With strong legs and acclimated lungs I had been able to average 20 to 30 mile days through much of Colorado, but recently with the weather, the rough terrain, the birthday festivities, and general laziness, my mileage had dropped to 15-20 a day.
Codi drove us up to the trailhead and hiked with me for a while before heading back for a softball game. Fresh after two zeros, the others had taken off and I was on my own. My knee was a bit sore and my pace slow. I didn't expect to catch Ranger or Guru that day. I climbed above treeline just as the clouds blew in. It wasn't supposed to rain but there was definitely something that was brewing above. I figured I could probably make it up and over the mountain before the storm hit, but with my bummed knee I didn't want to risk it, so I set up my tent in a field halfway up the mountain. It was exposed but I wasn't on the ridge, and I felt pretty safe tucked next to a cliffside.
The storm announced its arrival with a cold wind. I tried to nap for a bit, exhausted. There's something deeply satisfying about laying in your tent, warm and dry, as a storm rips around you. Hail and snow followed, angrily attacking the mountain for fifteen minutes or so. I started a movie and ate snacks, waiting it out. As soon as the storm passed I packed up and continued climbing. It was steep; the last 13000 foot mountain on trail. I recognized where I was along the mountain backdrop I had memorized over the years.
Heading down, I looked out over the valley below as the sun set behind the place I had come to know so well. How many times had I looked out onto these very mountains, eyes searching for the trail? How many times had I imagined myself being out here, walking on the last of the big three? How many times had I imagined this very moment? Nostalgic, I paused to reflect.
I stopped at a junction to a gravel road. There was a flat spot to pitch and it was getting dark. I hadn't come as far as I wanted but I needed rest, so I pitched my tent overlooking the Winter Park lights.
I had to decide first thing in the morning: easy dirt road or ridgeline trail. Both were about the same mileage. Supposedly the trail was tough to navigate, walking over grass and rocks. The road would be cruisy. But even with my knee and need to make up miles, I wanted the adventure. So I took the trail. It wasn't bad; it ran atop the spine of the mountains. Small hills, patches of scree rock, and spots of grassy clumps were nothing new. I could look over either side of the ridge and see the valley below. A few miles in, the trail climbed steeply up a hill. I figured I could traverse around rather than hiking up and over (it's not like there was a trail anyway). I soon discovered why the trail stuck to ridgetop. Bushes clogged the hillside, scratching my legs as I tried to find a path through them. I came to a point where I was directly between the trail and the road. I could either climb above the bushes to the trail or descend below to the road. I decided to descend. Finding my way through the maze of plants, I popped out on the road and cruised til I met back with the trail a mile later. Then another climb.
Three years ago I had hiked up to the infamous Devils Thumb to see what it was all about. It had been cold and windy; fall was well under way. My eyes had found the faint trail leading down from the mountain and I imagined walking down the hill in the future on my thruhike. Now there I was, in the same spot, doing that very thing. I sat down on a familiar rock, looking over the valley still patched with snow. Wow.
Fall of 2019 and Summer 2022:
With many miles to go I continued on. The trail finally departed from the Divide and descended into the trees. I wandered through a mile of massive blowdowns. Trees ripped from the earth, their roots suddenly exposed. Trail crews had cut through hundreds of trees to clear the path. I was thankful for the work they put into it, for walking through the tangle of trees would have been disheartening and slow. I stopped by a creek for a quick lunch, icing my knee with snow I had collected earlier. It seemed to help a lot.
I kept going. A large group passed. I pulled over to the side and drank some water as they filed by. "Where are you going?" one of the guys asked.
"Canada," I said.
He stopped dead. "For real?"
"Yep"
"Well it's just over that hill... you're almost there," he encouraged me, chuckling. "Where'd you start?" "Mexico... I'm on the Continental Divide Trail." I told him, as if that would give him all the answers he needed.
"Wow good for you," he was impressed.
