Colorado Trail Post Hike 9 October 2018

I am still in Ohio. And I am restless. It’s been over two months since I left The Colorado Trail. Two months of hazy contemplation and noncommittal decisions. The hatchlings have long since gone from their warm harbored nest. One late summer foggy morning, the slight young birds realized with sudden astonishment that they possessed intricate fragile feathered wings. They crept to the edge of the nest, their dartlike movements nervous and staccato. With a mighty lurch, one by one they simply flew away into the nearby trees, their pointed treble chirps floating in the air behind them. And then they were gone, vanished into the vast forever of the world. I sat in reverent stillness staring at the empty nest, aware of my drowsy breathing, aware of the sudden stark loneliness.

As I continue to pursue new leads that will hopefully return me to the world of employment, I keep a structured schedule that grounds me by providing elemental purpose toward each day. I wake at 6:30am without the aid of an alarm clock. I immediately get out of bed and make a pot of coffee. While the coffee is brewing, I make my bed, prepare my gym clothes, wash the sleepy residue from my face. I throw on a pair of old sweatpants, t-shirt and if it’s a cool breezy morning, I also throw on an old pale red cardigan sweater. I gather my ipad, coffee, mug and then make my way downstairs to sit outside on one of the rocking chairs. In the pale morning light, I read the New York Times online and think about my years in New York City. Or I consider why stranded fragments of my recent life continue to linger on the ruddy dirt pathway that climbs and climbs and climbs.

Sometimes dense early morning fog blankets the hillsides, enveloping the world in eerie gray calm with silence resting on deeper silence. Sable shadows reach longingly within the ghostly haze and suddenly a willowy flowered shrub reveals faded pink hues or a slender tree emerges, lanky with crusted bark. The rising sun’s hesitant rays send reams of glowing soft light beams through the murky mist. I sit back and slowly accept the emerging recognitions that appear around me as well as in my contemplative mind. And I sip steaming black coffee from my mug while keeping a steady rock in the chair.

Other predawn mornings, the rural atmosphere is decisively clear and expansive. Drips of wet dew lay dormant on every slender blade of grass covering the lawns and hillsides. I can hear random drops of water hitting the ground from the eves overhead as I await the first luminous blaze. And then from over the rolling crest, a rising burst of light from the eastern sun accelerates horizontal brilliance across the fields, illuminating the tiny droplets of dew creating a vast field of dazzling radiant jewels shimmering in the flurry. I witness the wonder of the world with earnest admiration.

I continue my daily routine by working out at the gym for a few hours. I stretch, perform various routines of resistance training followed by some form of cardio. The physicality grounds me; I am committed to at least something I can accomplish. The rest of the day is spent pouring over online listings for arts related job, refining cover letters and communicating with colleagues and friends who may be aware of potential available opportunities suitable to my experience and skills. Hopeful leads turn into dismal disappointments. I honestly have never been in this unstable position. I have always worked. And each position I was fortunate enough to have experienced seamlessly merged with the next. When I left Gavin Brown to fulfill the adamant adventure of a thru hike, I knew this day would eventually makes its way to the inevitable forefront. I just never imagined the formal process would be so unapologetically complicated and utterly conventional.

Somewhere in the course of the long day, my thoughts return to the Pacific Crest Trail and then the Colorado Trail. Out there, even now, those trails await brimming with radiant exposures and sweeping momentum. Sentimental longing and splendid memory return me to those durable impulses that set in motion the desire to hike from end to end. And those longings form renewed yearnings that eventually dissipate into pale rose sadness. I can say with rare certainty that for the remainder of my life – I will never fully recover from the brimming, tangible disappointment of failing to complete a thru hike. Never.

I am restless. I am still in Ohio. And I am enthusiastically ready to plunge into the next movement of my life. I suppress the rising anxiety with steadfast faith in my future. And I take strength in the absolute structure of my present day while allowing myself careful backward glances to my willing past.

Sometimes I take great comfort in looking at images from my hikes. In a very early image, I am standing by the Southern Terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail. My right hand is placed on one of the lower wooden columns and my trekking poles, with their tips placed firmly in the brown crusty ground, are held in my left. My head is tilted slightly. I am squinting because the heavy desert sun is shining in my eyes. My mouth is closed and I am half smiling as if I wasn’t quite ready for the image to be taken. As a result, I look overly confident, almost unabashedly cocky. It’s the expression of a man who sees himself walking heroically through the dry hot desert, sky high mountains and lush green forests - and finally reaching the climatic Northern Terminus.

Colorado Trail Post Hike 19 August 2018

I am in Ohio.  I have been here for the past 2 weeks sorting through complicated post hike reflection and thoughts.   It’s now the middle of August.  The hot humid summer air feels radically different from the arid heat I left in colorful Colorado.  Sometimes the rich Ohio air wraps me in sincere comfort and other times I experience the oppressive sweltering residue clinging to my sticky skin.  Right now, all I know for certain is that am I not prepared to be back in Ohio.  I should still be on the Colorado Trail somewhere along the steep grades and treeless summits of Segments 17 or 18 or 19.   But what one wishes with conviction is not always what one receives.   And life goes on.

The hydrangea in front of my father’s house are in full fluffy white bloom.  Three large green ferns hang from the roof of the overhead deck, their serrated green blades clinging to lengthy slender stalks.   The mornings are peaceful, quiet and thick with contemplation.  I sip hot black coffee while sitting on either the porch swing or an outside rocking chair.  I watch the birds sweep in and out of the nearby trees, their chirps and tweets composing short melodic bursts that carry over and across the spacious green lawns.  Occasionally the neighbor’s dog Teddy will stop by and stare at me with excited beady eyes before dashing off with enthusiastic momentum.   I notice the cows in the distance wandering listlessly along the nearby pastures that sweep up broad grassy hillsides.  Morning breezes cascade through the trees and then sweep downward through the dips and channels of the sloping landscape.   Everything around me is calm and utterly gentle.  And yet I am filled with aching anxiety and occasional stale loss which funnels along and through the stained recent ruins of my 2 thru hike attempts.   I truly do miss the trail.  And I know that one day I will hike again.  I know that for certain.   But the lingering questions surging through my mind – heady questions that keep me up at night – take me back to the pivotal moment when I resolutely decided to leave my gallery position, vacate my apartment, drive away from New York City and then attempt to thru hike the Pacific Crest Trail.  Hindsight is brutal.  One moment I staunchly believe that I made the proper spirited choice to attempt these lengthy hikes.   And then that belief is shattered with brittle regret.   The one thing I promised myself I would not have to face in the long run of this adventurous summer was regret.  And sometimes in hallowed pinpricked moments leading toward furtive inward glances, I am breaking that promise.   But only sometimes.  And then to my great relief, I quickly turn away, move on and regret nothing  -  even the hike ending challenges.   For I wanted an adventure.  And an adventure is supposed to be filled with triumph and adversity.   Whether I finished these trails or not, I travelled there and back again with every fantastic demanding second forever etched in my life. 

As the days slide away, I need to locate a careful reckoning as a way toward the next inevitable journey.  And right now, I simply don’t know exactly what that means.  I am taking stock of skills, experience, interests, education as a way of hopefully opening up a pathway that will return me to the world of biweekly paychecks, Monday through Friday routines, laughter filled dinners with close friends, standard weekly domestic duties and hopefully the comfort of familiarity and security.  And whether that path leads back to New York City or remains in rural Ohio or takes me further to places I have never experienced, I just don’t know.  I cannot see through the haze that hangs in front of these crossroad decisions.  This moment is both fantastic and terrifying.  I’d like just a little more time to dwell and exist without certainty.  I’d like just a little more time to gather and surround myself with the rapid rush of imagery I experienced on either side of narrow dusty trails that stretch onward for miles and miles.  

But life does go on.

A small bird has made a tiny bustling nest in one of my father’s hanging flowered plants.  The flowers have since wilted, dried up and fallen away, the leaves have lost their robust form and now hang weary and limp.  But because the bird recently laid 5 miniature eggs gathered in the hidden wrappings of twisted fabric around the plant soil, we have to leave the plant hanging.  For days now I have watched the mother bird fly into the nest with small worms dangling from her long narrow beak while hearing the faint cries from the hungry newborn hatchlings.  Today I noticed one of the new chicks attempting to stick out its beak from the nest, pausing in the new air before retreating back to the safety in the clumps of twigs. The hatchlings are curious about the world outside this nest.  And one day soon, they will be taught how to use their tiny wings to eventually soar through the air.  And they will fly far away into the wonder of a brave unknown.

Colorado Trail Day 11: 26 July 2018

The Final Day.

