Day Fifty, Denver, CO: Water, Hops, Yeast, and Barley

AWESOME Day Fifty, which was Saturday, the 8th of August.

Boulder, CO has a lot of microbreweries, for some reason or another. It started with the clean, mountain-run-off water supply, and then it became a chicken and the egg scenario; as the beer culture became more and more prevalent, more microbreweries popped up.

So, on Saturday I visited three breweries; Avery, Oskar Blues, and Left Hand.

I really enjoyed the Avery brew tour. As the tour guide – who doubled as the tap room manager as well as one of the brewers – said, each of the brewers are “handpicked”. They’re smart, loud, and competitive people. Their beers reflect this personality. Like most of the Colorado-brewed beers, they’re very hoppy and bold. Very loud beers.

Next was the Oskar Blues Brewery. They can their beer there, and it’s kind of funny. They are great people, and they do have a full batting cage in the brewery. I tried to trade the two free beers that I had won by answering trivia questions for a few pitches in the cage, but they were not interested in this exchange. (For the record, the only reason I was trying to ditch the free beers is because, having to drive on my own, and on top of other samples… otherwise, you should never turn down a free beer, kids.) Oskar Blues cans their beers mainly because it is cheaper, the beer stays fresh longer (light and dissolved O2 stay out of the can,) and, as modern cans do not impart any taste to the beer, it tastes the same. Everybody wins. Oskar Blues was the first microbrewery to can their beer (Dale’s Pale Ale being the flagship,) seven years ago. According to the brewery, 50 other microbreweries have now picked up the trend.

Unfortunately by the time I got to Left Hand it was well beyond brew tour time, (after 5pm at least.) But I picked up a pint glass for the bar back home for my troubles and headed back to my uncle’s. (I end the trip with 7 new pint glasses to add to the collection).

Beer!

Day Forty Eight, Moab UT/Denver CO: Delicate Arch Hike

Day Forty Eight refers to Thursday, August 6th. Early in the morning, I woke up and hiked to Delicate Arch, which is the unofficial state symbol. I hiked early to avoid the crowds, the heat, and get better lighting for pictures. After I hiked to Delicate Arch, which was a total 3 mile hike, I set out on the 6  hour drive back to Denver, where I stayed with my Uncle Ben once more. I’ve got a bunch of great pictures from this one. Make sure to check the Picasa album, linked below, to see more pictures.

I’ve recently uploaded many more pictures on the Picasa albums at http://picasaweb.google.com/reidksmith. Check them out!

Day Forty Seven, Moab, UT: Arching

Day Forty Seven refers to Wednesday, August 5th, during which I drove from Salt Lake City to Moab, which is the gateway to Arches National Park. Arches is a relatively small park, so it was a quick drive through. Here are some pictures:

The reason I only spent one night in Southern Utah is because of the heat. Not only is it so incredibly hot during the day, but it stays pretty warm at night. I plan on coming back around April to see the rest of Southern Utah when it’s cooler.

I’ve recently uploaded many more pictures on the Picasa albums at http://picasaweb.google.com/reidksmith. Check them out!

Day Forty Five and Forty Six, Salt Lake City, UT: The Parks

Day Forty Five refers to Monday, August 3rd, which I spent touring the Browning Firearms Museum, the Utah State Railroad Museum, the Classic Car Museum, and the Hill Air Force Base Aviation Museum. This was good, cheap fun, costing me a grand total of $5, (at this point, I have been running low on funds for some time now).

Day Forty Six, Tuesday, was spent at the Fort Douglas Military Museum and in two of Salt Lake City’s Parks.

I want to focus now on my experience within the parks on Sunday and Tuesday, both internally – through the books I read – and externally, through what I saw. Salt Lake City, while it is (to me, at least) a generally wealthy city, is not without its share of transient homeless men and women. And they are disproportionally represented within the city parks. It is not the mere existence of this demographic that interests me; certainly I was previously aware of it. I had not, however, spent entire days observing the culture and engaging in conversations with its members prior to this experience. I had originally included in this post a (still growing) discourse of sorts on the society and culture that I observed within the homeless community, but as it grew larger and larger I realized it was unfit for this forum. (If, for some reason, anyone is interested in my humble thoughts on the subject, I’d be glad to supply them.)

I’ve done a lot of reading on this trip, and I had intended to talk about the books I’d read here. But as with many of the experiences I have had, there has simply not been enough time for me to write what I wanted to on the subject, which, at least for me, has been unfortunate. I have been keeping a bare-bones, shorthand journal and am hoping to expand it into something one might refer to as a book in the coming year. I can’t make any promises as to its quality or interest to anyone, however, but I thought I would let the idea out into the open and see what comes of it.

Of the several books I’ve read, The Iron Heel, by Jack London – which I read on Sunday – was one of the more interesting. It is an astonishingly whimsical novel of a future in which an entirely utopian communist state has come into existence and discovered a manuscript written 800 years prior – back in the early 1900s's – in which the rise of  The Oligarchy forcefully and remorselessly eliminates socialists. Despite the painful socialist rhetoric unleashed by London’s hero – his not-so-cleverly-disguised alter ego – against an array of straw man arguments, The Iron Heel still stands on it its own as an example of the results realized when idealism clashes with power.

This theme continues in Niccolò Machiavelli’s The Prince. Machiavelli, in his how-to guide for princes, had not undertaken an entirely unique endeavor. Others had attempted to codify the rules of power that must be present in an effectively-ruled kingdom. Machiavelli, however, explained that these ideals were impracticable and could not maintain power. For example, generosity, while considered the ideal, would eventually lead to the prince’s bankruptcy and subsequent unfair taxation of his subjects, ultimately leading to his downfall. “Machiavellianism” has come to represent a pattern of dishonest and anti-social dealings with others. In The Prince, however, Machiavelli does not advocate brutal and anti-social tactics, merely those which are effective, if very occasionally duplicitous. Of course, many of his observations on society and government still hold true, especially if one modernizes them a little bit.

So I’m catching up on posts right now. It is currently Sunday, Day Fifty One, and I’m outside Ogallah, Kansas, once more – the same site that I stopped at on my way out, back in Day Thirteen. I am tracing the same path home as I took out here, and expect to make it back on Saturday, the 15th.

Day Forty Three and Forty Four, Salt Lake City, UT: A Place to Stay?

When I first reached Salt Lake City – Saturday, August 1st – I had hoped to find a nice place to stay through couchsurfing.com, which I have mentioned before. I had sent out a few emails on the road down (Friday) and was hoping to hear back by Saturday night. Interestingly, my primary reason for couchsurfing had changed; when I reached Jackson, WY, I felt as though I needed a place to stay. I longed to sleep inside, get a shower, and enjoy at least a few of the goods provided by a culture and society. This was after only eight days of camping; upon reaching Salt Lake City, I had been camping for 10 straight days and felt no such need to get indoors. My primary motivation, then, for finding someone to stay with was the desire to experience the city with an additional person. Throughout my trip I’ve made extensive use of local information; in fact, I think I have relied entirely on this verbal guidebook.

(Above is a view from the road up the mountains in which I camped.)

In any case, my couchsurfing attempts were ultimately unsuccessful. Having arrived at the city relatively late in the day on Saturday, I drove to the Great Salt Lake just to have a look before I headed up into the mountains to find a campsite. This was a little more difficult to do outside of a larger city than it is anywhere in Montana or Wyoming. But, nonetheless, I was able to find a spur to spend the night. I spent the majority of the next day – Sunday – simply reading in a park within the city. This was an interesting experience, as I’ll talk about in my next update, because I was able to see another aspect of life that I had previously been spared.