Later on in the line of hikers some young boys said that I had a steep hill coming up. "Great, just what I want," I told them sarcastically. "Well if you jump high enough you won't have to hike it," they joked back. The hill wasn't very steep, and only climbed about 600 feet over two miles. It led to a nice meadow and boardwalks with a sprinkle of rain. The descent was tough though; my knee was not happy with the steep decline.
It was approaching evening when I reached the bottom and skirted a lake, swatting bugs. I welcomed the short road walk which followed. I was in familiar territory again. Not long ago, I had crept along that road in my car over the slippery ice, passing campsites that were waste-deep and snow, now filled with happy families. I stopped briefly at the next lake to boil water for my dehydrated dinner, watching boaters in the evening light.
As with the other trails, I had hidden a note for myself along the CDT and was approaching the spot where I had buried it 5 months before. Soon I crossed a bridge and dropped my pack on the beach. I went to the familiar rock formation, happy I could recognize it without all the snow, and easily found the note I had carefully tucked away. I ate dinner on the beach as I read encouragement from my past self.
I followed some other hikers up the trail, limping along a steep hillside traverse. I would stop at the next flat spot. Eventually the trail dipped down to the lake again and offered such. I pitched my tent as the sun set. So beautiful. I couldn't have asked for a better spot, overlooking a lake on my own private beach. The stars were marvelous.
This is the area where I first knowingly set foot on the CDT in 2018
The next day, trail was mostly flat after one big climb. It hadn't been too bad, and actually cool to get some elevation and look over the lake. Clouds were building. My feet had gotten wet in a bog. My knee hurt. I was moving at a 2mph pace. I just wanted to get to town.
I started to see some more day hikers as I neared the trailhead. "Did you see any moose or bear?" two of them asked as I pulled over to let them pass. "Nope, just their poop," I said and I kept walking. The rain was coming in and I didn't want to waste time chatting. "The people before you said that they saw some!" the woman shouted after me. "I really don't care," I wanted to tell her, but I politely shoved that down and exclaimed surprise.
I neared the edge of town and cruised through a neighborhood, spotting a bear which sauntered into the woods upon seeing me. Soon the trail passed through downtown Grand Lake. I was happy for the opportunity to visit my former boss who lived in the area. We had mushed dogs together and I eagerly said hi to 20 familiar faces with wagging tales. I did laundry, showered, and resupplied before heading to a trail angel's house who generously offered her lawn to thruhikers. I pitched my tent next to Ranger's and joined him on the porch as rain started to fall, then hail, then furiously storm. We cowered in a corner trying to escape the sideways precipitation as we watched lightning smite the nearby mountains. The storm passed through and we retired to our tents under a light rain.
Hanging with the huskies.
It was still raining when I woke up. I was tired and tried to fall back asleep for another hour but didn't have a lot of success; it was too bright outside and there was a lot on my mind. My knee was hurting, and had all night. It wasn't incredibly painful but bad enough to make me wonder if I should be walking on it. There was a massive climb in que for the day, looping through Rocky Mountain National Park. Because we didn't have bear canisters or permits for camping, we had to commit to trekking the 25 mile section in a day. Usually this wouldn't be a problem, but I was getting a late start out of town and I would be moving slow with my knee. So when Ranger mentioned taking the low route I needed little convincing. The low route cut off 17 miles or so of the CDT; that was almost a whole days worth of hiking. There was high potential for storms that afternoon and the CDT was incredibly exposed. Additionally, I wanted to be gentle on my knee. Those excuses felt worthy enough to justify a shortcut.
It was the perfect day to sit in a coffee shop doing absolutely nothing except watch the rain steadily fall and observe the world go on outside. Instead I was in that world, having to walk in the rain. I was only slightly bitter as I hiked through beautiful burn areas. A moose refused to budge from the trail so we skirted around it. My knee was hurting, but not terribly so, and the pace was okay. Still, I fell behind Ranger. I accidentally missed a turn and headed down a side trail which cost me close to a mile.