I wake in the Sweetheart’s Room at The Fireside Inn.   Bleached morning light is streaming in the windows.  Cool morning air blows gently into the room.  Another radiant day in Breckenridge.  And this is my final day.  That is my first waking thought.  This is the day I leave Breckenridge -  I leave Colorado.  Instead of dwelling on that resolute reality, I shove the covers down toward my feet and climb out of the warm bed.  I have to shower and then meet Julie and Ed for breakfast at 8am.  They need to get an early start to successfully hike Segment 7 in its entirety today.   And I need to pack up, check out and then wait for the shuttle to pick me up at 11am.

I arrive at the breakfast table before them.  Two older men are already having coffee and seem engrossed in a conversation while looking at their smartphones.  One of the men is wearing a black down puffy jacket. I know immediately that he is a hiker.   His short white hair matches his long white beard.  His face is weathered and visibly worn, tired.   I sit down and introduce myself.   Julie and Ed have now arrived.  Soon coffee is being poured and steaming hot plates of food are being placed before us.  The older hikers are hiking the Continental Divide Trail which shares the mountain path with the Colorado Trail for 234 miles including the section passing through Breckenridge.  It’s fascinating hearing very experienced hikers tell their stories of years of trail adventures.   We also share our recent experiences along the first 6 segments of the Colorado Trail.   They listen with honest enthusiasm.  There is an immediate comradery that exists as fellow hikers.  We love to talk about gear, hiker food, water sources, navigation, climbs.  Soon I quietly announce that I am leaving the trail due to my inability to acclimate to the altitude and the recent illness.  To my relief I feel no judgement coming from the hikers sitting at the table.  There is understanding followed by recent stories of hikers faced with similar challenges.  I feel a fatherly warmth coming from the hiker with the white beard.   He tells me that it will be okay.  And in that moment, I smile with heartened belief.

After breakfast, Julie and Ed prepare to leave for their Segment 7 hike.  After the hike, they will return to the Fireside Inn.  So they don’t need to pack up this morning.   I on the other hand, need to organize my pack and check out.  We are all in the common room at the Inn.  There is a flurry of activity as Julie and Ed assemble the limited gear they are taking for today’s hike – some food, water, rain gear.  I stand there trying to offer assistance but in my mind I am thinking that we are about to say goodbye.   I feel a deep welling up within me as I struggle to comprehend that Julie and Ed will really hike on toward Durango and I will depart for Ohio.  I desperately want to change my mind, run upstairs to my room, grab my gear and with a huge smile proclaim I will hike onward!   But what has been decided is final.   Niki is busy cleaning up after our breakfast, and I see her watching us as she works in the kitchen.  She knows what is about to happen. I can read it in her face.   And then suddenly Julie is before me saying goodbye.  So here it is.  We hug.  I tell her to be safe and enjoy the rest of the hike.  And I simply cannot say anything else because a fluttering tenderness has emptied into my heart.  I will not cry at this moment.  I need them both to be brave and strong for their 12,500 foot summit.   I see Julie’s eyes taking on a pale redness as tears began to pool around the lower edges.  We shared an aspiration to hike together for 486 miles along this challenging and spectacular trail.   And in a matter of minutes, I will no longer be a part of the experience.

Slowly I walk Julie and Ed to the door.   And then the door closes.

I stand in the main common room of the Fireside Inn.   And the room is utterly silent.  I can barely even hear my own breath.  My thoughts tumble down and then tumble down some more till they lie deep beneath me in stifled clumps.  So this is what it feels like to be left behind and alone.    Why is my skin suddenly so tight?  I turn and make my way upstairs to my room to finish packing.  I return downstairs with my pack and turn in my key to Niki.   Then I sit on the plush brown leather sofa and wait for the shuttle with my eyes closed.

When the shuttle arrives, I put my pack in the rear and then climb into the first row of seats.  There is only one other passenger on board.  We make numerous stops in Breckenridge, Frisco, Silverthorne and Dillon until the shuttle is completely full.   And then we make our way over the passes and then downward emerging out of the Colorado mountains, away from the pine forest fragrances, lingering white snow and breathtaking enchantment - downward toward Denver.

And now the only thing I have left from the Colorado Trail are my quickened saturated memories. 

Colorado Trail Day 10: 25 July 2018

Today is my final full day in Colorado.  I will be leaving Breckenridge tomorrow morning around 11am.  I have arranged a shuttle to take me back to Denver.   From there I will catch a train to Cleveland, transferring first in Chicago.   I wake with bittersweet feelings about leaving.  I am relieved that I will return to lower more sustainable elevations.  But I sense a growing cloud of disappointment hovering around me.  I think of the segments of the Colorado Trail before me.   I should at least make the attempt to continue with Julie and Ed and climb Segment 7.  And with all honesty, if I hadn’t had such a terrible episode on Segment 4, I would most likely be preparing my resupply and pack for the next 4 or 5 days of hiking.   But messy complicated doubts have infiltrated my resolve.  I think about what would happen if I continued to lose my appetite on the trail followed by swallowed food ending up in the brush, water tasting like strange dirty silt.  I just cannot take that risk at this time in this place.   I can’t become a continued burden to Julie and Ed.   So today will be my final day in Colorado.  And then I return to Ohio – to a separate huge world of unknowns.   But I can’t face those looming questions today.  For now I will linger in Breckenridge with the cold concrete knowledge that my hike is over.  The summer of adventure through glorified wonderful hiking is officially over.  And still with everything I know and have experienced, at this moment, I desperately wish it was the very beginning all over again  - May 7th.  There I am in my fresh hiking clothes, carrying my gear on my back, running my hand along the edges of the Southern Terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail so filled with hope, bursting with excitement.

I meet Julie and Ed downstairs in the dining room for another glorious hearty breakfast.  I have the same eggs, sausage and potatoes as yesterday complete with steaming hot coffee, warm comradery and fascinating conversation.  Sitting across from us is a couple from Sweden.  They are travelling on holiday and have decided to stop in Breckenridge.  They used to live in the USA.  As trained mechanical engineers, they tested cars for auto manufacturers.  They would test drive the new vehicle by driving it from Los Angeles to Colorado or Arizona reporting on all aspects of functional auto mechanics.  On their currently holiday, they plan to drive up the coast of California as part of their multi-state trip.  I sit back and think of my recent train trip along that very coast after leaving the PCT.  The beauty along the steep cliffs surrounded by rolling green hills and the wild waves splashing against jagged rocks of the west coast gave me great solace in my private torment of abandoning my hike.   Beauty and marvelous surprise filled my mind with soft coatings of calming, healing peace. 

After breakfast, Julie, Ed and I make out way to the local outfitter.  Ed’s sternum strap on his Osprey backpack has torn.   He is hoping the outfitter will either repair the strap or replace the damage with a new strap.  While he works with a member of the sales staff, I look around the store at the hiking clothes, gear and trail runner shoes.  There was a time not long ago when I would have been fascinated by the various displays.  But today after a quick walk through, I decide to wait outside at one of the round tables and benches.   I will not be buying any further hiking gear today or tomorrow for that matter.  The store is able to fix Ed’s strap and then we are off heading toward the post office to pick up a resupply box and a bounce box that we had sent from Colorado Springs.  We carry the boxes back to the Fireside Inn and open them in Julie and Ed’s room.   I take out my cold weather clothes to include in my pack for the return trip.  Any leftover supplies will be sent back to Ohio.

After sorting through the boxes, I return to the Sweatheart’s Room to rest while Julie and Ed venture out to gather further food supplies for the next few segments.   They have decided to slack pack over Segment 7 tomorrow (hike without all of their gear on their backs) and then return to the Fireside Inn for another night before continuing on to Segment 8 near the Copper Mountain Resort.   I spend the afternoon lying on the bed, drifting in and out of sleep, reading, writing, reflecting, wishing.

That evening we head out again for dinner.  The streets are crowded with young couples and their children strolling along the busy storefronts and forming impatient lines waiting for tables at crowded cafes and restaurants.   We walk many blocks down Main Street toward a very popular gourmet burger hangout.  The warm summer air is beginning to cool as the sun begins its customary slow descent behind the surrounding peaks.  Along the way,  I suddenly begin to feel normal.  Rather than continuing to exhibit altitude illness and shortness of breath, I walk with a more familiar gait, my tempo quickening and outpacing those around me.  I think of myself walking along the streets of New York City, flying by others crowding along the sidewalks.   In midtown especially I would typically walk in the street rather than the sidewalk just to be able to maintain a steady stride.  And now here in Breckenridge after 3 days, I am finally feeling the beginnings of adjustment.   Walking feels good.

Colorado evenings in the mountains are spectacular.  The fading sun caresses entire mountain tops with elongated streaks of brilliant radiant white light.  Tree-line shadows are etched into the foreground with the tundra covered passes rising high above to meet the shimmering final spill of day.  I stand before the majesty of such beauty and absorb as much my senses will allow.  I feel rich and full and blessed in this Colorado twilight.  My last evening in Colorado.  Perfect and cherished.