Day Forty Two, outside Ashton, ID: Travel Day

I'll include Day Forty Two – Friday, July 31st – simply for the sake of continuity. But I didn’t do anything this day other than wake up and drive, for a very long time. It’s about 10 hours from Glacier National Park to Salt Lake City so I had to split the drive up; I planned to stop about halfway there wherever I found a decent National Forest Access.

And thus ended another day. I had driven most of the day and so was pretty happy to get into my tent and go to bed.

Day Forty One, Glacier National Park, MT: On Canada

Sorry it’s been awhile since the last update. I’ve been too busy getting in my last bit of adventuring to write much.

Day Forty One brings us back to last Thursday, July 30th. Having hiked some 28 miles in the last three days, I had only 8 more to go. I was starting from just south of the Canadian border and would hike across that, emerging in the town of Waterton. From there, it is an 18 mile walk back to the border, so I would likely have to find a ride of some sort. I hadn’t really figured out this stage of the trip yet. (The picture is of me on Waterton Lake, along which the trail ran).

Again, there isn’t a whole lot to say about the hike. There was, surprisingly, no rain the night before; a welcome change. However, the dew on the plants was just as horrendous. As had been the case the previous day, I was soaked through before I had really started the hike. This leg was generally flat for the first several miles, until I reached the Canadian Border, (picture to your left). The Canadians, however, had a different take on the trail. Their version continued to wind up steep inclines and was actually fairly exhausting. It wasn’t until I got about a mile from the town that I started to run into anyone else; all day hikers who were just taking a short walk from the town.

Once you cross the border, Glacier National Park becomes Waterton Lakes National Park. Canada, apparently, does not take National Parks as seriously as the United States. In the U.S., parks are viewed as pristine, untouched wilderness. In Canada, it seems, the parks are typically regarded as we regard National Forests – as land set aside for any use. The town of Waterton did not seem to reside in a National Park.

When I finally exited the trail, a genuine grin spread over my face. I was faced with an interesting problem, as my GPS did not extend into Canada; I had no idea what direction to go next. While I was at the trailhead, even that was still a bit outside. I had already hiked 8.2 miles that day, but it was another mile before I reached a place to stop and eat in the town. I was hungry enough that I quickly devoured a 1/2lb Bacon Cheeseburger and a Grilled Cheese, (which I had gotten a strange craving for about two days into the hike.) It was now about noon and I had to find a way back to the States.

I had hoped that I would be able to hitchhike my way back to the border. When the backcountry ranger gave me my permit, she said that the people frequently did this trail. I’m not sure what the basis for this comment was; I was the only person I met on the trail who was taking that route. In any case, I soon found that the townspeople were not very interested in helping me, even with verbal directions. I finally stumbled across the Prince of Wales Hotel, an old Scottish-style hotel which doubled as a shuttle stop to the border, the cost of which was $10. I had hoped not to have to spend so much money for an 18-mile ride, but I think it was probably the best choice; I had already walked over a mile through the city, not seen much traffic, and certainly not met anyone willing to give me a ride to the border.

The one problem with this plan was that, because the shuttle didn’t take me into Canada, they couldn’t take me out. (I don’t understand this logic myself, to be honest.) So the driver dropped me off a mile from the border, from which point I hiked across. This experience was a lot like walking through a drive-thru at McDonalds. There is no “hiker access” to the country, just a road for normal people in cars. I got behind a line of cars and waited patiently in line before an officer told me to come on up.

I was asked what I brought into the country - “just a tent, a sleeping bag, and some clothes, I guess,” – what I was bringing into the US – “just what I brought in with me,” – and where my vehicle was parked – “down the road, in the parking lot,” – and waived across. I’d never been so relieved to find my car intact, and all my belongings still inside.

My first order of business was to shower, as it had been 8 nights since I had enjoyed one of those. (In fact, by the second night of the hike, I smelled to bad to get all the way into my sleeping bag. Tragic. I decided to spend the night at the same site that I had picked when I first arrived at Glacier that Saturday; an old semi-formal campground on the Indian Reservation outside the park. I spent some time looking at a map and deciding upon my next destination, which I determined would be Salt Lake City. After that, it was a big dinner and quickly to the tent, as the rain was already starting to come down – again.

Day Forty, Glacier National Park Backcountry, MT: The Consequences of the Weather

As I mentioned before, it rained all night during my second night in the backcountry. This was merely a minor annoyance at night, as I had to sleep in my only change of clothes, which were wet.

But by this point everything I own is wet and dirty. Although I had only spent two nights in the backcountry, I had been camping the previous five before that, and it had rained nearly every one of those nights. My tent was getting the worst of it, being completely soaked. Dirt that had been dragged in through the course of the last 2.5 weeks had also turned to mud. Shoes, clothes, hat, and socks were also wet, as was the sleeping bag. In addition to being wet all the time, things were now starting to get heavier simply by the weight of the water.

The third leg of the hike was one of the easiest, at about eight almost entirely downhill miles. The only problem with this was that the first several miles were almost all through shoulder-height ferns (to your left, that is the ‘trail’) meaning that I was literally soaked through and dripping wet within minutes. It’s a pretty depressing feeling to be squishing in your shoes and socks with 7.9 miles to go. My spare pair of socks was hanging on my backpack in an attempt to dry out from the previous day, while I was wearing the socks I had gotten soaked with mud in day one. That was miserable. But the hike itself was still another spectacular experience. The chance to hike through virtually untouched wilderness was priceless. Furthermore, at least my feet – which had been coated with mud and dirt – got a good washing.

Soon, however, people starting coming from everywhere, it seemed; at least 40 people passed me. Finally, exasperated with, “Hi. Hi. Hi.” I asked someone where everyone was coming from. It turns out, the Waterton Lake sightseeing tour had just landed at the American side of the dock. This boat runs from the Waterton townsite, at the opposite, Canadian side of the like, to Goat Haunt, the American port at my present side of the lake. The idea is that you pay about $38 for a boat ride 8 miles down the day, a 2-mile day hike to another lake, and then the 8 miles back up to Canada. Kind of a crappy deal. Shortly after crossing this exodus, I arrived at Goat Haunt Ranger Station (a one-room shack) where I passed through Customs. I was not yet across the border, but I was free to leave the country whenever I wanted.

After Customs, I ran into a ranger who asked me if I had seen any bear activity lately. I told him about a track I had seen across the trail on the way down, but that was it. He said there had been a lot of bears in the area recently, to stay on top of my game, and that he would be checking out my camp in about an hour. When the ranger did come into the camp, he told me that they had seen a large black bear near the station that day, and fresh scat and tracks up the trail where I was heading the next day.

I spent a few hours in camp relaxing in what little sun there was while attempting to dry out and do some reading. Soon some other camp members arrived in camp. Again, it was really great to have people to talk to. These three guys were from Wisconsin and were doing about a week-long backcountry trip similar to the people I had met the night before.

Finally it was a dry night. So we headed back down to the Waterton Lake, (about a mile away from camp down the trail I had come in on, right where the Goat Haunt RS was), to skip some stones and enjoy the water. It was a great night in good company.

Day Thirty Nine, Glacier National Park Backcountry, MT: The Time When You Beat Nature

On Tuesday, I set 0ut for the second of four legs on my backcountry trip. While the first leg was a long, 13.8-mile hike, it was over mostly flat terrain. The second leg was much shorter – only about 5.6 miles – but climbed about 2,400 feet and descended about 1,200 feet. It’s important to remember here that what is true in normal walking is about 40lbs more true in backpacking – that is, going downhill is only slightly better than going uphill.

The other thing about going uphill is that, inevitably, you reach the top. And when you do, you are usually a good target for lightening strikes. This goes without saying and is fairly obvious. What complicates matters is that oftentimes weather within the mountains is impossible to predict, and lightening storms typically present themselves in the afternoon. And when I left camp at 9.30am, the sky looked great, as you can see to your left. This picture was taken at 10.00am, during what I will refer to as the “easy and relaxed” portion of the hike.