It wasn't until 2:00 when I finally made it to the spot where I wanted to have lunch. I ate by myself under thick clouds. The rain had temporarily halted. I studied my guide miserably, trying to motivate myself about this hike. The hills made me really want to just not hike, along with the weather, and probably the sheer laziness I was feeling. I thought about quitting and what that would mean and what that would look like. I didn't actually want to quit; in reality I just wanted a day off to catch my breath and do absolutely nothing. Hiking had become a job. And I didn't feel like going to work. I stared at the mountains. An elk slowly made its way across the field grazing, looking over at me every now and again to make sure I wasn't a threat.
I hoisted myself up and kept hiking ever so slowly along the familiar trail. This is where I had come cross country skiing for the first time in the back country. That was the hill I had skied down at a speed too quick from my taste, trying to dodge the trees that still lay fallen over the path. There was the bridge once piled high with 2 feet of snow, making for an exciting crossing.
I ran into Ranger just after the bridge. We decided on a place to camp and I kept moving for fear of mosquitoes. A steep hill cluttered with some fallen trees led to a alpine meadow nestled below a mountain peak. We dried out tents as we cooked dinner. Clouds built overhead once again and we settled in for a movie as the rain started to fall.
I woke up late, but was stoked that my knee felt good. Icing it with snow had seemed to help a bunch. I climbed up the short hill to the mountain pass above, then descended among stubborn patches of snow. The trail was faint; I assumed snow covered the ground for so many months that it didn't allow for tread to pack down a path. Pace was slow climbing over a bunch of downed trees and wading through some soft snow patches, and we had only done six and a half miles by lunch. Even though we had a late start, we had been moving exceptionally slow that day. There was a lot of downhill to torment my knee which had responded by hurting again, and Ranger wasn't feeling well and had moseyed all morning. Over lunch we decided to do another shorter day and agreed to push for the summit of Parkview Mountain10 miles ahead. There was a shelter up there we could sleep in.
I turned on some audiobooks and podcasts to occupy my mind as I hiked, working through yet another burned area, crossing a road, and starting up the mountain. Cool rock formations greeted me on the ridge. Mosquitoes were vicious, but if anything they were good motivation to keep walking. I was relieved when the bugs faded away above treeline. I carried over a gallon of water, as there was none on the peak, and toiled under the weight. The trail was steep and rocky, but beautiful. A mile out I paused to eat a snack, studying the valley below and the clouds rolling in. A small dot moved along the trail below; we would have company that night. Slow and steady, I kept going to try beat the storm.
Ranger had just barely beat me to the shelter; he had chosen a different path up the mountain. It was a small shelter, names of thruhikers adorned the walls in sharpie. The windows had been boarded up, leaving us in a dim light. Strange metal boxes sat in the back, their use long forgotten. This was luxury. We laid out our sleeping bags and settled in, saving space for the person who would probably show up soon. It was just going to be big enough to fit 3 people. As expected, Detour showed up about a half hour later while we cooked dinner.
I watched the sheet of rain approach as I brushed my teeth, a gray wall obscuring the mountains. We settled in, cozy and warm as the rain hit, pattering on the roof. The stone walls held back the wind. Soon we heard a drip, drip, drip... The roof was leaking in the corner. And then another leak joined the first, this one over Detour's sleeping bag. He didn't seem to care. Later yet another leak appeared over Ranger. He covered his bag with a groundcloth to keep dry. I waited for a leak to reveal itself over me but never did.
The light filtered through the cracks in the boarded up windows. At 6:45am the door was flung open and a young woman peeked her head inside. "Oh sorry," she muttered, "I didn't know anyone was in here." "It's all good," I assured her, sitting up. How was she up here so early? Everything for the past three or four miles was exposed and terrible camping. She must have gotten up at like five in the morning. That's ridiculous. Overachiever. She hiked away and we slept a little longer until everyone started to stir. I packed up quick, motivated by having to go to the bathroom but not having a good sheltered place to do it. I limped down the steep hill and finally made it to tree line where I dashed into the short trees. My intestines turned. I almost didn't make it.