After dinner, we silently stroll back toward the Fireside Inn.  We pass a small bakery displaying a glass case filled with large, enticing cookies and brownies.  Some of the cookies are filled with giant pieces of half melted chocolate while others are laced with heavy swirls of white and strawberry cream frosting.  We stop in and stare at the offerings.  Bakery smells overwhelm me with desert desire.  I purchase two cookies filled with fluffy rich chocolate and peanut butter cream.  And then we resume our return along Main Street in Breckenridge toward the hot baths and warm beds of the Fireside Inn. 

I wish I could say that at this moment I regret my decision to leave and that my renewed energy and sudden acclimation to the elevation have now prompted me to suddenly cancel my return travel plans and inform Julie and Ed I will be joining them in the morning after all to tackle Segment 7.   But I am relieved.  I have acceptance.  And with that acceptance comes a calming force that provides gentle caressing hope for tomorrow and the day after and then the day after that as I move on in my life toward an unknown future.   

Colorado Trail Day 9: 24 July 2018

And just like that – I wake up Tuesday morning and I can immediately tell I am feeling better.  A clear awareness and desire to start the day exist as major motivators to get up.  Pale morning light from the solitary window seeps into this room called The Cabin.  The wood from the single shelf hanging along the length of the wall now seems darker and richer with subtle ebbed notches.  I am taking in air without as much struggle.  And even more importantly, I am very hungry.  I smell bacon and toast and the faint hint of robust coffee.  It’s 8am.  So I have an hour to get myself together and make it to the breakfast table.  My thoughts drift toward this day – a day of reunion if all goes well and Julie and Ed make it to Breckenridge.  And also of equal importance, I have to make some decisions about the hike.   But those thoughts are better left toward later in the day when I’ve had some time to eat, reflect and hopefully find some honest clarity.

I decide to shower first and brush my teeth.  The small bathroom is filled with tiny notes – “turn on the exhaust before you shower and leave it on after to vent the room”.  The notes are all very informative and helpful.  The water from the round showerhead is hot and quite strong.  I only have my hiking clothes, so after the shower I throw them on and make my way to the communal dining room.  The amber wood table is long and rectangular with 12 wooden chairs placed around.  A handful of guests are finishing up their breakfasts, and by the time I say good morning and sit down, only 2 remain – an older couple sitting at the very end.  Andy comes in to welcome me and asks me about coffee or tea.  Most definitely coffee, please.   He rushes out and I am left to politely converse with the couple.   They are on their way to Philadelphia for an anniversary party.  They drove to Breckenridge from Los Angeles and will fly the rest of the way from Denver.   I recount my story leaving out many crucial details – an abbreviated, highly edited version whose resolution has me waiting for my hiking companions here in Breckenridge.   I can’t go into the specifics of the trail, my illness, the unbearable 8 mile hike, Fairplay.   I just keep the tale very simple and at appropriate moments smile with utter confidence.   I feel fake.  I feel like an actor playing a supporting role.  My voice is strange and my ears echo as if a barren cavernous hallway surrounds me.  I don’t have the courage to tell the truth.  My body couldn’t handle the hike.  I abandoned Julie and Ed.   I left them standing at a trail head only thinking of myself.  I got into a jeep at the end of Segment 4 and only thought of where I would spend the night.   I am selfish.   I am needy.  The trail went on without me.  And I failed to realize at that blistering moment swirling around the end of Segment 4 that I was ultimately giving up the heroic and uncompromising grist of thru hiker glory.   But I realize it now.  With spiny pangs of admission, I do realize it now.

Andy returns with a French press, the coffee grounds swirling in the hot water.  He also places before me a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a small bowl of assorted fruit.   Now I do indeed smile involuntarily.  It feels so good to be treated so kindly.   Almost immediately, Andy returns again with a plate of steaming hot scrambled eggs – abundantly fluffy and golden with specs of green herbs.  Cut potatoes and 3 links of sausage accompany the eggs.  Andy presses the mesh plunger in the coffee press all the way to the bottom of the glass container.  The aromatic brew is ready!   I pour the steaming dark coffee into the mug.  This breakfast is perfect.  The toast is crisp and dry and hot.  The older couple has now left and I am free to enjoy this breakfast in solitude.  When I am done, I linger at the table, sipping the coffee and existing in this happy moment.  I feel so fortunate to have found this lodging.

I return to The Cabin and collect my pack.  I decide to wait in the common living room for the bedroom with private bath to be ready later this morning.   I place myself on the large brown leather sofa, sinking into the overly relaxed cushion.  I close my eyes and drift in and out.   My conscious thoughts dwell on the trail ahead.  I know that Segment 7 is next.  And I know that it involves an extremely steep climb well over 12,000 feet with spectacular views of the Ten Mile Range before descending to Copper Mountain.  I’m currently around 9,000 feet.  And it’s taken me days to adjust to living at this altitude.   Can I handle a hike to 12,000 feet?  I wish I knew.   For now either the breakfast is making me sleepy or I am still experiencing lasting effects of the altitude sickness.   Suddenly I just want to lie down and sleep. 

When my room is ready, Niki carries my pack up the stairs to the Sweetheart’s Room.   I guess she feels that I am still not strong enough to manage on my own.  The double bed with a red gingham quilt and 3 drawer dresser takes up most of the small square space.  But the views from the 3 large windows are incredibly beautiful – treeless mountains with sweeping rolling peaks meshed in alternating patches of light and shaded green tundra.   The bathroom has a small clawfoot bathtub resting on wooden blocks.  Fragrant handmade soaps wrapped in emerald ribbon are placed in porcelain soap trays.  The bedroom and bathroom are immaculate.  I think about the hot bath later tonight.  My body wilts in anticipation.  I lie down on the soft bed and within seconds I am fast asleep in my new room – The Sweetheart’s Room.  I secretly wish that it had been called something more rustic and wild.   Sweetheart is the name for a honeymoon suite in the Poconos.  And I am far far away from the Poconos.  And I am alone.

When I wake, I notice a raspy weezing coming from my chest.  Now what?   I remember reading about Pulmonary Edema, a serious complication of altitude sickness – shortness of breath, a wet cough, gurgling respirations, severe or acute mountain sickness.   My mind races trying to identify the pulmonary edema symptoms and the reality of how I am feeling.  I decide to make my way to the City Market to buy some supplies and perhaps visit the health clinic along the way.  Maybe the walk will do me good.  I can’t lie in bed all day.

The City Market turns out to be a very large, average grocery store and pharmacy.  I buy some toothpaste, mouthwash, soap.  I feel overwhelmed by the size of the store and leave.  I stop by a clinic on the way back to the Fireside Inn.  I ask if I can see a doctor.  No, appointment only.   So I ask the desk clerk about altitude sickness and if I should be worried based on my symptoms.  She assures me that it should clear up in a few days and that if I was seriously ill, I would be in much worse shape.  I am relieved.   I start the walk back to the Fireside Inn.   Along the way I find a cute café and decide to have some lunch.  I might as well act as if all is perfectly fine while I recover.  My appetite is definitely back. 

It’s 2pm by the time I make it back to the Fireside Inn.   And now it is decision time.  I have been putting off making a decision about the hike hoping that these days of rest would reengage my hiking spirit and propel we onward with conviction.   If I am going to continue, then I will rally and trust and believe and hope.   But a lone voice in the milieu of my mind is opening the pathway to leaving the trail.  I try desperately to shut this voice down.  But I no longer trust myself.   Twice I have tried to hike long trails only to be pulled down by the effects of nature on my physical being.  I want to experience what this trail has to offer with Julie and Ed.  But I cannot – I refuse – to put them through those awful moments in Segment 4.  I will never again let a fellow hiker carry my pack.  I will never again lie down on a tent footprint in the middle of a rainstorm and sleep every second away.  I refuse to be that hiker. 

I am sitting on a red gingham quilt on a very soft bed at the Fireside Inn in Breckenridge.  I take a few deep breaths.  I acknowledge that the world is huge.   A life in the world is huge and utterly vital.  Every experience is bound to life.  I have nothing to prove to anyone.  This idea of being a thru hiker is my own.  No one came to me and said you have to hike the entirety of these trails.  Everything is purely and blissfully optional.  It’s a personal choice.

And I choose, with God as my witness and the only thing that I know for certain – I choose to leave the trail.   I finally accept that my body is not made for endurance.  I did not train properly for thru hiking.  I thought that if I strengthened the muscles in my legs and back and core that I would be strong enough to handle climbing with a loaded pack on my back.   But I failed to realize that I would need my body to understand endurance – extremely long stretches of continued activity with limited water, extreme heat and high elevation.  I would have been better off training as a marathon runner.  The experience of barely making the miles to a trail head have left me vacant and filled with doubt.   There is nothing wrong with being a section hiker or weekend hiker.   We can’t all be thru hikers.   My emotions are too raw at this point to rationalize further.   I do think about what others will say – two failed thru hikes in one summer!! But nothing anyone can say or think will come close to the incriminating judgement I now place upon myself.  It slides along my skin and then grabs hold with a tight bruising grip, seeping into me – into the very depth of everything I am.

