August 10,11,12
I am now at the top of Windy Peak. The last mile and a half was rigorous: switchbacks, frequent stops with my hands on my knees, gulping for air. I am glad I saved this hike for the last day. Apple and peanut butter never tasted so good.
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It is early afternoon, and I am off the trail. In general, the signage at this park has been pretty good, but in descending from the peak, I took a wrong turn and ended up on a service road. Then I had to go through an Aspen Grove to get back to my car. It never feels like a mistake to be in a grove of Aspen. Aspen don’t grow from individual seeds, they are all connected to each other underground and the network sends up sprouts. Whatever it is, when I am in Aspen, I do have a special woods feeling, I get more silent and soft.
Either 8 or 12 years ago, Chuck K. and I were hiking the Bob Marshall Wilderness in Montana (without Ted, who had some business emergency). We had hiked through a section that was still smoldering from a forest fire and we missed our turnoff. And walked through some lovely Aspen then. We ended up at a Rancher’s house instead of the guest house where we were staying. We were wet and cold, and he put us in his Den with a TV where we dried off and watched the women’s 2-person volleyball Olympic final. It seemed like a weird way to end our trip. We were waiting for a Ranch Hand to be free to give us a ride to our destination. This year it is also the Olympics as I hike. Driving down the asphalt road, I saw two young people with two dogs. (they were the only people I saw with my pants up). I pulled over, thinking the asphalt might be hard on the dog’s paws. I offered them a lift to their car. They had also taken a wrong turn and they piled in. One Lab, one Huskie, two 20-something kids. They were as grateful as I remember being on more than one hiking occasion.
Hmmm. Circles.
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On my last night, it is raining and I hang out in the car. It is dry here and the seat is more comfortable than the ground. I have put peanut butter on a hot dog roll with a packet of sweet pickle relish. It is 30 miles to the nearest restaurant and I think I may smell too bad to sit with those who regularly bathe. So not a picture worthy last night around a camp fire. A cold front moved in and it was a restless night for sleep and I broke camp and was in my car headed to civilization by 7:00am. I bought a cold shower and got into clean clothes and went to a diner in Nederland, a very quaint frontier town, but with good food and a good latte.
I got to the Denver airport 8 hours before my flight. I am dry, not wet, warm, not cold, and full, not empty. I have books, TV and the Olympics. Why do I do these kinds of trips? I have aged out of back-packing. I have aged out of making horses jump over obstacles. It gives me a way of still going into the forests and mountains and the kinesthetic connection with myself. I have told others it allows me to “re-set” my pleasure meter. It reminds me of my strengths and weaknesses and the goodness of others. This trip in particular, reminds me of how lonely I would be if I were truly alone. I understand why many cultures have used banishment from the tribe as the ultimate punishment.