Day 98 – An Imperfect Exit

The night went well. To my knowledge only one mouse assaulted my humble abode on the river. I say that the mouse assaulted my abode because for the mouse, it is not personal. The mouse is, by its nature, bound by opportunism. All animals, including us, are bound by this desire. Fear can moderate it, but it does not suppress it. In fact fear can transform the moment from a leisurely pleasure to an act of wild abandonment.

In the case of the mouse and me, I understand this now. A mouse assault has become a formalized ritual. From within my sleep I hear it begin. Because my head is close to the ground, the rapid footsteps sound like the impatient drumming of fingertips on a tabletop. I can never react quick enough to prevent the mouse from reaching me, but I can react soon after it does with a yell and a waving of arms.

The next move is the mouse’s. If the mouse is convinced that I have a prize that is worth the risk, the excursions will continue. But without that conviction, the mouse will find other things to do, and I can go back to sleep. Other dynamics come into play when there are a bunch of mice, but tonight there seems to be only one. And since I am careful to eliminate all food or food smells from my bed, this should be the end of it for tonight.

Road to nowhere

In the morning, the air is cold and damp here. For once, I get out of bed when I damn well please. I am taking my time today. The hike goes up to 10,400 and then down to Kenosha Pass where I will hitch somewhere for food, phone service and a place to lay me head on a proper pillow. The total distance is 8 miles. I could do this in my sleep, but today I want to hike with eyes and heart wide open.

The day starts clear and bright. My shadow joins me.

This is my fifth day on the Colorado Trail. I joined this trail to stay in hiking shape and to test myself with some high-altitude hiking. This trail has given me what I hoped it would. It has also taught me lessons that have been hard to accept.

Lessons

First, high altitude is hard but it is not impossible to deal with. To be successful, acclimate gradually, stay hydrated and take it slow on the uphills. I feel good today. I feel as strong as I ever did on the PCT. I am really in my hiking prime. (It also helps that I after four days on the trail, my food bag is lighter.)

Second, the Colorado Trail is a magnificent trail. The views are breathtaking. The trail conditions are mostly very good. Campsites can be found if you know where to look for them. This trail deserves my admiration.

Unfortunately, the last lesson is that I cannot continue this way. I am leaving the Colorado Trail.

I thought about it all day yesterday, on one of the most perfect stretches of trail I have walked in weeks. I am going to talk it through with Patti today and I am going to call the US Forest Service myself for the latest information about the fire closures in California.

Breaking up is hard to do

Over the last few posts, I have been developing this metaphor of hiking as a relationship with a trail. It’s silly, I know, but that metaphor works well to describe my emotions. Have you ever broken up with someone who was beautiful, but just not right for you? I have. The separating did not make them less beautiful. Instead, maybe more so. I feel that way as I walk the trail today.

The valley south of Kenosha Pass is stunningly beautiful. Several times I just had to sit beside the trail and look at it.

It is during one of these moments that I hear a loud deep fluttering next to me. I am momentarily confused until I recognize the sound and find its source. It’s a hummingbird. This one is brilliant green and as long as your finger. It evaluates me in an instant and disappears. My mind goes back to my second day on the trail when on the top of Hat Creek Rim, I saw my first hummingbird. It was special then. It is doubly special now. Is this really the end? Is this hummingbird closing what another had opened almost one hundred days ago?

I can hear the traffic clearly from highway 285 in the valley. The sound is not off-putting. It is the indifferent activity of my species. It is the equivalent of twigs breaking under the hooves of elk walking into a clearing at dusk. It’s what we do.

People get annoying quickly

There is a campground near the trailhead at the pass. I chat with some folks near their RV. I not-so-slyly bring up my destination on the highway in hopes of a ride to Fairplay, a small town 21 miles south on highway 285. They offer no help.

I walk to the highway and put out my thumb. I try to look earnest, as if I have clear goals beyond this hitch. Internally I adopt the fatalistic patience of the beggar. Traffic speeds by for almost an hour.