There is a knock at my door.  I undo the lock and swing the door open. It’s Ed.  Julie and Ed are here – finally.  They were able to book a room at the Fireside Inn and they are right across the hall from me.   It’s as if months have gone by since we were together.   He is tired, understandably worn out.   I am so relieved to see him but also envious as I listen to his recounting of their experiences for the past 3 days – hitching to and from Jefferson in the back of a pick-up truck, resupplies, turbulent hailstorms, rain, thunder, Georgia Pass, finally arriving at Breckenridge, and now here at last.   Julie comes out of their room wearing a sundress provided by the Inn.  Niki is washing their hiker clothes.   We are together for the moment.  But my news of leaving the trail hangs over us.  There is understanding but of course disappointment.   And for me extreme disappointment.   But I try not to let that effect our reunion.   Tonight we will go out for dinner and share in the experience of being together in Breckenridge.  I feel so blessed that Julie and Ed were able to find a room at The Fireside.    I explain to them the procedure for breakfast and quiet hours between 10pm – 7am.   I’ve been here one night and suddenly I am an expert on Fireside Inn protocol!   Tomorrow we can spend the day together.   And then time will dictate when we go our separate ways.   It’s too soon to dwell on that impossible moment.   I take strength and faith in our time together here. 

After the spectacular dinner, the walking, the laughter, the mountains ever present, the wide sky, the illuminating opal moon, the contemplation  -  I close my door to The Sweetheart’s Room.   I turn on the hot water in the claw foot tub and let the steam resonate upward toward the ceiling.   I pull back the quilt and covers on the soft bed.  And I promise myself that this moment will never change and the coming years of my life will not alter nor fade its vibrant impact.   I am here in Breckenridge with my sister and Ed.  We took different paths to get here.  But we are here.  And the dignified mountains surround us.  The intoxicating world surrounds us.  And we continue to live.   I continue to live.

Colorado Trail Day 8: 23 July 2018

I wake to realize that thankfully I have slept the entire night.   I also realize that I am still not acclimated to the altitude.   For the third straight morning, I am experiencing a pressure headache, drone-like ringing in my ears, continued fatigue.  It’s 7:30am.  I know that check out is at 10am so I just lie in the bed for another hour in a foggy haze.   I was so sure I would be feeling better today.   The continued altitude sickness dampens my spirit.  If I could stay in bed all day, I would.   But I think about Lorraine picking me up and taking me to Breckenridge.  And that gets me motivated.  I need to secure a place to stay tonight.  I review my Breckenridge lodging notes.  The Fireside Inn B&B and Hostel is very close to the main street and has recommendations in both Yogi’s guide and the Colorado Trail Foundation Guide.   I call the Inn hoping that a room will be available.   A very cheery voice with a British accent answers.   I’m in luck!  They have a private room with a shared bath for tonight and then a private room with private bath for the following 2 nights.  I book all 3 nights at once.  I know that Julie and Ed will show up in Breckenridge in the next few days so I need to make sure I have a place to stay.  While I am on the phone, a second call comes through.  It’s Julie!  It is so inspiring to hear her voice and finally find out where they are on the trail.  After we separated, they decided to camp at the beginning of Segment 5.  The next day they hitched to Jefferson from Kenosha Pass and resupplied at the Jefferson Market.  They are now hiking in Segment 6 getting ready to summit Georgia Pass today.  They will arrive in Breckenridge tomorrow evening!  I let her know that I will be staying at the Fireside Inn.  As I hang up, I remember that I was highly anticipating hiking Segment 6  - the first time the trail crosses the Continental Divide and the first time the Colorado Trail climbs above the tree line.   I wanted to experience that glorious moment  - to have walked from Waterton Canyon to the Continental Divide!  Julie and Ed will have to fill their minds with panoramic imagery and descriptive insight and then share with me every single detail.   I most likely will never hike this segment.

I get myself to the shower and let the hot water continue to prod me into movement.  I dress and look at my face in the mirror.  My eyes are swollen with one heavy eyelid collapsing on my eyelashes. My lips are cracked and dry.  And my face seems hollow and void of color.   I don’t think I have ever looked so unlike myself.  What is happening to me?  My pack is pretty much ready to go so I have very little to do.  I wander down the stairs and make my way to the small dining room for breakfast.  The Hand has a lovely breakfast waiting with bowls of mixed fruits and berries,  juices, coffee, tea, assorted breads and cereals, waffles and eggs.   I pour myself a cup of coffee and head to one of the available tables.  Then I return to fill a small bowl with fruit and grab a small cereal.   For some reason I choose Corn Puffs.  It’s about as much as I can handle.   I eat the cereal dry.  The coffee is strong, needed and satisfying.   I sit there quietly and listen to some of the local town people having breakfast, sharing their stories mixed with hearty, giddy laughter.  The golden retriever makes a few appearances and then runs off to the lobby.   I imagine what life must be like living in Fairplay – hot dry summers, cold snowy winters, county fairs, motorcycle conventions, drives over mountain passes to hidden cabins looking down on flowing rivers, pine tree fragrances catching the wind, hot wood fireplaces with crackling gold and blue flames.   Maybe I am romanticizing the lived experience of life in Fairplay.  But the small town has treated me very well. 

When I get back to my room, I text Lorraine and let her know that I am ready to travel to Breckenridge if she is still willing to drive over the pass.   She texts right back.  She has to drop off a Subway sandwich for her daughter and then will make the 35 minute drive from Bailey to Fairplay.   This whole trip may take her over an hour and a half.   I feel guilt mixed with bountiful relief.  Today I will arrive in Breckenridge.  Tomorrow I will be reunited with Julie and Ed.  

I hoist my pack on my back and walk down to the lobby where I turn in my keys and ask if I can sit in one of the large chairs facing the fireplace to wait for my ride.   I am told I can stay there all day and take a nap on the couch if needed.  Ah, Fairplay!  As I am waiting, the golden retriever lies down on the wooden floor next to me.   We wait together.

After 40 minutes, Lorraine texts me to say she’s in Fairplay looking for the hotel.  I explain to her that The Hand has a huge scaffolding on the roof with large metal letters that spell HOTEL.  You can’t miss it.   She pulls up in a different car than the one she drove in Bailey.  With her are 2 very small white dogs that wiggle and crawl all over the car with excitement.   She informs me that The Hand is the place she got drunk after her divorce.    I just love hearing her stories and seeing her brings a much needed smile to my face.  Get in!  And then we are off heading out of Fairplay, climbing toward Hoosier Pass.   I stare out the window while Lorraine talks about Colorado and growing up in Bailey.  The mountains are incredibly beautiful.  There are small patches of snow clinging to the passes, resisting the strong urge to melt into much needed water.  The sun shines over the mountains illuminating rounded sweeping peaks while keeping other ridgelines in contrasting shadows.  The entire range before me is massive and opulent.  As we keep going higher over the pass, Lorraine admits to me that she is afraid of heights.  If there weren’t guard rails on the highway, she would not be able to make the trip.   I quietly begin to hope that we begin our descent soon.   And soon we reach the height of the pass and then follow the curves of the road downward toward Breckenridge. Arriving at the Fireside Inn, I say my goodbyes to Lorraine and the 2 dogs.   She has saved me today.  Her generosity and kindness inspire hope.   I vow never to forget her.

I walk into the Fireside Inn and make my way toward the main room.  The Fireside Inn is both a bed and breakfast and hostel, offering a variety of accommodations from a suite, rooms with private bathrooms, and dorm facilities with shared bathrooms.  The inn is run by Niki and Andy, an older couple from the United Kingdom.  They welcome me into their home.  Niki looks at me with some concern. I explain that I was on the CT and had to take a few days off to recover from acute altitude sickness.   She recommends I visit an Oxygen Café in town.   She shows me my room for the evening called The Cabin.  It’s a small narrow room on the ground floor with a wooden bunk bed , chair and wooden counter.   It’s very rustic and simple.  And I love it.   I am shown the 2 shared bathrooms and the breakfast sign up.  I can choose from scrambled eggs,  pancakes or french toast with an assortment of sides – bacon, sausage, toast.  Breakfast is served from 8am – 9am in the shared dining room.   Niki offers to do a load of laundry for me but I explain that I just did some laundry yesterday so I am fine for the time being.   When she leaves me, I lie down on the bottom bunk and close my eyes.   I feel an overwhelming sense of relief.  I am here. I am in Breckenridge.  My sister and Ed will be here tomorrow.  We will reunite.

