taking a break

The days of rest in Frisco were necessary. Sore chest muscles from the bruised ribs, a cut in the left knee and a swollen right knee, along with the shoulder injury from too aggressive polling down the mountains (that's my theory). Add to that a welter of mosquitoe bites on my left arm that stayed red and angry looking, even after the right arm healed. In the middle of the rest period, I lost my appetite and joints became sore. My goodness! I'm a mess!

I enjoyed conversations with my landlord, a tough, smart computer sales executive, blond and fit, who had some inspiring stories about navigating a male dominated industry as a lone female. She had a great career, but it was quite an adventure story. I liked her highly moral approach to sales, and strong relationships with the customer. She was pretty upset over the supreme court Dobbs case, but I hope when the decision is read carefully, it'll be clear that Roe was terrible legislation from the judicial bench -- which is never supposed to happen. Women who want abortions will still be able to get them. And no, contrary to wild assertions that I was expected to just agree on, the USA will not soon devolve to a theocratic state where women are relegated to chattel called "handmaids." ("When do I get mine?" I quipped)

I had some other great talks with a policeman named Roger staying at the place. He'd recently been in Munich, and we talked about mountains and mountain biking, eventually discovering a shared attitude of gratitude for this world we get to participate in.

me and Roger

Roger gave me a ride back to the trail in the morning, which was so helpful. I started walking where Mishap's mom had picked us up a few days before. I just walked the road to highway 9 between Frisco and Breckenridge, saving 10 miles of effort. Then I got on the red line trail to complete the section to Copper Mountain. I'd climbed up to a gorgeous plateau with an impressive view of a high ridge I'd need to cross over, when storm clouds appeared. Soon it was raining, with thunder sounding over the ridge. I found a low route that touched Frisco, then followed a valley trail to Copper Mountain. Despite heavy rain, I enjoyed the walk down to Frisco on good trail along a rushing stream, with happy hikers and bikers coming up the opposite way.

I reached town in an absolute downpour, happy for my umbrella, but my feet were squelched. I drank a hot coffee, rented a room for the night, then walked six miles to Copper Mountain, taking a shuttle back to town in the evening. I'd connected all my "footprints" now, I just needed to get up to i70 and the Gray's Peak trailhead to finally escape the "Frisco Basin" where I was beginning to feel a little trapped.

On the shuttle, I did meet Master Chef and her husband Fuego, the inimitable Czech couple who are so much fun to see. We all went to dinner with Info, who I'd last seen in Lake City, and a fine fellow whose trail name I forgot (for the second time, I think! He and I met on the trail once in the Northern San Juans).

In the morning, I paid 60 bucks for a ride to the Gray's peak exit on i70. I walked back west asking the highest for three miles or so, then finally crossed to the north side of this important roadway. I was escaping the vortex!

Not.

As I climbed up Herman Gulch, I had serious stomach problems. This lead to delays and even, nightmarishly, a soiled garment. I felt really crappy...tired... Couldn't eat anything. And breathing was becoming uncomfortable. The night before, I'd noticed how painful it was to turn over in bed, and these chest pains were getting worse.

I started to mentally calculate easier ways to get over Berthold Pass that might save a couple thousand feet of climbing. I was in poor shape. After a while, even reaching the town of Winter Park in a dignified way started to seem impossible.

Paralyzed by my thoughts and discomfort, I found a flat spot and resolved to camp early and see if tomorrow brought better news. Feeling good to have simply made a decision, I was driven back into consternation when I just tried to lie down to test how level my sleeping spot was. 

The pain of lowering myself to the ground... And getting up again, was so miserable...I asked myself what the hell I was doing here. Bruised ribs, sore muscles, a sick gut... Something had to change. 

With some disgust, I packed up my things and marched back down the valley into the trees. Failure.

You never want to look it in the face. Or let it into your mind. I had a hundred recriminations for myself at earlier points... Warnings unheeded, blithely ignored. The sick gut was fully my fault. In prior days in high mountains, I didn't always treat the water. I had to own that one. Muttering and unhappy, I slowly descended.

I did run into Apples and her husband Man Hands. Wow...I last saw them in the Cebola Wilderness north of Pie Town, New Mexico. She had cheerful words of encouragement, but I didn't believe them. I was really thinking my trip is probably over.

Near the car, I met Anna and Matthew, two skinny students and keen hikers from the Denver area. I asked for a ride that direction, and they were happy to take me to Idaho Springs, so long as I promised to tell them everything I could about hiking the CDT. This cheered me up a good bit, taking me away from thoughts of failure. Matthew and Anna, thank y'all so much for your help and interest!

I spent a night in Idaho Springs, calling my nephew Stephen in Denver. We hatched a plan to meet up there for lunch the next day. And so, I was going down to the flatlands, but with a more than faint hope of returning within a week.