This next picture was taken a scant 45 minutes later. As you can see, the weather has now become decidedly less friendly and inviting. In those intervening minutes, I had gone from an almost cloudless sky to nearly being in a cloud – and the nearly wouldn’t last for long.

So at this point I had several less-than-ideal options. I had already hiked the first two miles of the hike, but these had been largely flat. I still had 1,900 vertical feet to go, which, fit into just the next couple miles, would be a little challenging, and it was definitely going to rain.  I decided that the best course of action was to keep going, as fast as I could. Which transformed the slow and relaxing hike into the race hike, and races uphill are almost never fun.

And, unfortunately, things were not getting better. As I ascended, the wind started to pick up immensely, the temperature plummeted, the trail got much thinner, and rain started falling. At this point, it couldn’t get any worse – save for a lightening strike. I reckoned that the peaks around me were taller than the high point of my hike – about 6,900 feet – and therefore decided that I could reasonably expect not to get hit by lightening. It was a dubious rationalization, but it worked. I continued to huff and puff up the switchbacks at an exhausting yet staggeringly slow rate of speed. And, following with this day’s theme, things did actually manage to get worse.

Well, at first glance this is a beautiful river. But there are a few things in the picture that you may not notice upon initial inspection. First, the stream is made of glacial runoff. It feeds the chalky blue lake you saw earlier, (Atsina). Glacial water tends to be cold. Second, you can (almost!) see the trail continue on the opposite side of the Mokowanis River. I was able to make it safely across in flip flops, but my feet have never been colder. Interestingly, they would, on multiple occasions this hike, get even wetter. I kept the flip flops on as I was too fed up to stop and put my shoes back on. This turned out to be a fortuitous decision, as I had to cross yet another water obstacle shortly.

Soon the weather began to improve; in fact, the rain had presented very few problems at all. It had never really progressed to full-blown torrential downpour, and the lightening had never materialized. After climbing some 2,000 feet in 2 miles, the trail leveled off (to your right), and finally began to descend at a rapid pace. It then wrapped around a glacial lake and stopped right in the middle of the camp. Fortunately, there were some other campers at this site with whom I could pass the time, as it was not even 1pm when I reached camp.

And this was certainly an interesting night. I met three hikers who were boyhood friends and taking a 7-night backpacking trip as a “vacation.” And, they told me that they had decided to carry extra weight in order to enjoy the hike as said vacation. They had coffee, freeze dried foods, etc. Of course, when all that weight – they still needed only one tent, one stove, etc – is divided into three packs, it comes out about even. Again, this is a good time to emphasize that this trip has been as much about people as it has been about places. (The picture above and to the left might give you a good context for the camp, especially if you click on it to enlarge it. This particular area was the path between the path to the food prep area and the path that led to the tent sites.)

Now back to the deer that I discussed briefly yesterday. Deer love sweat and other human excretions. These three guys were forced to leave most of their stuff out to dry outside their tent in the early part of the afternoon. And to their increasing consternation, Linda – the camp deer – would repeatedly come around to mess with their site. From the food prep area, it was a good 200 yards to their tent site, up some steep boulders and even a smooth rock face. Every few minutes, Linda would come around to check out the site, and one of them would be dispatched to deal with her. It got to the point where they were forced to throw rocks at her just to chase her away. Soon, we could watch one of them make his way up the rock face to their site while Linda would peer over the ledge, see him coming, and run away – only to return as soon as the person left.

But around 3.30pm it began to rain. And rain. And rain. The rain did not stop – straight, torrential downpour – until 5.30pm. At that time, everyone went to make their dinner – only for the rain to start up again around 6.30. And this time, it literally did not stop. I fell asleep around 10.00pm, and the rain was still tumbling  down from the sky and onto the sides of the tent in prodigious amounts. This would make for some crappy conditions on the next day’s hike. Also, at this point, I had experienced rain in five of my last six nights. Already, everything I owned was wet and dirty; remember, I had no towel or anything with which to dry off, other than a maddeningly hidden sun.

So that was Tuesday, Day Thirty Nine. It is currently Saturday night, Day Forty Three. I’m camping in another forest outside Salt Lake City. This was one of my more poorly planned days as I left Idaho and headed to Salt Lake City with no clear direction of what I would do when I arrived, much less where I would stay. I think I half-expected a solution to this “sleeping” problem to drop out of the sky. I ended up exploring the city by car for a couple hours before retreating back into the mountains, as is my custom.

And just because I don’t want to confuse everyone with a LOST-type timeline, let me just recap the past week really quick. Monday through Thursday I spent in the backcountry, Friday I drove a long way through Montana and into Idaho and camped outside Ashton, and Saturday I drove from there into Salt Lake City. Less confused? (And how many days till LOST comes back, by the way?)

Day Thirty Eight, Glacier National Park Backcountry, MT: Off to the Backcountry

I’m already very far behind, so it doesn’t look as though I am going to get to elaborate on my last post, which outlined my activities in Yellowstone. I didn’t care much for Yellowstone anyway; it was essentially a giant Disneyland with real bison. I now have (literally) thousands of pictures which I have to sort through from the last week and a half – but it looks like these are going to have to wait until I get home to get uploaded, as I simply don’t have the time (or place) to sit down and do it here. I haven’t posted lately because I haven’t had time to sit down and write and no cell phone signal with which to send them in.

On Monday, I began a backpacking trip that would take me from Montana into Alberta, Canada. I spent four days and three nights in the backcountry and it was an incredible experience. In the course of these four days, I hiked nearly 40 miles with everything that I would need on my back. Best of all, I emerged in a small town in Canada without a plan or a means with which to get back to the border, which ended up being a fun mini-adventure in itself.

So back to the first day. On Monday, I had to hike nearly 14 miles to reach my campsite. Luckily, the hike was mostly flat, with only moderate elevation gains of a few hundred feet at a time. It also helped that the entire 40 mile hike was between 4,500 and 6,500 feet – where the air was much thicker than on some of my other hikes, which peaked at 10,000 or even 14,000 feet.

Unfortunately, all of these benefits were drastically counterbalanced by a few extra cinderblocks of weight strapped to my back. Because my pack had to carry everything I would be unable to do without for four days, it became commensurably enormous and heavy. Just to give a brief outline; first aid kit, extra socks, tent, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, soft shell, hard shell, heavy fleece, books, food (keeping in mind that you burn far more calories walking all day than you do normally), stove, water, rope, camera and lenses, and on and on. My rough guess is that the pack weighed at least 40 lbs. But it wouldn’t be exciting if it was easy. (There is an ultra-light movement among backpackers, for obvious reasons. I ran into one such follower on the Continental Divide Trail in Grand Lake, CO. The CDT is a 3,300 mile hike. This backpacker had his base pack weight – everything but food and water – down to 12 lbs. They accomplish this by removing all their extra straps, the handles on their toothbrush, tags on clothes, etc, and by buying very, very light specialty gear.)

So the first day, as I mentioned, was a 13.8 mile hike. It was enjoyable, but it would have been even more so had the trail not been washed away by the previous week’s monsoon-type weather – which, as we will see, continued on through my trip as well. (I have spent the last 10 nights outside,  and of those, six have culminated in thunderstorms.) The trail was a vile, devilish mixture of mud, rocks,and vegetation, trampled by a few humans and several horses, and topped off with the occasional green gift from said livestock. And intermixed with the more thrilling sight of bear scat and tracks.  The hike itself was surprisingly uneventful. The only highlight was a brief run-in with a whitetail deer, which seemed more interested in finding out what I was from an uncomfortably close distance than in running away. Overall, deer in the Parks know that they are in the Parks; that is, they know you cannot shoot them. Therefore, they do not care what you do. Their chief objective is, actually, to annoy the hell out of you. You’ll see what I mean.

