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.