My trail information says it is an “easy” hitch to FairPlay from this Pass. Furthermore, Colorado, has a reputation for being hiker-friendly. Out of frustration, I bring this up to two mountain bikers who watch me try to get a ride. “There aren’t many people from Colorado here any more,” one says snarkily. It’s another version of “there goes the neighborhood.” I have been hearing that a lot out here.

“Maybe you should just start walking,” says the other equally snarky cyclist.

Thanks for the advice, buddy. You’ve been sitting there on your padded seat watching me for 30 minutes. Maybe you give me your bike and you start walking. It’s not like I can’t walk it. The village of Jefferson is only about six miles away. But Jefferson is not where I want to go. Fairplay is 21 miles away. I start walking anyway. The cyclists got under my skin.

About half a mile down the road, a car pulls off to pick me up. There are three people in the car. As I get in I ask where they are from. Russia. That’s so rich. My own countrymen wouldn’t give me a ride. Three Russians had more compassion than 300 Americans! (I did mention that I was annoyed right?)

Anyway, I thank them profusely and then proceed to make a failed attempt at humor. “So are you here on vacation or for espionage?” The joke falls flat even though I laugh way too much to try to sell the joke. To make matters worse, they have been living in America for 16 years in Dallas. Hoo boy! We chat for a while and then fall into an awkward silence.

Everything goes better with beer

After suggesting that they drop me off at the first business I see – an abandoned BBQ restaurant (Yes, I’m batting 1000 now) – they look at their phones and drop me off at the perfect location with shopping and a brewpub.

Three beers and two entrees later, I have made all the arrangements. For tonight I have a room in a hostel six miles away. I have a bus ride to Denver tomorrow’s. I am staying with Zach in Denver for two nights and I am leaving on a train bound for Orlando from Denver on Friday. I will be back in Orlando next Monday watching for an opening in the fires in California.

Before making all these arrangements, I talked to a representative at the US Forestry Service and I talked to Patti. I want to finish the PCT, but I want to watch developments from home.

Officials

I am still holding out hope to get back on the PCT. So while in the brewpub I call the National Forest Service office in charge of region 5 (California). I want to know the criteria for reopening the forests in California.

The spokesperson chooses his words carefully, reiterating the language of the closure edict. He says he does not have access to the opening criteria. He mentions that rain would help, but the forecast does not show rain. (I hope that the forecast is by the same people who predicted no rain in Washington!) The spokesman predicted the trail would open on September 17, because that is the current length of the closure. Only his words about rain give me an idea of what the forest service is evaluating. They want the environmental conditions to change.

My luck starts to turn good. One of the brewers at the brewpub gives me a ride to the the hostel. His trail name is Vegan. He had his permit to hike the PCT in 2010, but the trail was closed due to COVID-19. We talk about hiking and his beer, which is the best I have had on this hike. As we part, he gives me a free can of Kolsch. Thanks.

Nighty night

I am at the Treeline Hostel in the highest city in America, Alma, Colorado at 10,500 feet. You have to stay hydrated here to keep altitude sickness at bay.

The place is owned by a guy named Max and kept up by his friend Tim. These guys are fun to hang around with. Tim was signed as a guitarist by Capitol Records when he was only 17. He graduated from Dr. Phillips high school in Orlando. He claims to be a pacifist and yet he loves brutal “True Crime” movies.

Max just learned today that his cousin signed a multi-million-dollar contract extension to play tackle for the Minnesota Vikings. Max is also the second person on this hike to suggest that the government is hiding information about anti-gravity technology gathered from aliens at Area 51. These guys are so interesting! To make things even better, Max is going to give me a ride into Denver tomorrow.

I have changed course. It feels like the right thing to do, but I second-guess myself hourly. Does moving farther from California make it less likely that I will return? Or does it enable me to calmly collect myself and rejigger my equipment to quickly start hiking again? Am I quitting or regrouping?

• September 7
• Starting CT marker: 64
• Ending CT marker: 73
• CT miles hiked today: 8
• Total CT miles hiked: 73
• Total miles hiked: 1314
• Animals: hummingbird