The National Park Service has a weird way of handling the backcountry that doesn’t seem obvious, so I’ll go into it a bit. You apply for a permit, (the specifics are different at every park,) and they work out an itinerary for you along your chosen trail that places you at a given campsite on each night. In other words, they reserve a site for you, and you handle the rest. The theory is that if no one reports having seen you at these sites after your family reports you missing, they can mount a rescue operation along your supposed route, within at least a few days.

These campgrounds are unlike any other campground. Even though I knew they were coming, I typically didn’t realize I was there until I walked into the post to which the map was stapled. They usually contain about 3-4 campsites, a food prep area well away from the sites, and a pit toilet. It’s all dispersed over a very large area, (say, 300 yards end-to-end,) so you are essentially still camping in the woods.  In tonight’s case, there were no other campers, and hence, I have no fun stories to tell.

But still, there is no escaping the thrilling reality of a trip in the backcountry. Especially a solo hike; while not necessarily intrinsically dangerous, bad decisions when far away from help can easily escalate to form a chain reaction with catastrophic consequences. Typically, these situations are preventable, but the opportunity to truncate the disaster is missed by those who are usually too stubborn to back down in the face of Nature’s superior firepower. A well known example of this sort of self-destructive behavior is the 1996 Everest Expedition, which is recounted in Jon Kroukour’s (his name is hard enough to spell, chances are one in a million I could do it without looking it up,) Into Thin Air. When I entered the backcountry office to get my permit, I was greeted by a poster for a missing person, the subheading of which was “please report any scattered or dispersed parts of"…” followed by a general description of the man and his equipment.

So there is risk, but there is also a substantial reward. The culmination of a day’s hike, while significant in and of itself, is amplified each day as you close in to the ultimate goal; that final step off that last trailhead. Those first 13.8 miles were a good accomplishment; after completing 38 miles, a genuine and uncontrollable grin came over my face. Upon re-crossing the border – and I’ll leave that story for its own day – and returning to find my car… that was a euphoric moment.

Again, following the now established tradition, I’ll leave you with pictures rather than a minute by minute account of every step I took. Unfortunately, I can only include one now, as when I do get a cell signal with which to send this in, anything more than that would get dicey. Again, I’ll post many, many more picture up on the Picasa albums when I get home, because I took hundreds on this hike alone.

 

A couple quick notes:

As you may have gathered, I have been essentially without an internet connection for the last 10 days, and my cell phone signals have been very spotty at best. I have (hopefully) gotten all of the emails many of you have sent and I appreciate your thoughts, even if I haven’t responded yet.

Finally, this trip is, amazingly, drawing to a close. I am currently about, say, 25 miles north of Ashton, Idaho. I plan on passing through Salt Lake City tomorrow, ( which would be Saturday, maybe spending the night?) and then heading to Arches National Park and Canyonlands. After this I will be swinging back towards home and expect to be back there around August 15th.

Thanks again for following along.

Day Thirty Seven, Glacier National Park, MT: Check In

Haven’t been able to update recently because of basically no internet. Even now, I’m only connected by cell phone, so I have to keep it brief.

So we left off on Wednesday night. I spent Thursday night in Montana west of Yellowstone in a National Forest, after driving through part of Yellowstone during the day. I spent Friday night at a campground outside the Northeast corner of Yellowstone. I spent Friday and Saturday morning doing the rest of Yellowstone. On Saturday I drove up to Glacier National Park and camped out in the Indian Reservation at an old abandoned campground.

Today, Sunday, I arranged to go on a backcountry trip in the Northeast corner of Glacier. The trip is a 35 mile, 3 night, 4 day, hike. The neat part is that it starts in Montana at the Chief Montain Trailhead and ends in Canada at the Waterton Townsite Trailhead, where I plan to hitchhike my way back to the border and my car. I leave on Monday morning, and should be back in contact Thursday night.

But I thought I’d get in touch. I am just sending this post through a cell phone internet connection, but other than that I have not been online since Wednesday, so I haven’t seen any comments. But thanks for continuing to follow along!

Day Thirty Three, Grand Teton National Park, WY: “A 2,000lb Bull Will Ruin Your Car”

I’m back to real-time writing. And again, I find myself sitting next to a campfire on the wonderful Shadow Mountain in the Teton National Forest. My site on Shadow Mountain overlooks the Tetons to the west, across a beautiful plain of multicolored  wildflowers. The site is, being in a forest, generally secluded. Once the sun set behind the Tetons, what few mosquitoes there were disappeared. Furthermore, there is enough of a cell signal for me to briefly connect to the internet and send in this post. In short, this site is a dream.

Unsurprisingly, at least to myself, it took me about two days under a roof in Jackson before I yearned to return to a tent. This is not meant as a sleight against my host or his habitations; rather, a tip of the hat to the freedom, solitude, and space that comes with a secluded camp. The reward of reaching the end of any hike is substantial, often in the form of a beautiful lake ringed by soaring, snow covered mountains. After a four day return to semi-urban life, I found that I missed those experiences. And I was glad to get back on the road to Grand Teton and Yellowstone. (For those of you who may not be familiar with the geography of the area, Grand Teton is about 20 miles directly to the north of Jackson. Yellowstone sits atop of Grand Teton.)

I did go on a short hike today, of perhaps 2.5 miles total, from the new visitors center at the Lawrence S. Rockefeller Preserve – a recent gift to the National Park from its namesake – to Phelp’s Lake. To call the center a visitors center seems a little inappropriate; it is a small building of wide spaces and reminds me more of an old-style sanitarium for nature lovers than a visitor center. Visitor centers are typically very crowded and meant for masses of travelers; the LSR is too new to appear on any map and is infrequently visited.

As usual, I met some great people. Hardly a day has gone by in the weeks since I’ve left Denver – and therefore wondered through the parks and towns on my own – that I have failed to meet someone with whom I exchanged numbers or email addresses. This has been one of the most enjoyable experiences of the trip; meeting people from regions of the country other than my own, gaining their perception on issues and events, and hearing their stories, and it provides an ever-changing context within which I enjoy my own timeline. In this case, I met a CPA from New York City and a couple from Boston on the trail. (I hope to have pictures of this hike, including some Moose I ran into on the road out of the center, up tomorrow.)

Simply because this is far and away the most enjoyable campsite I have encountered, I plan on spending the next night here. Because the road down the mountain is long, that will mean spending the next day here as well. I also plan on waking up early to get some shots of the sun rising across from the Tetons. I’m looking forward to it. (This post’s title comes off a roadway sign alerting motorists of the wildlife crossing that is, essentially, every mile of road in the park.)

Day Twenty Nine through Thirty Two, Jackson, WY: “Dude, we’ve just lost a day.”

The updates have been scarce lately for two reasons. First, I was already running a backlog of hundreds of pictures from Grand Teton that I had to sort through so I could do the last two posts. Second, I needed a vacation from my vacation.

I have spent the last several days – Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday – in Jackson, a small town of about 9,000 just south of Grand Teton National Park. I simply needed to settle down for a bit, clean up the car, mail some things, pick up some small groceries, and just relax under a roof.

On Saturday night, I went to the Snake River Brewery to try one of their beers. To make a long story short, the stories I was telling at the bar soon meant people were buying me beers faster than I could drink them. I met a forest ranger from the nearby National Forest at the bar, and he offered to put me up for the night. Doug was a great guy and it was a nice gesture.