After an hour, I decide I probably should try to make it to one of the oxygen cafes.  I am still having a hard time breathing and feel a huge weight of fatigue clinging to my body.   I walk out the door of the Inn and make my way down the hill toward Main Street to catch the free Main Street Trolley to take me the 7 blocks to the O2 Café.  

Upon arriving at the café, I am greeted by a young woman who quickly inquires how much time I need with the oxygen and what kind of scent I would prefer.  I choose Energy.  We agree on 30 minutes.   I sit on a black leather sofa, my eyes closed, following the instructions  - breath through your nose.  The oxygen is delivered by a small plastic tube with openings placed under my nostrils.  I can’t immediately tell if anything is happening but I feel comforted knowing that someone is in charge and shows genuine concern.  After 30 minutes I add an additional 15.    When the treatment has concluded, I am told I should start feeling much better in an hour and that the supply of oxygen should last for the next 2 days.  

I walk back toward the Inn suddenly incredibly hungry.   I think about the first food that comes to my mind – pizza.   It feels good to have an appetite again.  I find a pizza parlor and order a chicken pizza with basil.   It’s not the best pizza but it satisfies.  Then I find a local barber and have my head buzzed and my beard trimmed. 

As I make my way back to the Fireside Inn, I take in the mountains surrounding this quaint village.  Every view is picturesque and lovely.  It’s a kind of satisfying perfection that resonates with the sensibility of the every street corner and stately mountain home.   Breckenridge demands acknowledgement of cozy ski lodges, aromatic bakeries, whiskey bars, t-shirt shops highlighting Colorado themes, clever souvenir shops, gear stores and day spas all displayed with well thought placement  - clean, neat and utterly pleasant.  The mood is quite different from Fairplay.  Where Fairplay is old and rustic, Breckenridge is a resort for families who can afford a mountain holiday among the high ski lifts, mountain house rentals and hot tub lodges.  

I arrive at the Fireside Inn.  I shower in one of the communal bathrooms and then head to my room.  I am feeling better!  I don’t know if it’s the oxygen I was administered or if it’s because I am finally in Breckenridge and tomorrow I will see Julie and Ed.  But for tonight I am finally experiencing hope for recovery.   I left the trail 2 days ago.  By the time Julie and Ed arrive and take a zero, I should be acclimated and ready to hike.   And then it suddenly hits me.  Even though I will hike again, I won’t be a thru hiker.   I missed segments 5 and 6.  No matter how far I hike, from this moment onward, I can no longer say I am thru hiking the Colorado Trail.   I let that thought linger in my mind for a brief moment before I let any feeling or emotion take over and swirl around those ultimate words.   I am not a thru hiker. 

I would like to say I was strong and accepting.  But in that moment I experienced a quiet devastation.   I will never thru hike The Colorado Trail.   I am not a thru hiker.  I am not a thru hiker.    And that’s all that needs to be said at this time.  

Colorado Trail Day 7: 22 July 2018

I am in Fairplay.  I have spent the night in a supply closet sleeping, tossing on a small cot.   When I wake at 7:30am, my head is pounding and the ringing in my ears has returned with high pitched intensity.   Once again my face is swollen, my throat thick.   I recognize the room filled with boxes of extra light bulbs, small wrappings of soap, miniature shampoos, lotions.  I am at the Fairplay Valiton – an old hotel in Fairplay that shares its WIFI password “HauntedHotel” with the guests.   It doesn’t feel haunted but I am aware that an old hotel has old history - years of fantastic stories surrounding a wide array of intriguing guests.  Anything could have happened here during the past century.   Last night, it was my turn to wander into this old hotel and become a part of the hotel history – a thru hiker with nowhere to stay provided a cot placed in a supply closet for the evening.   And now it is early morning and I simply cannot move.   I lie on the cot, breathing, willing myself to at least sit up.   I try to remember what I have read about acute altitude sickness.   Words come to my mind – fatigue, headache, flu-like symptoms, intense hangover.   I feel like I am 15-20 seconds behind the real world and I cannot catch up to enter the immediate present.   Everything takes effort.  45 minutes later, I do manage to swing my legs down and sit at the edge of the small mattress, my head hanging with weary heaviness.   I know that I will need to vacate this room soon.  Surely the staff will need access to the supplies.  I slip on my camp shoes – grey crocs – and make my way to the door.  Across the hall is the public men’s room.  I enter, use the urinal, wash my face and then brush my teeth.   It’s about the best I can do to prepare for the day.   I get back to the room and look at my pack and its contents spilled around on the floor.   Then I remember that the hotel offers free breakfast and coffee.   So I decide to try to eat something first before I pack up to leave.

I make it to the small dining room where there is a display of fruit, cereal, baked goods.  I don’t see any coffee or even any cups.  I randomly choose an orange, banana and small muffin. There are apparently no hotel staff on duty.   I encounter another guest who is also confused about the coffee and states that apparently we have to make it the lobby.   She sets about getting the coffee made while I head back to the room.   Sitting on the cot, I slowly peel the orange.  I place the first wet slippery wedge in my mouth and am instantly filled with a burst of citrus.   I let the fruit just rest on my tongue before chewing and then swallowing.  It is sparkling, rich and utterly delicious.   I eat the whole thing, my fingers sticky from the juice.  Then I eat the small muffin and half of the banana.   It feels good to eat again.  My body is craving real food.  I head out to see about the coffee.  It’s apparently done and I pour a cup.  I take one sip and realize that the guest has no idea how to make coffee.  It’s so weak I just dump the whole thing down the drain in the men’s room.  

I pack up my gear.  It’s almost 10am now.  I really have to go.  I don’t feel like I can make it to Breckenridge today.   Standing on highway 9 waiting for someone to pick me up seems impossible.   All I want to do is go back to sleep.  Perhaps I can stay another night in Fairplay.  On a whim I call a hotel on my list – The Hand – to inquire about any availability for tonight.   And to my utter amazement, they have one room available.  I book it immediately.  Yes!  I have a place to stay tonight – a real hotel room with a bathroom and bed and sheets!  And luckily it is only a block away from the Fairplay Valiton.   Since I can’t check in yet, I decide to walk down to the laundromat and wash my clothes.   As I leave the supply closet, I see the woman who granted me permission to stay for the night.  She is checking on some housekeeping.  I thank her again and again.  She wishes me well and then is off to resume her inspections.  

I make it to the laundromat which is one of the smallest I have ever seen.  There are 5 washers and 7 dryers.  Luckily there is only one other person doing laundry so I quickly get my dirty hiker clothes in one of the washers and then wait for the cycles to complete.   An older man walks in.  He has a backpack and seems tired and worn.   I feel like I have seen him before.  And then I realize it’s Frank from the trail!   We get caught up on trail news, and I let him know that I am taking a few days off to recover from the altitude.   While my clothes are in the dryer, I get a call from The Hand – my room is ready!  I can check in as soon as my washing is complete. 

The Hand is a very old, rustic hotel with just the basics.  The street that The Hand resides seems to be lifted from an image of an old western stage set.  There are no phones or TV’s in any of the rooms.   While I am checking in, a lovely old golden retriever walks by me pausing to sniff my hand before lying down on the carpeting in the middle of the room.   He seems exhausted too.  I have been given The Miner room – first right at the top of the stairs.   I open the door to the small room, take off my pack and then lie down on the bed covered with a thick layered green patchwork quilt.  The bed is soft, the pillows are soft.  I simply melt into the mattress and fall asleep for an hour. 

When I wake up, I decide to walk to the grocery store in town to get some supplies and liquid to aid in my rehydration.   It’s a longer walk than I had anticipated and I am exhausted by the time I get there.   I buy some Gatorade, water, apple juice, pretzels.  As I am heading back, a man in an old truck stops to ask if I need a lift.  Gratefully I climb in.   He drives me up the hill toward the hotel.  I ask him to stop at a café so I can get some food to take back to my room.    At this point, I am once again faced with fatigue.  My headache is gone and the ringing in my ears has diminished.  But I am simply worn out.  Walking is hard.  I still can’t believe that only yesterday I was on the CT hiking.  Today that would have been impossible.   As it is, getting back to The Hand only a few blocks away, seems like an exhausting climb.   I hate that I feel this way.  I simply don’t understand why I have no energy.  But I can’t change the way I feel. 

Back at The Hand, I eat most of the sandwich and drink a lot of the water and apple juice.  As I am preparing to sleep for the afternoon, I get a text from Lorraine checking in on how we are all faring.   I wish I could tell her that we are charging ahead full steam.   But I am honest and let her know that I had to get off trail and am in Fairplay resting till I try to hitch to Breckenridge tomorrow.   Lorraine immediately calls me.   It’s wonderful to hear her husky voice.  She will not let me hitch.  No way!!  She will absolutely pick me up tomorrow morning and drive me the 23 miles over Hoosier Pass to Breckenridge.   Lorraine is an angel.   And I fall asleep for the next 4 hours with the welcoming thought that I have a ride to Breckenridge.  Lorraine will be here and I don’t have to stand on the street waiting for a stranger to pick me up.   Tomorrow Breckenridge!

