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.
