It’s Not a Vacation. It’s an Adventure - Day 1

“It’s not a vacation.  It’s an adventure.”  - Kent

Usually the best adventures/bad ideas are born while leaning on a dirty bar table decorated with several empty glasses and a fresh round on the way.  It typically begins with a few moments of silence followed by, “You know what we should do…” 

Well, this particular trip came to life long before I was a part of it so I can only assume it hatched during happy hour.  I was actually the last to sign on to take a four day trip to Boulder, CO.  I was told we would drive out to Boulder, spend one day rock climbing, the next day either white water rafting or mountain biking, and then on the fourth day, drive back.  It seemed like a short but attractive itinerary. 

Stan, Brian, and I came off duty at the fire department and met at our training center.  We loaded our backpacks, supplies, snacks, and bikes into the back of Brian’s truck.  After talking to Kent (the brains/instigator behind this trip) we found out that the plan would be to spend pretty much our entire trip in the mountains to “maximize our mountain time”.  The three of us were going to need more stuff.  So we did what any good suburbanites would do, we headed to Target.

We stocked up on food, flashlights, food, baby wipes, and food.  I should have known how this trip would go from the moment we were checking out.  Brian passed through the line first followed by Stan.  While the twenty-something girl was ringing up Stan’s items I decided to make small talk and said, “What do you think of a grown man with no babies at home that is buying baby wipes?”  …silence.  Stan leans towards me and out of the side of his mouth whispers “she’s deaf.”  Simultaneously she signs something to me that I can only assume was “I can’t hear you, dumbass.”  We stifled laughter at my expense until we made it to the parking lot and then let loose.  Yep, this is how the rest of the trip would go.

We drove to Lawrence where we met up with Kent, Kelly, and Traver who were loaded up and waiting for us.  Most guys have or want a man-cave in their house.  Kent’s house IS a man-cave.  He escorted us through the house to the back deck where he had several piles of climbing equipment.  “Grab one of each”, he said.  We loaded up harnesses, climbing shoes, helmets, etc.  We left Lawrence around 10:00 a.m. and began our loooooong trek across the Kansas plains.

Favorite quote of the road trip: “What is this shit, rap or something?”  - Stan said in obvious dislike of the Modest Mouse song that came on the radio.

Brian had never been west of Wichita so the monotony of the trip was replaced with early excitement when mountains began to appear on the horizon.  We followed Kelly’s SUV into Boulder where we stopped for some last minute climbing gear and dinner with adult beverages at The Northern Sun restaurant with a few of Kent’s friends.  One of whom, Deon, decided to join us for an evening mountain bike ride.  After dinner we drove to El Dorado Canyon where we parked the vehicles, unloaded the bikes, and set out into the canyon.  It did not take long to realize that I was not in very good “bicycle-riding” shape.  That, combined with the thin mountain air, made for an awkward first ride but amazing nonetheless.

We rode up the canyon; half of us experienced bicyclers, the other half not so much.  I spent the first ten or twenty minutes just getting used to being on the bicycle and shifting gears.  Once the comfort level of the bike set in, I took the time to notice the amazing scenery around us.  The Rocky Mountains never feel like you’re actually there.  They are so vast and so beautiful that you are constantly looking around at the breathtaking scenery without noticing that you are actually standing right in the middle of it.

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We followed a path that paralleled a turbulent mountain stream.  It amazed me how a grown man on a bicycle can feel so free when coasting downhill through the mountains.  The wind blowing past my face was exhilarating.  I was nearly lost in the moment when I realized that we were rapidly approaching the end of the downhill portion and Traver was slowing to a stop right in front of me.  I squeezed the breaks with all that I had and turned the bike sideways.  I came to a sliding hockey stop right behind Traver’s bike.  With my heart beating through my chest I quickly looked around to see if anyone else saw that.  It was so…  so… awesome!  We gathered ourselves and decided to pull over at the mouth of a cave to rest, take a few pictures, and pass my bottle of Sailor Jerry rum and Stan’s bottle of Wild Turkey Honey Whiskey.  We were at the threshold of the next adventure.

As darkness settled upon us we decided it was best to get back to the cars and start gearing up for our after-dark hike to the base of the third flat iron.  We drove into town and found a Whole Foods parking lot that provided enough light to unload and sort the climbing gear.

As we unloaded our stuff out of the vehicles Kent instructed us to pack only our climbing gear, food, water, and any bare essentials needed for the hike to the base and the climb in the morning.  We all condensed our things into one backpack each. 

We found a neighborhood near the trail head where we left our vehicles in a place where it would not be obvious that people were illegally hiking/camping after dark.  We made sure our bikes were safely locked in the bike racks, grabbed our packs and ropes, and walked in silence toward the mountain.

To prevent drawing any unwanted attention we needed to hike without the assistance of lights.  The nearly full moon was bright enough to cast shadows as we started up the trail.  The lack of flashlight use was not an issue.  Even in the thickness of the trees, breaks in the canopy would allow in enough moonlight to somewhat illuminate the path.  …for a while. 

The higher we hiked the darker the trail became.  We hiked for nearly an hour before reaching the base of the third Flat Iron.  The last twenty minutes of the hike were basically in pitch dark advancing only by touch and sound.  The sounds of stumbling men, rolling rocks, and muttered curse words echoed along the trail.  Occasionally a headlamp would come on by Kent or Kelly just to ensure that we were still on the trail. 

Favorite quote of the hike: “Hey Kent, I think a sasquatch just flipped me off.” - Brian

I was so focused on advancing and not falling that I was surprised to hear Kent say, “We’re here.”   I looked up to see the conglomerate sandstone wall climbing up to the starry sky right in front of me.  We were at the base.  In vein, we tried to find a flat spot to sleep.  We dropped our gear and in varying angles and positions did our best to find comfort sleeping in our clothes using backpacks or the rock beneath us as a pillow. 

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Sunrise was going to be at six a.m. so Kent set his alarm for five and we laid in virtual silence.  The only sounds were the occasional rustling of the guy next to you or the random bats that were flying just above our heads.  The cool night air was crisp and clean.  The night began at a perfect temperature for sleeping in the outdoors.  By morning, the temperature had dropped and everyone had found their way into a sleeping bag or cover of some sort.  I had only a rain jacket and somehow maneuvered myself into the fetal position trying to get my entire body inside of the jacket.  Most of the guys slept the remainder of the night.  Brian and I, who chose poor sleeping spots, slept in ten or fifteen minute increments at best and totalled maybe forty minutes.  Part of the reason for my lack of sleep was the cool temperature.  Part of it was… well… I was literally trying to sleep on a freaking rock.  I think the main reason was the full moon above me, the vast lights of Boulder below me and on an evening when most everyone I knew was sleeping in their beds like they do every night of every year, I, along with my friends had just hiked a mountain in the dark.  The earth was our bed.  The city was below us and the stars were above us and we were hovering somewhere in the middle as men.