The trail skirted a mountain through a burned area and headed back up to a ridge. The clouds were rolling in and I paused to consider continuing up the trail or stopping for lunch and letting the potential storm pass. It looked like there may be another area with trees ahead and so I kept going, as I hadn't done a whole lot of miles that day yet, and soon found Ranger sitting in a nice field. I joined him for lunch. We debated how far to go that day. It would be nice to nearo into town the next day but with my pace it didn't look like it was going to be possible, so we settled on meeting up at a creek and deciding on a campsite there. Breaking off at our own pace, I listened to podcasts and audiobooks. After climbing the ridge (the storm never came) I descended down into the valley on easy terrain.
I found Ranger slapping mosquitoes at our agreed-upon meeting spot. It was a terrible spot to stay and decided to at least make it a few more miles, so we cameled up and hiked out of the valley, climbing over trees to a road. The rutted dirt road was cruisy and wide. I was relieved we would be following it 18 miles all the way to the highway. To avoid a swarm of attack mosquitoes lurking in the trees, we found a place to camp on the ridge. I looked over the valley at the place where we were last night. The hut was a tiny dot on the mountainside. It seemed so close and yet so far, only 18 miles away via the trail. I watched the hills turn pink in the sunset.
We got up early, 6:30, and started down the road. We hiked with each other, as neither of us were able to push a pace alone despite being so close to town. There were a few trucks heading up the hill, rumbling with effort over a deep pothole. We stepped to the side and let them pass. A few miles later we heard them coming back down the road. Do we try to hitch a ride? That was the real question. I was torn: Hitching would be good for my knee, which felt okay but still hurt. On the other hand, I was actually enjoying the easy walk. Ranger stuck out a thumb as the trucks approached, and when the guy told us we could hop in the back of the truck and I excitedly complied. We bounced down a steep hill which would have been incredible painful to walk. The nice thing about riding in a vehicle is that you actually see more than hiking because you're not staring at your feet the whole time. I watched the trees pass by above us, the clouds above them, and the sun over them all. About a mile later we halted at a junction. The driver was headed the other way so we hopped out, thanked him greatly, and continued down the well-graded gravel road.
We neared a field and crossed over a grate. Hundreds of cows munched on the grass on one side of the road. As we approached a few were startled, which sent off a stampede. For some reason the cows thought the other side of the road was safer, and they all charged to the pasture on across the road. These cows were much more skittish than the ones in the desert. A few gates and some more stampeding cows later we connected with the highway. Clouds were building overhead and it looked like we might get hit by a storm.
It started to sprinkle. We stood in the rain with our thumbs out as a few cars passed us by. I figured the fact that there was an oncoming storm would make people more likely to pull over to pick up some thruhikers. Tucked under my umbrella, I waved kindly to all the vehicles as they passed us. The rain picked up, yet still no one stopped. I was astounded at how so many cars zoomed pass pitilessly. We got a few waves, a few shrugs, a few blank stares, but no ride for about 15 minutes. Lightning flickered in the distance. Ranger got uncomfortable with the storm approaching so I agreed to put a pause on hitching. We ran across the road to pitch a tent in the safest spot we could find. It only took a couple minutes to set up the tent but by the time I crawled in I was soaked. Ranger followed me in and we huddled under the shelter as the rain turned sleet pounded overhead. Lightning circled around us, a few miles away.
We started watching Forrest Gump and I pulled out a snack. Now, there are times in a thruhike when you know you're gonna look back and laugh at how crazy the experience was. This was one of those times... Sitting in a tent in the pouring rain, eating Doritos next to highway full of cars, watching Forrest Gump. Good times. As the rain subsided the shiver started, and we climbed out of the tent and packed it up quickly, heading to the road to try hitching again. After about 10 minutes a kind soul pulled over. He was super friendly and dropped us off in downtown Steamboat a half hour later. We promptly headed over to a restaurant to grab some food. It was delicious but not enough, so we rode the free bus to the grocery store to get some more food and resupply. I ran a few more errands and headed to the campground.