The next day – Sunday – was my birthday, and I did enjoy hearing from all those who I talked to. I spent Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday night at a guy’s house who I met on couchsurfing.com, Dan, who was a great host. After having spent the previous eight nights outside, it felt great to get under a roof. I spent Sunday night just relaxing. 

The title of the post refers to something Dan said after we spent most of the day on Monday watching the TV show Arrested Development. And that was Monday; I didn’t get much done at all.

I spent Tuesday getting ready for the next week or two; groceries, water, etc. I finished assembling a do-it-yourself solar panel charger, which has an output in the form of a car cigarette adapter, allowing me to charge almost any of my electronic devices – including my laptop – from a lightweight and paperback-book sized solar charger. Very convenient. Finally, Dan and his two roommates and I had a nice “family dinner,” complete with fried chicken and mashed potatoes. It was a nice feeling to eat real food with other people again.

Now it’s Wednesday, and I’m leaving soon for Yellowstone. I may stop another day in Grand Teton; I’m not sure yet. Either way, I am hoping to get back to the more regular update schedule. As long as I can hook onto a cell phone signal for a few minutes a day in the park, I will be able to send out the updates.

Thanks for following along. 

Day Twenty Eight, Grand Teton National Park, WY: Amphitheater Lake

On Friday, I woke up at 6.00am to start the hike up to Surprise Lake and Amphitheatre Lake in Grand Teton. Mike and I had decided to do the hike together, as it would take at least 5 hours. The hike starts at about 6,700 feet and continues up through about 13 switchbacks.

Again, I think it is better to include pictures than tell the story. The joy of the uninterrupted scenery is only amplified by the almost absolute lack of any other hikers on the trail. Because the Surprise Lake trail is one of the more strenuous day hikes in Grand Teton, it is far less popular than most of the other trails.

Directly before you reach Surprise Lake, the trail becomes a little bit less defined and kind of dead-ends in a small pool which is fueled by snow melt, (see that below).

After 5 miles and an elevation gain of 3,000 feet, the trail stops at Surprise Lake. Made of snow runoff from the mountains above, the result is a small, calm lake with crystal clear waters, surrounded by snow-covered mountains.

 Surprise Lake

 Amphitheater Lake

 Runoff from Amphitheater Lake, into Surprise Lake

After the hike, Mike and I grabbed some food and again camped out in the National Forest outside of Grand Teton.

See many more pictures at http://picasaweb.google.com/reidksmith

Day Twenty Seven, Grand Teton National Park, WY: Open Space

On Thursday morning, I woke up early in the Shoshone National Forest, having camped out the same site outside Lander that I spent the previous night in.

I spent the day continuing the drive to Grand Teton and Yellowstone. On paper, the trip was only about two hours long. But because I pulled over so often to take pictures and hit a major construction project, it took me about four. I enjoyed the drive in any case; I said before, unlike Kansas, Wyoming has some awesome geological formations that make for a tremendous driving environment. It was very tough to choose which pictures to include.

After I arrived at Grand Teton National Park, I took a nice walk along the outside of Colter Bay, which includes one of the several Marinas along  Jackson Lake.

I spent the night in Bridger-Teton National Forest. Unlike most forests, this one does not have many dispersed camp sites, so I was forced to stay in a more developed campground. However, it was at this camp that I met Mike, a dietician from Minnesota a couple years older than me. Mike had just got back from a week-long backcountry trip through Yellowstone.

I had planned to do the Surprise Lake/Amphitheatre Lake Hike the next day, and I asked Mike if he’d like to come along – it’s always more fun hiking with someone else, especially on longer hikes. Mike was up for it.

Check out some more pictures at http://picasaweb.google.com/reidksmith

Day Twenty Seven and Twenty Eight, Grand Teton National Park, WY: Check In

I don’t have the time to write a complete post right now, but I thought I would just give a brief synopsis of the last few days for now, and fill in the details with pictures tomorrow…

Thursday, Day Twenty Seven:
I drove out to Grand Teton National Park. It’s a great drive and I have a ton of pictures from it that I still have to look through. After arriving at the park, I went on a short hike around Colter Bay. I camped out again in a National Forest. However, this forest has no dispersed campsites, and instead has gaggle of about 7 sites right next to each other, campground-style. I met a guy named Mike, a few years older than me, who had just gotten back from a week-long backcountry trip in Yellowstone.

Friday, Day Twenty Eight:
It’s now been four weeks since I began this trip. Mike and I start the Surprise Lake/Amphitheater Lake Hike in Grand Teton around 8.00am. The hike is a 10 mile hike that gains 3,000 feet in elevation and ends at Surprise Lake; another 0.3 miles brings you to Amphitheater Lake. After this hike, it was back to the same National Forest campsite. I have about 300 pictures from the hike and the one below is a good representation of what the rest look like.

The mosquitoes at that site were unreal. Even with mosquito coils burning and a terribly smoky fire, the air was filled with swarms and swarms of buzzing bites. This was the fourth night in a row that I have dealt with uninhabitable mosquitoes and I decide that there is absolutely no way I am dealing with it again tomorrow.

 Surprise Lake, ~9,900 feet

Saturday, Day Twenty Nine:
Today Mike and I went down to Jackson, a city of 9,000 just south of the park. We had lunch at Mountain High Pizza Pie before Mike drove back home to Minnesota. It was great to meet someone of a similar mind and have someone to talk to after having spent the last week alone. I then started looking for a place to spend the night. I went to a Sports Authority and asked around; I found that the Pacific Creek Trail that I was on is one of the worst mosquito sites around. But I was given a few other good sites to try tonight.

I have some requests in to CouchSurf with some people around Jackson, and hopefully some will come through tonight or tomorrow. I’ve slept outside now for eight nights in a row, and tonight will make nine. So I would really enjoy sleeping indoors – a place where I don’t have to pitch the tent, keep the food in bear safe containers, be constantly mobbed by bugs, etc.

I’m going to try to do a proper post tomorrow, with many more pictures and details from the hike.

Thanks again to everyone for following along and making comments, either through the site or by getting a hold of me. It’s a great feeling to know that people back home are interested in what I do, and humbling to know that they enjoy what I write.

Day Twenty Five, about 12 miles outside Lander, WY: Hike and Drive

On Tuesday, I did a short and easy hike in RMNP, as I was planning to get on the road to Yellowstone at a decent time. I chose the East Inlet Trail, which walks along the East Inlet Creek. I only hiked the first 2.5 miles of the trail and back, which is generally flat and easy going. The first leg of the trail goes through Adam’s Falls, which is a fantastic sight.

Again, there is not much to talk about but there are a lot of cool pictures. Be sure to check the Picasa Album for more pictures; there are a ton of great pictures that I couldn’t fit into the post.

I left for Yellowstone at about 1.30pm. Having been told the park was about 500 miles away from Grand Lake, I allowed two days for it, but had planned no specific course. The route to Yellowstone from RMNP is only on the interstate for a few miles, the rest of the time through winding state roads that, very, very occasionally, run through small, (pop. 500, tops) towns. After the hike, I avoided getting something to eat in Grand Lake because of the high cost, and in an episode of ill planning had thought I would just grab something from McDonalds further down the road. Having not seen a McDonalds for several days should have set off some bells; it did not.

This northern part of Colorado is barely inhabited, and this sparse inhabitation makes for a great driving experience. CO-125 winds on for 53 miles through soft mountains and dense forest. The curves of the road hug the ridges of the hills, and there are hardly any cars around – a driver’s dream. The one frustrating moment occurred when I hit construction; you would think this would not be a big deal on a road where you might see one car every 10 miles. I had just pulled up to a flagman when he let the car in front of me go. He told me that I had just missed the pilot car, and he would have to drive down the length of construction and make the next trip back before I could go. 10-15 minutes was his guess, (but it was kind of cool to drive right by a road being actively repaved.)