That evening, still exhausted, I think about Julie and Ed. I wonder where they are on the trail.  I think about our resupply box in Jefferson.  I will have to call the post office in the morning and have them bounce the box to Breckenridge.  I think about how lonely I am in Fairplay lying on a very soft mattress in a room called The Miner at the Hand Hotel.   But then I remind myself that this is all temporary.  And I remind myself to be grateful for this room, grateful for a place to sleep, and grateful for this experience no matter what happens.   I have to acclimate to this altitude at some point.   And when I do, then I will be ready to start hiking again.  

Tonight I sense the rustic town of Fairplay nestled in the valley of surrounding mountains with its old haunted hotels and western film set facades.  I am in Colorado lying in a soft bed with a heavy quilt laid on top of my body.  I am very near sleep.   The Colorado Trail is out there somewhere in the darkness waiting for hikers.  Please let the trail wait for me too.  

Colorado Trail Day 6: 21 July 2018

I wake around 7:15am – late compared to our previous days on the trail.  I wonder if Julie and Ed have also slept in or if they are waiting for me to get up.   My body aches.  My head aches and my face feels swollen.  My eyes are crusted shut and I have to rub them to release some moisture so I can pry them open.   There is a loud ringing in my ears that chimes and bellows.  I did not sleep well last night.  Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke shivering.  I remember pulling my sleeping bag and liner up around my chin while pulling the bag’s zipper up as far as it would go.  And I remember hearing my sleeping breath – deep and raspy and loud.  It woke me up numerous times.  I seemed to be struggling for air in the quiet dark night.  But now it is morning and I am faced with breaking down camp, eating something, preparing to hike for another day.  It takes me a few moments to even move.  I wrestle out of the sleeping bag and then listen for any sign of Julie and Ed.  But I don’t hear anything.   I assume they must still be sleeping.   I silently massage my temples and rub the back of my neck.  I have to get moving.  But moving seems almost impossible.   I start by letting the air out of my sleeping pad.  Then I start to pull on my hiking clothes.  I unzip the tent and find my trail runners.  When I stand from exiting the tent, I have to steady myself.  I gaze around the camp.  Ed is up.  He is boiling water for coffee.  Our food bags are nearby.  I walk over and start sorting through my food bag for coffee while also pulling out my tooth brush and tooth paste and wipes.  I take out a wipe and wash my face.  Ed looks at me with concern.  What do I look like?  I can only tell that my face is so swollen that my eyes want to stay pressed together - closed.   I think to myself – this is going to be a rough day.  

Ed offers me some hot water to make coffee.  I gratefully accept rather than get my pocket rocket stove out and heat up water in my pot.  I sip the hot liquid hoping it will somehow revive me enough to finish packing.   But instead I just sit there with my hands wrapped around my cup, feeling the warmth, welcoming the warmth.   When I finish the coffee, I contemplate eating something but I simply have no appetite.  So instead I finish taking down my tent and pack everything away in my pack.   Julie is up now and we are all in process to get out of camp and begin hiking.  We have 8 more miles to finish Segment 4.   As I am brushing my teeth, I begin to choke again and soon I am spitting up the morning coffee.  I sit on this fallen tree’s large circular bark-rough surface and hang my head between my knees, spitting and heaving.  So nothing is staying down.  I am left to hike today with no support from my body.  It must be the altitude.  I am over 10,000 feet for the first time on the hike.  I must have acute mountain sickness.  The air is cooler now, the sky is overcast with varying shades of light - almost translucent grey.   The thin layer of clouds pulls everything into a somber sepia toned light.  The meadow before me seems long and faded.  I simply have to try to keep going.   This is resilience.  This is determination.  This is potentially stupid.

We set out.  Julie and Ed know I am not feeling well and I sense their concern as we walk along the Colorado Trail that runs parallel to the running stream flowing through the meadow.   I try desperately to take in the beauty of this place hoping my love for the trail will lift me up.   But my pace is slow.  I take careful sips of water, waiting with each swallow to see if the liquid will remain, will replenish.  

After a few quiet miles, I pull off to rest.  We have at least 6 miles to the trailhead.  I don’t think I can make it after all.   I ask Julie and Ed if I should turn around and go back to the camp hoping for a ride from any car campers who happened to still be at the site.  There must be a road nearby.  But then I decide it’s best to keep struggling to the trailhead and hope for a ride there.  It’s obvious by now that I am going to have to get off the trail for a few days to recover and adjust to the altitude.   We formulate a new plan – get to the trailhead, get me to Jefferson or Fairplay and rest, meet up in Breckenridge.   So I set my sights, my new goal on the trailhead 6 miles away.  Luckily the trail is not difficult today as it wanders through the wide and long meadowland.  Ed and Julie have taken some of the load from my pack to ease my hike.  I am grateful and humiliated at the same time. 

After another mile, I simply have to lie down and close my eyes.   And then I think about that day on the PCT, that day that I almost didn’t make it to Mount Laguna.  This day is worse.  Profoundly worse.  I am pale and fighting for breath.   Ed agrees to attach my pack to his own.  I am mortified.   He’s heroic and determinedly supportive.  Julie assists as he struggles to put both packs on his back.   I stand to go on with both of my hiking poles in one hand and a water bottle in the other.  5 more miles.   5. 

We make a strange trio with me stumbling along behind Ed with Julie following.   I find myself speaking aloud in a strange faint ruin of a voice  “how much longer?  How much?”  My throat is parched.  I can barely speak.  I do try to sip the water I am carrying.  I do try.  But it remains completely unappealing.   In my life I have most certainly faced adversity, challenges, difficult moments that leave life lasting scars that eventually fade but still remain present if one looks close enough.  But for now  - at this singular place on the CT – I am convinced that this will pull me into a new deep layer of bitter sadness and hopelessness.   I simply want to lie down and melt into nothing.   And it terrifies me that I feel this way.   Please keep going.  Please try.  Please make it.   Please.  Please.  Please.  

Soon I hear the distant rumble of thunder and the sky darkens as storm clouds mass on the edge of our path.   It’s going to rain very soon.   Ed sets up the rain fly and tent footprint.  I pull off my foam pad and lie down.  Within a second I am fast asleep.   I don’t hear the rain pummeling the fly.  I don’t hear Ed and Julie quietly speaking.   I am completely out.   After an hour Ed wakes me announcing that we have to keep going.  I need to now carry my own pack.  We have 3 miles to go with the last 2 being completely downhill.   I can do it.  I hoist on my pack and begin walking, my gaze toward the ground with steely focus.   Get to the trailhead.  Get to the trailhead.  

And then soon I am half walking, half stumbling downward along the trail.  We have again entered the forest and I realize that we are headed into a ravine below the meadow.   I am now suddenly encouraged.  I am almost there.  1 mile.  .9 mile.  .8 mile. .7

Ed has gone ahead to attempt to find someone with a vehicle at the trailhead who might be able to drive me to the nearest town.   Julie follows behind me.   At what I think is the very edge of the trail, I make a wrong turn and continue down a side path that doesn’t end at the parking lot.   In the distance I hear Ed and Julie calling my name.  I realize my mistake and retreat till I find them at the intersection.   Ed has a ride for me.  I am going to leave the trail.  I am going to leave the trail for today. 

I really have no idea what I look like but the family standing around me have alarmed faces as they gaze my way.  The father as offered to drive me to Jefferson.   I look to Julie and Ed realizing that now I must leave them.   It’s all very fast and there is little time to say goodbye.  Julie has tears in her eyes and it takes mountains of strength to keep my own tears from bursting.   We agree to either meet in Jefferson Monday morning at the post office or in Breckenridge on Tuesday.   I climb into the 4 wheel drive jeep and then we are off, pulling away from the trailhead onto a wide dirt road.   I am quiet and introspective along the drive.  Thoughts are panic.   Where am I going to spend the night?  Where is he going to drop me off?   I don’t even know the name of the man who is driving me down the curving bumpy road.  I am indeed grateful.   But I can sense a certain amount of judgement coming from him.   Who am I to think I can just come to Colorado and start hiking this trail?  So inexperienced and this is what happens.   I am ashamed.   And I just desperately want to get to a hotel so I can lie down.

Eventually we come out of the mountain into a wide expansive plain.  I see sprawling ranch houses with miles and miles of wooden fences and long driveways with iron archways announcing important landmark titles.  We drive to highway 285 and then turn left toward Jefferson.  He pulls into the Jefferson Market.  I thank him, both gracious and astounded that he would drive me this far while his family began hiking without him.  

