due to the lateness of the day, he offered me a ride into his camp, which was less than a mile away. He told me I was welcome to stay there as long as I wanted/needed and he could run me into the post office in the morning. Initially my pride was reluctant but since they may have been an answer to prayer, I figured it might be bad juju not to take the ride.
One of the young men came out of the camper and offered to carry my pack. He was a strapping young man and you could tell he had a good work ethic. He grabbed ahold of the pack straps and gave it a lift. He set it back down, got a better grip and with a grunt he looked questioningly at me and said "And you have been carrying this?" I responded, "It is a bit stout isn't it?" He nodded his head as he wrestled it into the RV. A few short minutes later, I was at their camp. Todd's wife, Chalice, introduced me around and gave me carte blanche to camp anywhere.
Todd, Chalice and about one hundred or so of their closest friends host an endurance horse ride in the area. They have 30 and 50 mile rides that skirt part of the Colorado Trail. I am not sure how many years they have been doing this, but they seemed organized and full of enthusiasm.
Beaten down and holding on the best I could, I set up my tent about 100 yards from their compound. I called my lovely bride because I needed to hear her voice. Perhaps I should have waited until after I had eaten and was a little more rested. I broke down when I heard her voice. I am regretful for putting that much worry on her shoulders. After the phone call, I made dinner. It wasn't the heaviest thing in my pack, but noodles in garlic sauce seemed easy enough to cook. It was like dining in a 5 star resort it tasted so good. Just as I was finishing dinner a storm began to blow in. The same one that had been taunting me all afternoon. Zipped in and staked out, I felt safe in my little tent and I began to feel a refreshing spirit. I made some notes in my Write in the Rain Outdoor Journal and drifted off to sleep before the sun was down. The storm raged most of the night but my $40 dollar tent stayed dry and comfortable. I woke again at four something, filled my air mattress and drifted back to sleep with the thoughts of let's see what the sunrise brings. Maybe I could do this. Just sayin'...
Tacoman you rocked it! You were just a bit dehydrated is all. Happens to all winners!!! - Chalice
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