I found Ranger by the dog run in the KOA. The tall decorative grasses did nothing to block out the sound of the highway 20 feet away. We had paid $30 for this? Apparently they had just waved him over to the field and told him to pitch anywhere. It was super hot outside and I didn't want to do any chores. Finally getting motivated, I took a shower and did laundry before going to bed. The highway sounds and the loud children lasted til midnight.
It was the fourth of July. Excited for the activities happening in town, I got ready for the day. I made a "smoothie", smashing bananas and blueberries and flax into a talenti jar and pouring in some kefir, shaking it up. It was chunky for a smoothie, but still tasty. I packed up my bag for the day and headed to the bus stop.
The bus was packed full. I got off along the street to watch the parade. There was a huge crowd already gathered; excited children sat on their parents' shoulders and peered through the fence lining the road. I was near the back but could still see through the heads, and shortly the parade started. The police cars went first, their musical sirens sounding through the air. Then some fire trucks and finally some mounted horseman holding flags. Veterans of different wars followed. There were a few creative and notable floats but mostly the parade consisted of people walking along or riding on a trailer, holding signs. Some people squirted us with water, some had bubbles, but I was overall disappointed at the lack of candy being thrown.
I left a bit early and headed to a bookstore café. I found Ranger upstairs and joined him at a table. I got a muffin and some peppermint tea, hoping to ease a growing headache and upset stomach. We hung out there for a few hours, then I headed over to check out the ski jumping competition. Trying to ignore my headache, I walked a quarter mile to the hill, annoyed at how much my knee still bothered me. Folks reclined in lawn chairs and crowded under shade canopies that had been set up for the event. I found a place to tuck into the shade under a magic carpet lift and ate lunch as I watched skiers zoom down the mountain and launch into the air, taking a funny aerodynamic position as they soared until landing on the wet turf below. Lines marked the distance they jumped and cheers would erupt for the boys who jumped the furthest. Guru and Shotgun (a hiker I hadn't spent a lot of time with, but she was part of the hiking bubble) had just gotten into town that morning. They joined me huddling in the small patch of shade I owned, until some of the canopies cleared out and we relocated. I took a little nap as the elimination round started. It didn't seem to help my headache.
My mind was distracted. My knee was not getting any better and I started to fear the worse: getting off trail. At the very least, I knew I had to slow pace for a while, and because of that would lose my trail family and the hiking bubble I had become fond of. I agreed to join the others tubing down the river to distract these intrusive thoughts.
We grabbed tubes and plopped in the water. It was cold but not unbearably so, and we joined the horde of other tubers floating down. It was a pretty swift river; we passed some kayakers, some people surfing off a line tied to a bridge, and some folks wading in the water. People lined the shores, enjoying the cool of the shade. Unfortunately, the river was a little too fast and rocky to completely lay back and relax. Clouds were building overhead and it looked like there was gonna be yet another storm.
I noticed the smell of the sulfur pulled over when I saw the signature deposit of minerals. The natural springs weren't very hot, and people weren't soaking in them. There was probably a reason, but I dipped my knee in one of them for a while to encourage healing. I was desperate for any solution. The river felt cold getting back in. We attached our tubes, holding on so we could chat as we floated until a rock forced us to split ways. All too soon we had floated to the take-out. I just wanted to sit in my tube for a while and lay in the sun, feeling the water beneath me, but it was going to rain soon and a shuttle was waiting.
After returning our tubes I sat outside the café. I researched my knee issues again with growing frustration, trying to figure out what could be wrong. The symptoms didn't match anything I could find, and aside from barely noticeable swelling, there didn't appear to be anything wrong with it visibly. It started to sprinkle and I headed inside where Guru and Shotgun had settled in. I figured this would be goodbye. They were lodging elsewhere and leaving early the next day. Ranger and I had already planned to nearo out and there was no way I would catch them with my pace. "I know it sucks but take care of yourself. If you have to get off trail then you should," Guru told me. I nodded and waved bye. I took the bus to the campground, grabbed my shower stuff, and headed to the bathroom. I let the warm water splash over me as I finally let the tears fall that I had been holding back all day.