Inside the Jefferson Market, I inquire about accommodations.  Jefferson is a very small mountain town.  There are no lodges.   I will need to hitch to Fairplay 22 miles away.   I purchase a small Gatorade and then make my way to Highway 285, sticking out my thumb for the international sign of hitchhiking.   Someone will have to stop and pick me up.   And eventually a small blue car pulls over.  I walk to the driver’s window announcing that I need to get to Fairplay.   The small wiry man behind the wheel simply says to get in.  He will take me.  So for the next 22 miles, I sit in a small grimy car filled with trash and empty cans of soda listening to heavy metal rock music and the strange voice of the man behind the wheel.    But for me it is a carriage of luxury.  I am going to make it to Fairplay!

Arriving in Fairplay, I pull out the Yogi page for the available town lodging.   I call one lodge after the other.  All booked – no rooms available.   I have managed to arrive during a weekend with the county fair as well as a huge motorcycle convention.   There isn’t an available room in Fairplay.   My mind begins to ponder my next steps.  Hitch to Breckenridge?  It’s getting late.   I have to make a move.   I need desperately to shower, lie down, rest, recover.    One of the hotels I called, The Fairplay Valiton, is directly behind me on the sidewalk.   As I sit down and begin thinking of a new plan, a woman has walked from the hotel with her dog.   She comes to me and asks me if I am the hiker who just called her about a room.  I say that I am very tired and was really hoping I could stay in Fairplay.   She apologizes that nothing is available due to the fair and motorcycle events.  It’s a bad weekend.  But then she offers to put up a temporary cot for me in a supply room.  I look at her with renewed amazement.   Who is this kind woman?  Why would she be so nice to me  - a complete stranger?   It’s almost 6pm.   I am exhausted.   I thank her and accept her offer.  Within 2 hours of struggling to finish Segment 4 on the Colorado Trail, I am now standing in the lobby of the Fairplay Valiton in Fairplay Colorado awaiting a temporary cot placed in a supply room.   And I simply cannot believe my good fortune.  And then she surprises me again by offering me a shower in one of the rooms awaiting evening guests.   I am beyond happiness.   A shower!   Cleanliness!   Possible Recovery!     She walks me to a room on the first floor and hands me a bar of fragrant soap and two towels.   I have to hurry so they have time to clean the room before the guests arrive.   Within minutes I am standing under hot steaming water.   I simply cannot move from this spot.  I want this moment to last and last.  The water flushes away the hardness of the day.  The crust from my skin dissolves and simply slips away with the soapy wet cascading down my legs.  I am clean.  And I will have a bed tonight.   And I will recover.  And the trail will still be there when I am ready.  

After I am I left alone in the supply room with the small cot, I reflect on this difficult day.  It could have been much much worse.   I have to accept the gracious tender moments that brought me to this lodge – the kindness of strangers willing and available to assist.   And I think of Julie and Ed out there miles away.  And I miss them immensely.    

I feel like I could possibly eat something so I make my way to the hotel’s saloon.   It’s practically empty. I sit at the bar and order a bowl of chicken soup and a large glass of water.   Within minutes bikers start to come into the saloon ordering whiskey sours, jack and cokes, beer.  They are full of energy and swirl around me  - a lone figure sitting at a bar stool.   The soup is hot and wonderful.   And it’s exactly what I need.   Nothing more.  

I make my way back to the supply room.  I lock the door.  I turn off the light and lie down on the cot.   What an adventure!  Even here, alone in a supply room in Fairplay, my body resisting the elevation, the trail miles away, the surprising completion of this most difficult day -  all moments layered into the threads of a lifetime.  For now, I have to lie back, close my eyes, then shift with hope for tomorrow before I simply drift into high altitude dreams.  

Colorado Trail Day 5: 20 July 2018

I did not sleep well last night.  It seemed like the late evening hours lingered longer than normal and although I was grateful for the opportunity to rest, I was bothered by the constant tossing and turning.  I got up to use the bathroom numerous times.  My mouth was still uncomfortably dry and thick.   Around 5am, I started drinking huge glasses of water.  I lay awake thinking about the days on the trail that brought me to Bailey.  And while I was loving the trail filled with vibrant green pines sprinkled with the occasional aspen tree, the bountiful fragrances, special vistas roaming with expansive views  - I was still not feeling my strong confident hiker legs beneath me or the healthy appetite needed to pack in the calories.   I had arrived at Bailey yesterday feeling dehydrated and pretty much spent.   Now after 1 night off trail, I was preparing to enter the forest again and resume the hike.   I was grateful that we had decided to bounce 3 days of food ahead to Jefferson so we were not carrying 6 days of food but only 3.   Our plan was to hike 3 days to Kenosha Pass near Jefferson, resupply from our bounce box and then finish the 3 additional days to arrive in Breckenridge where we would take a zero day.   That was our plan.   Breckenridge became the new goal.  I could certainly hike the 6 days.  

After packing up, I called Lorraine to let her know that we were ready to travel to Bailey.   She arrived full of morning cheer and a huge smile.   She dropped us off at the Post Office with instructions to have breakfast at the Cutthroat Café.   She would come back when we were ready for the 8 mile drive back to the trailhead. 

After completing our morning town chores and eating a filling breakfast at the Cutthroat Café, we were headed back to the trail.  Lorraine dropped us off at the exact dusty spot we stood yesterday – the Rolling Creek Trailhead.  And the start of Segment 4 into the Lost Creek Wilderness.   With stout determination, I set my eyes on the trail before me and started walking along an old logging road that made up the trail for the first 5.6 miles of the 16.6 mile segment.   We started at 8,527 feet.   The logging road was filled with large granite and metamorphic rocks.  The incline started almost immediately.  I allowed my gaze to linger on the road above me as it curved around large groves of trees.  And as soon as I reached the moment where the trail curved, I was faced with another incline equally as steep and daunting until here too the trail found a place to curve around the pine trees that lined the road.  This went on for over 5 miles.   And although the mid-day warmth was not as hot as previous days, I was once again dripping in sweat, my shirt soaked, my face lined with streaks of warm salty wet.  There was nothing to do but continue upward.  This was the increase in elevation we had read about.   And it was very hard.  

Eventually the trail veered off from the logging road and began a series of steep switchbacks.   The trees along the path also changed from the fragrant pines to the shimmering beauty of groves of aspen trees.  The white bark  of the trees with slender branches covered in small circular green leaves that blew lightly in the wind were a welcome presence as we ascended.   I gazed with renewed wonder at their contrasting colors and textures.   Ed found a place to stop for a break and have some food.   Julie and I spread out our foam pads and sat among the tall aspen trees.  I laid back, closed my eyes and allowed my body to ease into quiet for a brief moment.  I swallowed the dry flour tortilla filled with almond butter.   I wasn’t hungry but I knew I needed the calories to get me through the day’s hike.   The food tasted like cardboard.   I still had not found the right hiking food that would agree with my limited appetite.  

Soon we were back on the trail climbing.   I can honestly say in my small history of hiking along the Appalachian Trail and the few days on the Pacific Crest Trail, today’s hike was the hardest, most challenging hike I had ever encountered.  The miles and miles of rough steep grade into higher and higher elevations became both a physical and mental extreme challenge.   My pace slowed to almost a crawl.  I desperately wanted to reach the summit.  I know that after one achieves a momentous goal filled with adversity along the way there possibly exists a special euphoric relief and springy excitement in the accomplishment.   But for me,  I just wanted to reach camp and throw my body on the ground and let myself slowly dissolve away.  I had reached my limit today.   I was facing possible defeat.  But the climb wasn’t over.   And so I plowed onward and upward.  I met up with Julie and Ed for a final pause before the last mile.  The air was now cooler and I found myself shivering as the sweat began to dry and chill my skin.   My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.   There was only one thing to do to keep warm  - keeping hiking.   And I did.  

Suddenly I came to a pause among the trees and through the bark and trunks I could make out the meadowlands lying ahead.  And of course this meant we had reached the end of the climb and the next water source.  We had read that there were numerous campsites near the water. I was so eager to find one and set up camp.   We saw numerous tents among the trees that outlined the vast meadow with the stream cutting a slender wet line amidst the low brush.   Ed decided to scout ahead to see if there was anything available further up the trail.  Standing there near the water, the cooler wind began to blow harder.  I was again faced with shivering as my body struggled to adjust with the temperature change after the physically demanding hike.    I pulled on a windbreaker and wind pants which immediately began to regulate my body core.   Meanwhile Julie went into the thicket of camp sites and came back to report that she had found one suitable for two tents.   And that is where we decided to stop. 