It wasn’t until I had gone 70 miles from Grand Lake that I found a town with a restaurant and a gas station. Walden, CO, is a nice town of 734 people. When I stopped at the Moose Creek Cafe, I was well rewarded with a delicious 1/3lb Bacon Cheeseburger. The next customer was a man with cowboy spurs. A few minutes later came a large black lab named Ace. Apparently the dogs walk through the town freely, as the waitress told me Ace didn’t normally come up onto the porch, but so-and-so’s Beagle would.

I drove another 232 miles through Wyoming, into Lander. Surprisingly, (to me) Wyoming has a lot of interesting geology and the drive is thus quite scenic. I had never given much thought to Wyoming outside of its gross lack of population. There are, again, a lot of pictures on the Picasa album to check out.

When I arrived in Lander around 8pm, it was the first town of more than 5,000 that I had been in for five days. I stopped at a gas station and got directions from someone there to the nearest forest access road. The trip up through the forest was interesting. Lander itself is at about 5,400 feet, (probably the lowest I’ve been since Kansas, 13 days ago) but my campsite was at 8,500 feet. The road through the forest is a back and forth gravel switchback directly up a large mountain. It was quite surprising to look at this mountain when driving in, and then find myself on top of it in short order. My campsite was on a nice lake, and I got there just as the sun was setting.

This was my fifth straight night camping. I am getting very good at lighting fires quickly, but I sure wish I could find a shower around here…

(A lot) more pictures at http://picasaweb.google.com/reidksmith

Day Twenty Four, near Grand Lake, CO: Trail Ridge

On Monday, I woke up in the National Forest on the East side of Rocky Mountain National Park. As I mentioned before, I did not stay the night in the park as I would have to pay to do so.

I’ll try to keep this short. Trail Ridge Road runs through the entirety of Rocky Mountain National Park, and is the highest continuously paved road in the country. It runs right through the Rockies and the Continental Divide, and the highest point is at 12,183 feet. I’ve tried taking some of the better shots, (there were hundreds,) and putting them below. The first two shots are of Lily Lake, which I drove by on my way to the Park in the morning.

 Long’s Peak, 14,259 feet, (above)

After I got down from the park, I was in the town of Grand Lake, with a population of about 500 people. I had a burger and went to a micro pub in town, where I had a beer with a guy who told me how I could get to the National Forest outside town. As I mentioned before, the only reliable way to find access points is to ask around.

Look here for more pictures: http://picasaweb.google.com/reidksmith. For now, I will only have the same as above posted in higher resolution, but I will try to get some more up when I have time.

Day Twenty Three, near Meeker Park, CO: The boring moments

I’m typing this up on Sunday night – I’m back to writing in real-time again.

It’s some time past 10pm, and I’m sitting in front of my fire. There is a calm breeze that directs the smoke away from me and off to my left, but is light enough that the fire still keeps me warm. My tent is off to my right. The last people I saw were riding on horseback perhaps three miles down the rocky dirt road I drove up in. Directly above me are all the stars I have ever seen and many I’ve never been able to. The only sound I hear is the occasional popping of the fire and rustling of tree leaves. This accompanied by less frequent, intermittent sounds of wildlife; some birds, and some small unidentified animals as well.

I am unsure exactly where I am. Rather, I am unsure of where to call that place.  The unpaved road I came in on is not on the GPS road map. I am at least 20 minutes and five miles off the paved road. According to my GPS, I am at about 8,500 feet, my third straight night above 7,600, and tenth above 5,500. And, also for the third straight night, I camp in a place with no cell phone coverage. I am no longer disturbed by this; the only inconvenience is that these posts are not transmitted through the ether – I must find a reliable signal in order to send them in.

Having explained the night, let me go back to the day.

I got a relatively late start, leaving my last campsite at nearly 11am. I headed into town, where my first order of business was to pick up a few things at Safeway, (think Kroger with higher prices). Next is the Laundromat for a shower, (which, around here, appears to be a normal practice, at least for transients such as myself). I head to a local fruit smoothie shop, (naturally, every town of 5,000 should have at least one,) for a delicious and even reasonably priced ham sandwich. Pretzel included. Fortunately all of these stores were located in the same shopping center. By now it was about 1.30pm.

By this time, the weather – which had been steadily worsening throughout the day – had turned to rain. I headed to the library to type up Saturday’s post and check on the world.

I realize that, like a TV show, I sometimes only include the important events of the day or the momentous decisions that ultimately cause those outcomes. But the last three days especially have been far more than a series of dramatic plot twists. Most of the day Saturday was spent reading on a lake. In fact, almost 8 hours were cramped into a few short sentences. I am alone, and thus I can spend my days as I please. It is the otherwise boring moments – those that, at home, beg for action or explanation – that provide me the most pleasure, and are often impossible to transcribe through a keyboard. Or, they are just boring to read about it if you aren’t there yourself. Perhaps I simply need a vacation. I do not think one could continue like this forever. But for now, when I run out of things to do, I can simply move on to the next town. Such was the fate of Estes Park, and thus Rocky Mountain National Park was my next destination.

I make my way to Rocky Mountain National Park – my original goal on Friday night – to decide where I will stay next. By the time I find myself in the Backcountry office, it is nearly 7.00pm. The ranger tells me that I can stay in the park for a $20 entrance fee, and for an additional $20, I can camp 1.2 miles from my car. At an earlier point in the day, this would not be a problem. But now, it would be nearly dark by the time I got to my campsite.

Ranger Dale offered a ready alternative. If I took highway 7 south some number of miles, I would see a sign indicating Forest Access. Drive past the private property and you’ll find yourself a good spot. I do, however, intend to return to the park on Monday. I just cannot justify paying for a campsite with one so close by for free. The backcountry permit at a National Park is fine if you are going backpacking. But if you are backpacking simply to get to your designated campsite, it is a little odd. All I need is a place to spend the night. To pay for the privilege to haul everything there on foot seems strange. If National Forests did not offer the same – or even more – solitude as a National Park, the decision wouldn’t be as easy.

Car camping, I have come to see, is what you make of it. The only difference between car camping and backpacking-camping is that you are hauling your gear through the woods. Some people choose, as their gear, items that are grotesquely out of place in the wilderness. For them, car camping is a way to get halfway there. My gear is substantial because I am camping out for days at a time, but it is backpacking gear.For me, the only difference between a site I drive to and one I walk to is how I got there.

I’m not sure if I’ve talked about National Forests yet. They are a good deal, a “land of many uses,” in Dale’s words. National Forests have almost no rules and no restrictions. They are, essentially, minimally managed public use lands; this country’s best kept secret. Imagine a campground where you are the only camper, there are no fees, and you can pitch your tent wherever it will fit. The one catch is that they are extremely hard to find. In my experience so far, the best way to find access points – essentially dirt roads through the woods – is to ask around or hope you chance upon them.

I arrive at my new campsite around 8.30pm after a short drive from the RMNP gate. Being a forest, wood is plentiful, (one of the few NF regulations are that only dead and fallen wood may be used for firewood.) The fire comes easily. The tent is effortlessly pitched in the almost non-existent wind.  With the fire burning and a short stack of wood sawed by hand just to my right, I sit down to try to put the feeling into words.

These are big words for a starry night spent alone by a fire in a forest, and I’m not sure they fit. Their simple meaning alone makes it all sound far more substantial than it is, but it is that very lack of substance that makes it so outstanding.

As I send out this post, it is Monday morning, and I’m at the Visitor’s Center at RMNP.

I have a bunch of good pictures to include here, but I don’t have the time to process and edit them. So look for them in the next couple days at http://picasaweb.google.com/reidksmith.