After the shower I passed Ranger on the way to my tent. He looked at me, concerned. "I just need to sleep," I told him, and crawled into my shelter. I managed an hour's rest as children laughed in the distance. A lady shouting at her dog woke me up. I felt great for 3 minutes; then the headache and stresses came back. I gathered myself and joined Ranger for dinner.
I had decided to seek professional opinion for my knee. I planned to speak with a physical therapist or do a telehealth call the next day and take it from there. I needed to know how serious it was. I could hike with pain, but I couldn't justify causing lasting damage by pushing through. I didn't have good health coverage, and a trip to a clinic would be either expensive or futile or both, so thus far I had put off getting it checked out. But I felt my knee was controlling me, and I wanted to take control back. Speaking with an educated person and naming the problem would be a step in the right direction.
To close out the holiday Ranger and I did some poppers, creating little explosions against the brick. Fireworks blasted overhead every now and again, and campers partied into the night. I was happy to curl up early and close out the day.
The clouds were heavy when I woke up and I decided to get things packed up before it got wet with rain.
An old friend who had studied athletic training called to talk about my knee. I chatted with him about what it could be. He asked a couple questions... how it happened, where the pain was, how severe the swelling, when it was most painful etc. He didn't think it was damaged soft tissue because of the level of pain and how it had responded. Figured maybe it was a bone bruise, a popped bursa, or possibly a cracked patella. He hadn't seemed too concerned, but when I said it happened nearly two weeks ago and wasn't healing it gave him pause. I informed him that I had been doing shorter hiking days, and had taken 3 days off it to let it heal; he seemed to laugh. Three nonconsecutive days off and low mileage was not rest. It was comforting to hear that after a week of rest it would probably be okay. He told me if it still hurt after actual rest I should go get an x-ray. Thanking him profusely and encouraged by his words, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I met up with Ranger and filled him in about the call. I had thought I was taking it easy this whole time, and had been confused as to why it wasn't healing. Now it was blatantly obvious that a thruhiker's definition of "rest" is very different from a doctor's. The fact that hikers idea of "taking it easy" is still walking 8x more a day than the average American just shows how stubborn and single-minded hikers can be. No wonder it still hurts. The 2 weeks of low mileage were still two weeks with of lots of walking.
Ranger and I hung out at the library and discussed plans. He wanted to go home for a week to be with family during which I could heal up. I hoped to go to the Y where I had worked and volunteer for room and board there while I rested. Until we could set up those logistics, we would take it easy on the last stretch of CO. We decided to nearo out of town that day and do a trail zero the next. I had never done a trail zero, but Ranger was a fan of them. They essentially consisted of hanging out in camp all day relaxing, watching movies, eating, having a fire, and reading. It sounded nice, if maybe a bit boring.
Guru came in to say an official goodbye; after a week off there was no way we would catch him. For a moment it was like old times, all three of us joking and hanging out. But there was a backdrop of sadness. He gave us hugs and headed out. I looked at Ranger, "and then there were two," I joked to lighten the situation. We hadn't seen Ollie and Aaron since starting Colorado, Tiptoe had gotten off for injury and family things, and now Guru was continuing on as we shifted our pace. Tramilies usually don't last to the end.
One more stop to the grocery store to grab zero day snacks, then we made our way toward the highway to hitch. It was probably the fastest hitch I had ever gotten. We weren't even standing out there for a minute when a nice old man pulled over. He was very familiar with thruhikers and eager to help. It looked like we would get an evening rain shower when we were dropped off at the trailhead. We made it three miles before stopping at a creek side. The bugs were terrible so we ate dinner in our tents.
I fell asleep as mosquitoes sang outside. It was good to be back on trail; I was hopeful the coming days would indeed be easy.
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