I needed a moment before setting up my tent.  I pulled off my foam pad, lying my body on its welcome surface.   I placed my arms over my chest and tried to calm down my body.   After a few careful still moments, I began setting up my tent including the rain fly.  Ed helped me blow up my sleeping pad.   I spread out my sleeping bag inside my tent on top of the pad and then climbed into my tent to rest with my eyes closed.  I wasn’t hungry.  I was merely exhausted.   But as soon as I heard Ed and Julie preparing their dinners, I rallied and made some ramen with chicken.   I had a few bites when I suddenly felt uncomfortably ill.  No!  Please no!  I barely made it to the edge of some nearby bushes when I brought everything up.   So no dinner for me.   Just like the PCT – all over again.  Why does this happen to me?!!   Here I am struggling to hike, struggling to live what should be an amazing experience, and once again my body betrays me and refuses to be strong enough to handle the physicality.  I felt tears of frustration welling up, filling my eyes with brimming salty wet emotion.   I brushed my teeth, prepared the food bag for hanging and fled to my tent, both embarrassed and angry.   I had to make it.  I had to find a way to hike.   Today’s climb was astoundingly hard – bitter hard.   And I did it.  I hiked up that trail and struggled with every other hiker.  And I made it.   I made it!   But now – now I felt small and scarily insignificant.   I pulled on my sleeping layers and beanie hat and slid my body into my sleeping bag.  I lay there, my breathing heavy and labored, my limbs still, my eyes creased.   I reminded myself that I chose to be here.  I chose to hike this trail.   And I wanted to do well.  I wanted to hike with my sister and Ed and feel confident, strong and mighty.  To be a thru hiker – to have walked from Denver to Durango – sharing in the moments of a great journey – oh how I still wanted that experience.    Even now having spilled my stomach into wild brush, my body shivering, I wanted to go on.   Tomorrow had to be the game changer.  Tomorrow I had to wake up feeling hungry and eager and more determined than I had ever been in my entire life.  My entire life.    With the wide and long meadow stretched out past the slim row of trees and the darkness of night overtaking the lingering light, I clutched my hands together over my chest.  I clutched my hands together.  

Colorado Trail Day 4: 19 July 2018

I awoke early and lay in my tent hearing the morning sounds come to life – birds calling out their high pitched cries, squirrels scampering up trees, insects commencing their drone-like buzzing.   Morning had arrived.  It was time to pack up, have some coffee with breakfast and begin the hike to finish Segment 3 and hitch into Bailey Colorado – our first town stop and resupply.  The thought of a shower, bed, clean clothes, abundance of water, town food ignited a surprising amount of energy within me.  I was ready to go before Julie and Ed.  We agreed to meet at the Buffalo Creek Campground  - 2 miles ahead - which reportedly had public pit toilets but no running water.   I arrived first with Julie close behind.  The trail up to this point had been relatively easy with gentle ascents and descents.   I found I could hike faster in the cool morning air while absorbing the breadth of the thick pine forest that surrounded me along the path.   Ed soon showed up with Frank, an older experienced hiker that we had met on day 1 and had seen numerous times along the trail. 

After our pit stop, we all agreed to meet at the next reliable water source – Buffalo Creek  - where we would filter water for the final climb.   I kept thinking about that final climb as I made my way downward toward Buffalo Creek.  I knew that it would be hard hiking from 7448 feet to 8279 feet in about 4 miles – a steady climb.  But I also knew that at the end of this climb would be the road to take us to Bailey.  And I kept that thought in my mind as a beacon of hope.  I know it was only day 4 on the trail.  But I was already starting to feel the effects of hiking in the heat – no appetite, constant sweating and feeling thirsty, dry lips and mouth, exhaustion and complications with breathing in enough oxygen as our elevation continued to increase.   And something else was beginning to bother me at night.  I could hear my pulse and beating heart ringing in my ears – a constant rhythmic beat that would accelerate without notice when sudden adrenaline would release into my body.  Where was this coming from?  Should I be worried?   Up until now I had tried to avoid dwelling on it.  But after the 3rd night of experiencing this strange physical phenomena, I knew that something was perhaps raising my blood pressure.   I would have to research it when we finally arrived in Bailey. 

After filtering water at Buffalo Creek, I set off before Julie and Ed to tackle the final climb.   I have never listened to music or books on tape while hiking.  But at the advice of Julie, I decided to put in my earbuds and listen to music to hopefully take my mind off of the 4 miles upward.  And it worked!   Yes, the climb was very hard.  But the sounds from my earbuds filled with favorite songs and artists soothed the miles ahead and I found myself hiking with gusto!  I wasn’t exhausted midway through.  I was actually smiling!  I thought to myself that I can do this. I can hike this trail and make the climbs and feel accomplished.  And soon my loss of appetite will resolve and I will be able to eat at dinner without forcing myself to take in much needed calories.   I will stop worrying and starting really enjoying the experience of being on the path.  

When we arrived at the trailhead, I was bursting with joy.  Yes!  We made it and now we can spend the evening in a small mountain town called Bailey!  We saw one of the New Hampshire men at the trailhead along with another thru hiker that we had met the previous night named Jeff.   The New Hampshire hiker was alone.  He informed us that one of their crew had become very ill that morning attempting Segment 4.  He was able to crawl back to the trailhead where he was picked up in a car to be taken to the nearest doctor.   It was very upsetting.    Jeff had arranged to be picked up by the local hostel.   We had made reservations to stay at the local lodge  - Bailey Lodge.   When Jeff’s shuttle arrived, Ed inquired with the driver to see if there was room for 3 more tired hikers.   The driver said he would take us for $10.00.   We all agreed and piled into the car for the 8 mile drive along a bumpy dirt jeep road toward Bailey.  Bailey is a small mountain town of approximately 8000 people with a few restaurants, a post office, gas station with a small convenience store, laundromat, an outfitter and a scattering of other small stores.   It’s pretty tiny with one highway road cutting a concrete path down the center and a lovely flowing river cascading nearby.  The surrounding mountains hover over the valley creating a high scenic backdrop of beauty. 

Arriving in Bailey, we were dropped off near the laundromat on the edge of the town.  Here, the driver informed us his fee would actually be $10.00 per person for the 8 mile drive.  Ed paid him.  While we were very grateful for the ride to town, we were left a bit stunned by the $30.00 ride.  The laundromat was incredibly old with ancient washers and driers.  We purchased two small boxes of Tide and within minutes we had a full load of wash in process.   Julie and Ed walked to the nearest restaurant – The Rustic Station – to get some lunch.  Not being hungry, I agreed to finish the laundry.  

We then stopped by the US Post Office to pick up our resupply boxes followed by a quick stop at the local gas station convenience store where we found a ride to the Bailey Lodge 3 miles away from the center of town.  After checking into our 2 bedroom suite, I set about completing town chores  - washing my cook pot, cup and spoon, back washing my water filter, recharging electronics.   Soon I was in the hot shower letting the water wash my dirt and sweat covered skin.  I pick up the bar of soap and breathed in the cleanliness.  The experience was amazing – becoming clean again after 4 days of dust, sweat and grime.   I immediately felt better as I pulled on clean clothes and rested on the bed, my eyes closed, my breaths quiet and calm.   After 30 minutes, I pulled myself from the bed to meet with Julie and Ed.  We needed to review our resupply, plans for the next few segments and then decide what to do about dinner.  I was now finally feeling hungry.   The town was 3 miles away.  Not wanting to hitch and certainly not wanting to walk, I set out to find the hotel clerk to inquire about getting a ride.  I was given the name and number of a Bailey resident – Lorraine – who might be willing to drive us into town.   And sure enough, Lorraine was enthusiastically willing to take us in!  She suggested we order our food when we were ready.  Then she would drive one of us to the Rustic Station, let us pick up the order and then drive us back.   And that is exactly what she did.  Lorraine turned out to be a bountiful source of local information, advice and positive reinforcement.  I agreed to ride with her to Bailey.   She greeted with me genuine warmth and spoke almost non-stop on the way to the Rustic Station.  Along the way I was regaled with stories of locals, the best place for breakfast, a history of Bailey and her own life living there for over 40 years.  She knew all the local gossip and quipped the expression “telegraph, telegram, tell Lorraine!”   After picking up our order  - and Lorraine’s order of something called Tacorama Thursday – we headed back to the lodge.  Lorraine agreed to pick us up in the morning and take us back to the trailhead.  When I offered her money for the transport, she declined.  She explained that she loved hearing about hiker’s adventures and it was her way of giving back.

After we had eaten dinner, we made a plan to sleep in till 8 then get ourselves back to town to mail a bounce box forward to Jefferson and another forwarded to Breckenridge, have breakfast and then head back to the trailhead to begin Segment 4.

Segment 4.  A huge climb was awaiting us for the first 8 miles of Segment 4.  As I closed my eyes for the day, I tried not to imagine how difficult the climb would be.  I tried to relax in the luxurious comforts of the bed covered with clean sheets and a warm quilt.   I tried to reassure myself that I had properly hydrated since arriving in Bailey.  We were now over 8000 feet.  Tomorrow we would climb to over 10,000.   And tomorrow would be here soon.  So I just let my exhaustion take over and pull me into sleep.