Eleven years ago, on my first trip to Colorado, my friend Chris and I drove to the top of Pikes Peak. What I remember most about the drive was the marmot waddling around in the dusty road and the temperature gauge on the rental car inching up to the red.
And when we finally stood on top, I looked out over the plains and mountains at the same view that inspired Katharine Lee Bates to write America the Beautiful, and I had the sudden sense that I had a whole other dimension to my personality--an unexplored hallway with doors opening off of it--that I had never before known existed. And this dimension involved being in Colorado, spending lots of time outside, and wearing hiking boots.
I never forgot that strange sensation, and during my last week in Colorado, I returned to the summit of Pikes Peak once again--this time, by climbing straight up the side in my well-worn hiking boots.
Pikes Peak is considered one of the most challenging of Colorado’s 14ers to climb, as the trail is 26 miles round trip and climbs 7,400’. The first day, I hiked in seven miles to historic Barr Camp to spend the night in a bunkhouse.
Because I hatched the plan to climb Pikes while looking at it as my plane to Denver landed the previous week, my camping gear was still on the East Coast. The fine folks at REI were happy to help, of course, and I stuffed a tiny new headlamp, some water treatment tablets, and a child’s red $28-on-clearance sleeping bag into my overloaded day pack.
As I began the climb up through the dry red dust and prickly scrub, to my left the cog railroad began its long trip to the summit, carrying loads of tourists. I promised myself then that some day when I could no longer scale it under my own power, I would return to the mountain, board that train, take a seat on the right-hand side, look out toward the trail and remember my solo trek to the summit.
While it sounds Pollyanna, I decided then that I was going to enjoy every single moment of the trip--and I did, even the few painful ones.
It’s hard to say exactly what made Pikes so special. Perhaps it was because this was the hardest physical challenge I have ever undertaken solo. Or it might have been the unexpected pleasure of spending an evening swapping stories at a cabin with 16 people I’d never met before who were kindred spirits, as hiking folk usually are. Or maybe it was the beauty of the imposing reddish peak and rounded hoodoos that rose above the trail, the line of sunrise burning orange against the base of the fir trees at camp, or the white tentacles of rain that reached down to the distant blue mountains at midday.
I undid some good karma, however, by briefly thinking unkind thoughts about Fred Barr, who created the trail in the early 1920s to use for the burro trips he ran to the top. He named one section the 16 Golden Stairs. Barr must have been quite the salesman, I grumbled as I lost count: better to call them the 25 Schizophrenic Switchbacks.
Because both the cog railway and a road stretch to the top of Pikes Peak, a gift and snack shop crowns the summit, and clean, well-rested tourists swarm over it. While I appreciated the availability of cold water, flush toilets, and a cell phone signal with which to call Mom and Dad, I was a bit amused by my temporary celebrity status.
“Did you hike all the way up here?” asked a dapper-looking white-haired man, as if my large pack, wayward hair, and slept-in clothes didn’t make the answer obvious.
“Yes, I did,” I said, then answered his many questions about the climb.
Soon he spotted his wife across the gift shop.
“Shirley! Come here,” he called out. “I want you to meet this remarkable woman!”
Oh, mercy. Friendly souls from the midwest, they led me outside to snap my summit picture for me. I left the top soon thereafter, amid gathering clouds and a smattering of hail.
Late that afternoon, I passed an Apolo Ohno lookalike--or the real McCoy, on break from the Olympic Training Center at the mountain’s base?-- and returned to my car after a daily total of 19 miles.
The trip’s best moment? Arriving at the sign that said I had one mile left to go to the summit. I celebrated by cheering out loud and eating a jumbo chocolate malt ball--I was going to make it after all!
Recent Comments