The Trail is calling and I must go...
Sweet mother of Smartwool socks, the road out of that area was long. I had no idea how remote the trail had taken me. I am reasonably certain the trail out was fewer miles closer to civilization than the road. I will admit I am quite embarrassed that I did not write down my trail angels' names this time. I will blame it on the lack of oxygen and the narcissism that tends to follow. But for purposes of the blog, I will call them Dennis and Wendy. Wendy is a long distance trail runner that is section running the Colorado Trail. Dennis is her support. He will drive from trailhead to trailhead and provide whatever support she needs and rescues whatever riff-raff he stumbles across needing a ride into town. Dennis is a geologist that was forced out of work due to an ever increasing reliability on technology. He is considering teaching middle school science; a noble profession which I applaud. Wendy teaches school which helped to inspire him.
We had nearly an hour to chat while we made our way into Bailey, which is their home. Dennis had ridden about two thirds of the Arizona trail while racing mountain bikes. Dennis is not the first to bring up the challenges and training opportunities the Arizona trail provides. It seemed that many of the faster hikers with the better tuned and lighter backpacks had spent considerable time on the AZ trail. I had only spent a single afternoon on it and found myself walking in circles (some might say I was lost). It is only 800 miles and runs north and south from Mexico to Utah. If I can avoid getting lost, I anticipate investing time on this homegrown gem.
During the drive out, I looked at all the scenery. With Dennis acting as a tour guide, he pointed out various passes that are part of the Colorado Trail, which ones were tough, what section they were in and whatever story he had about that piece of the Trail. He has ridden most or all the trail on his bike, so he and Wendy are quite familiar. As he spoke with such affection for the mountains and the Trail, my heart began to sink. That lifelong passion for the hike, the beauty, the splendor and the challenge seemed to be waning. It just seemed as though I was loosing interest. That is a bothersome premise.
Dennis made his way down the dirt roads and over Kenosha Pass. We drove the long and winding rode thru Grant, Shawnee and several other wide spots that took me back to my youth. These were my go to stomping grounds as a kid. Not much had changed, especially in Bailey. As we made our way into town, he pointed out several spots that might house a smelly worn out hypoxic hiker while he figures out the next step. We pulled into the Conoco filling station, where I insisted on topping of his tank. He was initially resistant but eventually agreed. I was happy to do it. I thanked him profusely although I doubt my enthusiasm shined through my hypoxic pallor. Once again, the good air was not going in and the bad air was not getting out.
Not that I did not believe Dennis, but everyone I asked stated there were no medical services in Bailey other than the marijuana dispensary. I would have to find a way into Denver, which was a premise that inhaled profusely. So I did what I always do in times of trouble, I called my lovely bride. In part to let her know I was in Bailey and in part to have her guide me into finding a place to stay. The locals behind the counter were helpful with general questions but I am guessing none of them had missed their calling as a concierge. Using mama and her computer, we found a couple of places to call. But first, there was the issue of food. I asked the concierge service who had the better breakfast, the Cutthroat Café or The Knotty Pine. The skinny one hemmed and hawed a little while the other two, behind the counter, who appeared well-fed, were unanimous in recommending The Cutthroat. The name is not as sinister as it sounds, it is named in honor of the cutthroat trout.
The staff at the Cutthroat were wonderful and inviting to a stinky old man with a giant backpack. I found a seat out back on the patio and enjoyed some ice water and coffee, pouring about a dozen of those little creamers into each cup. The waitress, not wavering in her genuine kindness, brought me a green chili smothered breakfast burrito. Green Chili smothered breakfast burritos are evidence that God loves us. After breakfast I made my way over to The Knotty Pine while I figured out what was next. The little redheaded girl behind the counter made me a carmel shake which was more evidence of a benevolent God. I made some phone calls while I sipped down this frozen treat.
As luck or blessings or Miss Dipity's influence would have it, I got a hold of a real live voice at Lynwood Park. Lynwood Park is a local establishment that originally catered to the matrimony set but found that thru hikers need help from time-to-time. The voice on the other end of the line told me they had room and asked if I knew how to get there. I told them I could walk there if not too far. Hearing the distress in my voice, she told me she would send someone right over and to stay put. A few minutes later, Bill pulled up in his van, introduced himself to me and loaded Wilma in the backseat. It was less than a minute's drive to the Lynwood Park hostel.
We left Wilma in the van while I got the fifty cent tour. They had a camping area that was $15 a night and $10 for a shower along with 24 hour access to a port-a-john. The next package was the bunkhouse for $25. They had indoor plumbing but it was $10 for a shower. Finally saving the best for last, there was the gathering room. They had indoor plumbing, showers, laundry, a kitchen area, television and mostly comfortable cots. The $45 a night included a ride back to the trail head. This place was awesome. I chose the gathering room. There was only one other person there. I asked if she was comfortable with my taking the cot on the other side of the room and she said she was fine with that. She didn't look like an axe murderess so I set Wilma down next to a cot and went upstairs to take care of the paperwork.