Day Twenty Two, Estes Park, CO: Way down

It’s Saturday morning. I awake in the forest around 7am. It’s early, but it’s light outside. I hear the flowing creek nearby and a gaggle of woodland critters, mostly birds. I see no bear claw marks in my tent, thankfully.

The best way to handle my situation now, (click here if you haven’t yet read the previous day’s entry,) is to try to get as far down the mountain as possible before I have to stop. The man I met yesterday told me that the town was 4 or 5 miles away; I assume that I have at least a 5 mile trip ahead of me. I am shooting for Doan’s Garage, but with no directory or cell phone signal, I have no idea where that might be. In the condition that my car is in, I do know that every second counts, and it will be a give and take relationship between speed and heat. The farther I can get the car down the mountain before it overheats again, the less distance I have to walk. My goal is two miles; that leaves me with a comfortable hour-long hike downhill.

As I’m packing up the tent, I’m suddenly about 15 feet away from a deer and her fawn. They had just rounded a pile of wood, and had apparently not heard or smelled me beforehand. For a long second we stared at each other before they both turned and bolted. These were smaller, Michigan-style deer, unlike those I encountered the night before.  I finish packing up camp and haul the gear up the trail to my car. The trail is a switchback, cut across a very steep grade. It is a short but grueling climb as the trail rises in elevation at least 150 feet.

I turn on my cell phone radio, hoping to know as soon as I’m back within coverage. With everything thrown somewhat pell-mell into the car, I start her up and quickly back out of the pull out and into the road. It isn’t yet past 8.30am, and the traffic is very light.

For the next mile the road is neither down hill or level, but a slight grade up. However, it is slight, and the engine holds. The temperature quickly rises to normal operating temperature, albeit in an abnormally short amount of time. After about two miles, small homes begin to dot the road. I know, at this point, that I will avoid I worst-case scenario. The phone vibrates, telling me that I have now have messages waiting and that I am back within coverage. I take a short pull off, coasting along the length of it and quickly punching “auto service” into Google Maps on my Blackberry. I select Doan’s Garage and tell it to take me there. The car grumbles back onto the highway. I now have contact with the outside world, a destination, and a way to get there. It feels good.

It’s a mere 2.5 miles to go and it looks as though we’ll make it.

Just then, the descent begins, and I am suddenly looking down a winding mountain road. I’m elated. I can feel the rarefied mountain air coursing through the car – through the windows, the radiator, and around my body – a feeling made only more comforting by the heater thrusting hot air through the car at maximum power, a meek attempt at a substitute radiator.

I round a pass and am suddenly looking down on a quiet little mountain town, with a beautiful lake forming a gateway fence. The causeway over the lake and into the town reminds me of flying into New Orleans. But the town beyond is a different scene. It looks happy and even cozy. I coast down the steep grade, applying breaks sparingly – a break fire is almost as high on the list of things I want to avoid doing as an engine fire  – and stay off the gas. It’s only another mile until Doan’s, and I am now sure that hiking in will be unnecessary.

I park the car in front of an old shop titled “Doan’s Garage” and am a little dismayed at the “CLOSED” sign. Especially in light of Doan’s open garage door. I walk in the oversized door. I’ve never been so excited to be greeted with a greasy, crooked-toothed, hillbilly smile.

Jeremy and I pop the hood and have a good look inside Old Smokey. Confirming what I’ve known for the last 12 hours, he tells me that she “sure is boilin’” and that this sort of behavior is not normal. He tells me he’ll have a look at the car and give me a call when he finds something. I ask him what he suggests for breakfast, and he points me down the street and across an alley to the homely Mountaineer Diner. I load up my pack with a gallon of water, my laptop, camera, and some books. I head to the Diner, and enjoy the most delicious Cheese Lovers Omelet of all time. I enjoy the coffee, which, happily, does not cause me to tweak out like McDonald’s Coffee does.

As I leave the diner I again consider my situation. It is far more pleasant than when I last did so. I’m in a quiet little mountain town, shades of South Park, and there is a beautiful lake not far away, her surface broken only by kayaks, fishing lines, and the occasional sandbar.

I again turn to my trustworthy Google Maps. I plot a course directly for McDonalds about a mile away. It is truly a scenic town. 

I wash my arms and face at the McDonalds and offload some of the pictures from my memory card to my laptop. I take no food, having just eaten at the diner. I leave McDonalds and see a Visitor’s Center across the road, finalizing what had been a rapidly growing suspicion that I am in a tourist town; I am trapped in a city that people visit voluntarily. I step inside the Center but feel uncomfortable within the large shoulder-to-shoulder mass of people, many speaking English only as rough second language. I quickly turn around and exit, seeing a sign that says “Estes River Trail 1.2 miles, <—.” I head down the trail, along the same river seen above. I leave the concrete trail and head down a dirt path the hugs the river. Suddenly I am in a golf course. I smile at my change of circumstances.

Eventually a find a bench with a wooden shade that rests on the shores of the lake. There are a few fishermen. Having finished 1776 the night before, I settle down with H.G. Well’s The Time Machine, a book I read as a boy many years ago.

Jeremy calls around 2.30pm and tells me that he has found the problem. Luckily, it was a destroyed radiator cap and not a broken water pump, as we had both originally feared. I finish The Time Machine and return to my car. It’s quite a walk back, but I find an interesting surprise along the way.

After I get my car back, I enjoy a homemade meal from Taco Bell.

I begin to consider where I will spend the night. I know the National Forest outside the town – where I spent the last night – is free and secluded, but I’m not quite ready to enjoy those circumstances again. I opt for the Hermit Park Open Space, a(county-run?) campground outside of town. There is a small fee, but that in itself is a small price to pay for the security of people. I meet a fellow at the registration office who happens to be camping with his sons and a couple of their friends in a campsite just down the trail from mine. Between the two of us, we get the last two available campsites in the park. Allen invites me over and I tell him I’ll see him after I pitch my tent.

There is a slight drizzle as I set up my tent. I’m relieved to be in the company of others again. The night before was a truly unnerving experience, one that can’t be explained until you’ve known it. The reality of being alone, unable to reach anyone by phone or by, for the immediate future at least, car, is unsettling enough. To be over 1,500 miles from home, in a bear-populated forest, with little other that topographical knowledge of what lays ahead makes the situation even more unsettling.

Fear is not an accurate description, because I was not scared. I was uniquely suited to spend time outside. Bear attacks, as frightening as they may be, are quite rare. The fact that my car may not run was irrelevant; she still contained a virtual outdoors store within her frame. I had food for weeks, means with which to catch more in the remote possibility that it ever became necessary, clothing with which to weather any weather, and gear to complete almost any task. Was it the mere threat of loneliness? The knowledge that I could not, if I wanted to or needed to, get a hold of anyone, regardless of how hard I tried? Whatever it was, it manifested itself in an unsettling feeling. Fear, no.

Allen and his kids have a warm fire going by the time I arrive at their site. Again, it provides a special warmth, especially after the previous night’s happenings. I laugh at how easy it is to get a fire going when there are virtual cords of dead and dry wood nearby and visible in diminishing daylight. We all talk for awhile and eventually I head back to my own tent. I start on Well’s The Invisible Man. I don’t get far before I drift off into a deep sleep. And I sleep later than I have any other night in the last three weeks.

A note on updates: It’s clear that I’m running about a day or two behind on updates sometimes. This may not always be the case, and I’ve started working in days of the weeks to avoid confusion. If you are receiving your updates by email, remember to go to the full site at http://www.reidksmith.com to see a full sidebar with a (semi-live) map of my location and Twitter updates of my activities.

