LURE OF THE HORIZON

It’s Not a Vacation. It’s an Adventure - Day 3

I woke to the sound of a door being unlocked.  That door was about a foot from my head.  I rolled from my stomach to my back and can only imagine how my squinted confused face must have looked to the giant man who was upside down and peering back at me.  The left side and the right side of my brain struggled to connect as the fog lifted and it occurred to me that I was laying on a stranger’s deck and that stranger was now standing beside me.  “Morning”, was all I could mutter.  To my relief, it was met with a friendly, “Hey.  How are you guys doing?”

It turns out the man (whose name I shamefully cannot remember) was more than happy to have a half a dozen strangers sprawled out on his deck and patio.  The others began to stir as he opened his house up to us.  Not wanting to overstay our welcome we loaded up our bedrolls, thanked the man, and headed into town for roadbrew (coffee).

We headed north towards Estes Park.  It was a cool, clear, mountain morning.  At a glance the panoramic scenery was a beautiful collection of the same mountain repeated side by side for as far as the eye could see.  But passing each one afforded us the chance to see the unique characteristics of each one.  Long drawing precipices and varying blankets of foliage gave each mountain its own identity. 

We arrived in Estes Park and went straight to an outdoors store where the employees, like nearly everyone else we encountered on this trip, were beyond friendly and went out of their way to help us locate a good mountain bike trail that would suit our varrying degrees of skill. 

Following the map they provided we drove just outside of town to an old abandoned boys summer camp.  The abandoned, weathered wooden buildings looked like a movie set and added very cool starting point for our mountain bike adventure. 

Early on our line up was established.  Kent and Kelly were out in front.  Traver hovered a short distance behind them and Brian, Stan, and I traveled far behind them in a pod characterized by terrible biking technique and a consistent flow of cussing.  The uphills were excruciating and the downhills were terrifying.  The scenery changed back and forth from forest to pasture to mountain ranges.  It all added up to an adventure that left us bleeding and exhausted. 

We stopped at Grand Lake for lunch and then drove into Winter Park to find accomodations for the night. 

After drinks at a resort that was as deserted as a ghost town we wandered into town where we found a bar that was equally as vacant.  Night was quickly approaching and we were debating on how the final chapter of this trip would be written.  A hotel was out of the question.  Too easy.  Too cliche.  We could find a wooded area to camp for the night but storms were rolling in and the thought of driving ten hours back the following day caked in mud wasn’t real appealing to any of us.

The bar waitress mentioned a hostel.  …A hostel.  Hmmm.  It wasn’t a hotel.  It wasn’t messy.  Most of us had never stayed in a hostel before.  We were thinking that a hostel could be a nice compromise. 

We called and were given directions.  We checked in and any image I had of a hostel was blown.  I would like to report a dank room with old bunk beds and backpackers from around the country sharing stories of going off the grid.  Instead it was the entire second floor of a hotel.  We had our own modern kitchen, living room, a deck… it was nicer than most hotels I had ever stayed in.  We agreed that the final night in luxury would be our little secret, so don’t tell anyone please.

After settling in we congregated on the deck.  I had a stashed pint of Sailor Jerry rum and a pack of Swisher Sweet cigars.  I opened the rum and pitched the lid.  We were going to empty that bottle.  …and we did.  We passed the bottle and reminisced.  In a few short days we had escaped our daily routine.  We hiked a mountain at night, climbed it at dawn, repelled down, hiked out, tubed a creek, visited an ER, mountain biked, laughed, drank, and laughed some more. 

To this day I have never crammed more adventure into a few short days.  We left the plains and found our way to the mountains.  True adventure enthusiasts would balk at our little excursion, but to this man, it was about a conquest.  Not conquering the mountains but conquering a vanilla existence.  There isn’t always reason behind the things we do.  Sometimes it’s simply for the scars and stories.

Cheers.