I walked into the office area and was invited to sit down. Lyn, the caretaker and the maker of feeling one at home, suggested that I drink some mint tea. She told me it might make it easier to breathe. A cup and a half later, and I was beginning to feel the lungs allowing good air in and bad air out. I have to admit, I was amazed and grateful. Sometimes you don't realize how bad you are feeling until you start feeling better.
I made my way down to the gathering room and began to get comfortable. I had never slept in a hostel before and was not sure what the proper etiquette was for conversation and taking care of the daily activities of living. I introduced myself to Michelle and asked about towels and the laundry protocols. She had only been there a few hours longer than I but she was the local expert.
Mutual suffering brings people together and Michelle and I bonded right away. She was as miserable as I was. We had pain in different places but the trail, the cold, the wet and the solo trekking had taken their toll. We chatted about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, which led to the idea of whether either one of us was willing to continue the pursuit of this adventure.
Later in the afternoon, Bill gave us a ride into town. She needed to get some supplies and I was getting hungry. While talking with the shop keeper, we told him we were going to the brewery and get some barbecue. He kinda hemmed and hawed around and pointed up the hill to the Rustic Station. "You might get a better meal up there," he suggested. It was only a block further and Michelle's feet were not hurting her as much, so we gave it a go. Long lines in a small town restaurant is usually a good sign. There was room at the bar so we bellied up. I am not sure if we made someone mad, but we waited and waited and waited just to get some water and a menu. We decided to change the name from Rustic Station to The "We'll be right with you but will ignore you until then..." Inn.
About 30 minutes later, I had a tall cold one in front of me and Michelle was sipping on a Coke. The menu was what would be expected from a small town eatery. They had steaks, burgers and salads all at a reasonable price. About an hour and half later, we were not disappointed by what was put in front of us. The food was great and worth the wait. Michelle is an intelligent confident vegetarian and a great conversationalist. We chatted about nearly every subject two strangers can talk about in polite company purposely staying away from politics and religion. She had recently graduated college and wanted to hike the Trail for the adventure and bragging rights.
After dinner, we made our way back to the hostel and made preparations for getting on the trail in the morning, that is if we were to get back on the trail the next day, or at all. We were both undecided. I wanted to skip section five completely and just get back on the trail and make my way towards Breckenridge. Michelle wanted to start where she left off at segment 4 and do the trail as completely as possible. I had no idea how I would feel in the morning and whether I would feel like hiking another step.
Bill had hinted around about some bear activity on the front porch in the last few weeks. Since there was no way to hang a bear bag in the hostel, I took my chances with leaving it next to me. After I made sure the door was secured, I tried to settle in for the night. I had too much on my mind to sleep soundly but it was still amazed when I managed to wake up at 4:15. Michelle had not chopped me up during the night so I took that as a good sign. I slept until six something and got up to start the day. I walked out back and sat by the river. The sun was out, the sky was blue and the temperature was warm. The good air was going in and the bad air was getting out. I was feeling ten feet tall and bullet proof. I knew I couldn't stay there forever. Maybe, just maybe, the trail was calling my name. Just sayin'....
We had nearly an hour to chat while we made our way into Bailey, which is their home. Dennis had ridden about two thirds of the Arizona trail while racing mountain bikes. Dennis is not the first to bring up the challenges and training opportunities the Arizona trail provides. It seemed that many of the faster hikers with the better tuned and lighter backpacks had spent considerable time on the AZ trail. I had only spent a single afternoon on it and found myself walking in circles (some might say I was lost). It is only 800 miles and runs north and south from Mexico to Utah. If I can avoid getting lost, I anticipate investing time on this homegrown gem.
During the drive out, I looked at all the scenery. With Dennis acting as a tour guide, he pointed out various passes that are part of the Colorado Trail, which ones were tough, what section they were in and whatever story he had about that piece of the Trail. He has ridden most or all the trail on his bike, so he and Wendy are quite familiar. As he spoke with such affection for the mountains and the Trail, my heart began to sink. That lifelong passion for the hike, the beauty, the splendor and the challenge seemed to be waning. It just seemed as though I was loosing interest. That is a bothersome premise.
Dennis made his way down the dirt roads and over Kenosha Pass. We drove the long and winding rode thru Grant, Shawnee and several other wide spots that took me back to my youth. These were my go to stomping grounds as a kid. Not much had changed, especially in Bailey. As we made our way into town, he pointed out several spots that might house a smelly worn out hypoxic hiker while he figures out the next step. We pulled into the Conoco filling station, where I insisted on topping of his tank. He was initially resistant but eventually agreed. I was happy to do it. I thanked him profusely although I doubt my enthusiasm shined through my hypoxic pallor. Once again, the good air was not going in and the bad air was not getting out.