Day Twenty One, 5 miles outside Estes Park, CO: Breakdown

Friday was finally the day that I left my Uncle Ben and Aunt Mary’s house. I had not spent time with them in years, and it was great to get to get caught up with each other. The plan after Denver had always been vague, and it was not until the day before that I decided that I would head North, to Rocky Mountain National Park, for the next leg of the trip.

And thus I left. No longer staying in other people’s homes or passing between them, the umbilical tether of kind hospitality is officially severed. Now, next is a relative term. Everything from the next bed, (which have already been scarce,) to the next wall outlet is an open question. I plan on CouchSurfing where I can, hopefully about once a week, to freshen up and not have to worry about where I’ll be spending the next night.

Of course, sometimes, you don’t choose where you’ll spend the night. The choice is made for you.

The drive from Denver to RMNP is a pleasant one. After the road passes through Boulder, it winds up and down, left and right, quite literally cutting its way through the mountain. But the numerous twists and turns, slopes and downgrades are an obvious reminder that, as much as we humans shape our environment, we are still granted only limited freedom and creativity over what remains, ostensibly, Nature’s possession.

The road continues to wind along the somewhat natural paths, the path of least resistance. The road is one of the most scenic I have been on, with nothing but canyons and forest, especially in the final stretch before Estes Park, the town that calls itself the “Gateway to Rocky National Mountain Park.” Other than the cars and the road, there is only the mountains and forest. Big Smokey and I continued to ascend, descend, rise, and fall. And eventually, with only the slightest warning, Smokey’s temperature gauge ascends, and ascends, and does not fall. With one final push from the overheated engine, we make it to a pull off to cool down. No sooner do the front tires leave the road than the car dies, power steering failing, and making for one dramatic moment where the car is headed towards the cliff, force then bringing the wheel back to the pull off. 

The  grade had not been that steep, and the drive not that long. It is apparent that something is very wrong with the car, something which cannot be fixed, and it is shortly thereafter that four other facts enter the mind. 1) I am in bear country, where, due to the close proximity of the national park, bears have become adept at finding and taking human food. When they detect humans and cannot immediately avail themselves of the human’s food, they begin to look harder for that food. Sometimes they search the human directly. 2) No one is expecting me at any place at any time, Ben knowing only that I will be at RMNP by nightfall, and will try to let him know where I am at that point. 3) I have no way to contact anyone, because I have no cell phone reception. 4) There is no shoulder on the road. The only way to get down the mountain is to drive down the mountain.

Had just three of those four things occurred, there would be no problem. With no bears, I could camp out for weeks without concern. Had someone missed me, their first path would be the only road leading to RMNP, where they would have quickly discovered the car. Had I a cell phone signal, I could have called for a tow. With a shoulder on the road, I could hike into town within a few hours in the light of the next day. None of these outs were possible, and as if to remind me that I was, indeed, in odd circumstances, I soon had visitors.

Some kind of large deer, to be sure, and much unlike the smaller deer in Michigan, who know humans well enough to stay away, (but indeed, these deer would appear eventually). Slowly these large animals sauntered up to the disabled car, having quietly snuck up from my blind spot, catching me with the window down. If there is a world record for grabbing your keys, thrusting them into the accessory position, and rolling up the windows, it belongs to me.

What I really had, at this point, were three options. It had been about 20 minutes since the car at died at 6.20pm. Perhaps the car can idle its way back into lower climes. Or, the car can continue driving. Or, I can stay with the car until something else happens. Option A clearly being the only choice, I let the car sit for a while longer, start her up, and allow her to idle with the hood popped. She is soon down to just above her normal operating temperature. Maybe it really was the grade, and the engine just needed a quick cool down? I slam the hood shut to see if the change keeps. It does not, and the car is dead before I can make it back inside.

Three options are reduced to two. The car is now stuck on the mountain for the foreseeable future; that much is certain. Unless I can find a path into the forest below, I am stick with the car. In the choice between inaction and action, however, it is always action which will carry the day. There are pull offs every few thousand feet or so on this road. I read David McCullough's 1776 for another hour or so, and then I make my move, kicking the car into drive and coaxing what power I can from the beleaguered engine. At best, I hope to find a cell signal up the road as far as I can get.

Smokey gets all of 600 feet before she begins to smoke again, but this time I’m lucky. Just ahead is the trailhead at Lion’s Gulch, a switchback trail that leads down the steep cliff into the valley below. As part of the US Forest Service, it is one of the many such unpatrolled and virtually unregulated sites in the country. The luck holds; there is a man getting into his car in this, what is essentially a small parking lot of a pull off. From him, I get some valuable and helpful information: The next 5 miles to Estes Park are relatively flat or downhill. Estes Park means I continue the way I had been going, and the knowledge of the terrain means I can make a run for a substantial portion of the distance the next day in the car. Even with a shot radiator, I can hope for at least a couple miles. Once in town, I should go to Doan’s Garage.

By now it is approaching 8.00pm. I throw what I need into my pack and grab my tent, sleeping pad, and bag and top off my water supply from the tank in my car. I leave a small, discrete note on my dash, saying simply, “Ben – overheated. Down the trail.” In the event that something does happen, eventually someone – hopefully Ben – would find the note. I head down the switchback trail and into the valley, the “Lion’s Gulch.” After a few hundred yards I cross a river, and here the trail splits two ways; to the right continues the trail, for another several miles at least. To the left, there is a path clearly less frequented and barely visible through the high grass. As night gathers, it is here that I search for a place to spend the night.

Having started as a path through tall grasses near the creek, both grasses and path quickly degenerate to a mere tunnel through a large forest of evergreens. The tent goes in the first spot large enough to fit it. The night continues to close in, and by the time the tent is set up, a proper gathering of firewood is out of the question, having only the aid of a headlamp to seek it out. Pine boughs make great kindling; however, I have yet to start a substantive fire with evergreen branches.

I have a camping stove for just this occasion. I quickly boil some water and cook some noodles for dinner. I laugh at not stopping at a Little Caesar’s on the way out of Boulder, having the urge to grab a hometown pizza but deciding against it for reasons unknown. Instead, I’m stuck cooking a noodle dinner. It is past 9pm and completely dark.

It is then that I realize, and not for the first time, the stark precariousness of my situation. I am completely alone, with no way to contact the outside world, and no method to reach it other than my own two feet and a crippled car. The issue is not so much with finding a way out; I am near a trailhead and thus can expect to find my way to people in a reasonable amount of time. Rather, the main concern is whether or not anyone will find me if I’m unable to find them. With the bugs swarming, I light a mosquito coil and decide that a fire would be nice after all. I gather what I can from fallen branches and use the pine boughs for kindling, (I would later discover abundant birch trees, which would have been far more ideal.)

I light the fire and haul a large log over to sit on while I let it burn. It is amazing what sort of primordial comfort a fire can induce. It can provide company where there otherwise is none. Even if not a physical necessity, the psychological value of fire can never be underestimated.  As the fire dwindles down – the wood that I had gathered would offer only about 30 minutes of flame, still enough to put me in a cheerful mood for the night – I gather all the food items – mostly Clif Bars and other carbohydrates – as well as utensils, and place them in the bear canister I had acquired from REI just that day. To a bear, the canister is unopenable, unhaulable, and unbreakable. To a human, they are much the same, being difficult to open, rather large, and made of some indestructible amalgam of plastics. I place the canister a few hundred feet from the campsite, slightly off the trail where I can find it in the morning. As bears can smell food some five miles away, I hope that the canister is decently airtight as well.

I settle into the tent and finish off 1776. The night cools down rapidly, as I am learning is the custom in the mountains, (I’m currently at around 7,600ft). I crawl into the sleeping bag and slowly nod off.

Adventure is what I wanted, and an adventure is what I got.