Rocky Mountain National Park

It’s odd to think of my first experience in Rocky Mountain National Park, now that it’s such a familiar and beloved place to me; Now that I’m a local trying to escape the throngs of tourists attracted by the grandeur of the bare peaks. At the time we were the tourists. We’d never gone on a hike together; Ryan had never hiked period. We were far from the outdoorsy types we present ourselves as today. But we were ignorant enough to not know our limitations, thus had none. What we lacked in knowledge we made up for with passion.

Monday, August 3, 1999

"The road we were on climbed higher and higher up toward the bald mountain tops," I wrote in my journal in camp that night - a random green triangle on our National Parks Atlas symbolizing the campsite on the west side of Rocky Mountain National Park directed us to this destination. I was writing about the highest continuous highway in the U.S.: Trail Ridge Road.

My novice adventurist shone through as I wrote about an incident amongst a hundred other tourists, rather than the steep, glacier carved bowls and phenomenal views.

"...I grabbed my camera, placed my keys on the rail, turned to take the photo, and knocked my keys off the rail down the steep grade. They landed mockingly with a clank ten feet below. I laughed. What else to do in that situation? Ryan was not so amused as he headed to find a way down. I stayed looking down on my keys sprawled on the rock below, a marmut standing guard only a few feet away. A chipmunk scurried around on the rocks to the side. I wished I could ask the little critters to help me out.

"The comments were pretty funny, too. 'Oh, look! Someone's keys!' All in amusement, as it seemed impossible to reach them. But soon Ryan came scooting along the rocks carefully placing his feet, and got the keys. The people who'd been shocked to see him down there were suddenly enlightened, laughing."

Just a couple of city kids who knew nothing about Mother Nature with our cheap tent out to discover what this wide world of nature had to offer. The feable beginnings of two outdoors lovers.

Road Trip: Ready, set, GO!

We awoke at 6 a.m. on August 2nd to the view of the drop ceiling of my old bedroom at my Dad’s house, full of anticipation for our new traveling lifestyle. I’d always hated that drop ceiling, how it reminded me of the confines of classrooms in school. And I had a flutter of excitement as I knew that it would be some time before I slept underneath any roof at all again. The eagerness spread into a smile on my face as I dragged myself off the mattress in the dimly lit room, placing my bare feet on the wooden parquet floor.

It took an excruciating 3 hours to get on the road. We couldn’t have imagined how much loading and unloading the trunk of the 1994 Pontiac Sunbird would become second nature in the coming weeks as we attempted to squeeze our belongings into the sedan that first morning. It was like a puzzle without a reference picture. We had two large plastic containers for our food and food preparation, including an old beat up skillet and loads of oatmeal; We filled a tackle box with bathroom supplies- everything from toothbrushes to water purifying tablets; Two suitcases carrying all of the clothes we’d need for the trip, as well as a couple nicer outfits for eventually interviewing when we “landed” in California; Tent, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, etc… It took several tries to make everything fit, as we figured out just what order everything had to go in so that the trunk would close. And then there was the back seat filled to the brim as well. Finally, like the decorative bow on an overloaded present, the bikes perched precariously on the rack attached across the trunk. Those would clank and threaten to leap off the car until we figured out the precise procedure for mounting them and bungee cording them together.

Our first destination was on the other side of Rocky Mountain National Park, where a small green triangle on our map denoted a campground. I was a bundle of nerves, still wound up with the anxiousness to leave that had been prodding me all morning. I examined the map trying to figure out how to get from Highway 74 to Highway 36 in Boulder, having little luck deciphering the tiny streets that might connect the seemingly parallel highways. We were hungry and as we pulled into the bagel shop for breakfast on Broadway, a sign jumped out at us leading to the 36. It was the first moment of relaxation thus far and felt like a good omen as we ate our breakfast, reassured as we’d jumped our first small hurdle.

Finally able to relax, we found our highway and our trip began!