Not that I did not believe Dennis, but everyone I asked stated there were no medical services in Bailey other than the marijuana dispensary. I would have to find a way into Denver, which was a premise that inhaled profusely. So I did what I always do in times of trouble, I called my lovely bride. In part to let her know I was in Bailey and in part to have her guide me into finding a place to stay. The locals behind the counter were helpful with general questions but I am guessing none of them had missed their calling as a concierge. Using mama and her computer, we found a couple of places to call. But first, there was the issue of food. I asked the concierge service who had the better breakfast, the Cutthroat Café or The Knotty Pine. The skinny one hemmed and hawed a little while the other two, behind the counter, who appeared well-fed, were unanimous in recommending The Cutthroat. The name is not as sinister as it sounds, it is named in honor of the cutthroat trout.
The staff at the Cutthroat were wonderful and inviting to a stinky old man with a giant backpack. I found a seat out back on the patio and enjoyed some ice water and coffee, pouring about a dozen of those little creamers into each cup. The waitress, not wavering in her genuine kindness, brought me a green chili smothered breakfast burrito. Green Chili smothered breakfast burritos are evidence that God loves us. After breakfast I made my way over to The Knotty Pine while I figured out what was next. The little redheaded girl behind the counter made me a carmel shake which was more evidence of a benevolent God. I made some phone calls while I sipped down this frozen treat.
As luck or blessings or Miss Dipity's influence would have it, I got a hold of a real live voice at Lynwood Park. Lynwood Park is a local establishment that originally catered to the matrimony set but found that thru hikers need help from time-to-time. The voice on the other end of the line told me they had room and asked if I knew how to get there. I told them I could walk there if not too far. Hearing the distress in my voice, she told me she would send someone right over and to stay put. A few minutes later, Bill pulled up in his van, introduced himself to me and loaded Wilma in the backseat. It was less than a minute's drive to the Lynwood Park hostel.
 |
| The front porch of the Lynwood Park Hostel |
 |
| Supplies for hikers. |
I walked into the office area and was invited to sit down. Lyn, the caretaker and the maker of feeling one at home, suggested that I drink some mint tea. She told me it might make it easier to breathe. A cup and a half later, and I was beginning to feel the lungs allowing good air in and bad air out. I have to admit, I was amazed and grateful. Sometimes you don't realize how bad you are feeling until you start feeling better.
I made my way down to the gathering room and began to get comfortable. I had never slept in a hostel before and was not sure what the proper etiquette was for conversation and taking care of the daily activities of living. I introduced myself to Michelle and asked about towels and the laundry protocols. She had only been there a few hours longer than I but she was the local expert.
Mutual suffering brings people together and Michelle and I bonded right away. She was as miserable as I was. We had pain in different places but the trail, the cold, the wet and the solo trekking had taken their toll. We chatted about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, which led to the idea of whether either one of us was willing to continue the pursuit of this adventure.
Later in the afternoon, Bill gave us a ride into town. She needed to get some supplies and I was getting hungry. While talking with the shop keeper, we told him we were going to the brewery and get some barbecue. He kinda hemmed and hawed around and pointed up the hill to the Rustic Station. "You might get a better meal up there," he suggested. It was only a block further and Michelle's feet were not hurting her as much, so we gave it a go. Long lines in a small town restaurant is usually a good sign. There was room at the bar so we bellied up. I am not sure if we made someone mad, but we waited and waited and waited just to get some water and a menu. We decided to change the name from Rustic Station to The "We'll be right with you but will ignore you until then..." Inn.
About 30 minutes later, I had a tall cold one in front of me and Michelle was sipping on a Coke. The menu was what would be expected from a small town eatery. They had steaks, burgers and salads all at a reasonable price. About an hour and half later, we were not disappointed by what was put in front of us. The food was great and worth the wait. Michelle is an intelligent confident vegetarian and a great conversationalist. We chatted about nearly every subject two strangers can talk about in polite company purposely staying away from politics and religion. She had recently graduated college and wanted to hike the Trail for the adventure and bragging rights.
After dinner, we made our way back to the hostel and made preparations for getting on the trail in the morning, that is if we were to get back on the trail the next day, or at all. We were both undecided. I wanted to skip section five completely and just get back on the trail and make my way towards Breckenridge. Michelle wanted to start where she left off at segment 4 and do the trail as completely as possible. I had no idea how I would feel in the morning and whether I would feel like hiking another step.
Bill had hinted around about some bear activity on the front porch in the last few weeks. Since there was no way to hang a bear bag in the hostel, I took my chances with leaving it next to me. After I made sure the door was secured, I tried to settle in for the night. I had too much on my mind to sleep soundly but it was still amazed when I managed to wake up at 4:15. Michelle had not chopped me up during the night so I took that as a good sign. I slept until six something and got up to start the day. I walked out back and sat by the river. The sun was out, the sky was blue and the temperature was warm. The good air was going in and the bad air was getting out. I was feeling ten feet tall and bullet proof. I knew I couldn't stay there forever. Maybe, just maybe, the trail was calling my name. Just sayin'....
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