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Hitting a Wall

Get up. Walk. Struggle through hills, mud, snow, water, wind, sun. Eat. Struggle some more. Try to ignore the ever-growing pain. See some pretty things. Stop. Eat. Sleep. Get up and repeat the next day. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was hitting a motivational wall. A zero and nearo in town had been refreshing, but not enough to reset.

I woke up at 5am to the beautiful sunrise colors and then dozed for another hour. The morning took me through Monarch Pass ski area. As I climbed a ridge the wind steadily blasted me, but I felt energized with a light pack and fresh legs. Reaching the top, I descended among blue lakes and patches of snow. I was cruising when my ankle turned. I toppled down, landing on my knees. When I recovered I saw I had a deep but small cut on my knee. My ankle yelled, and my trekking pole tip had bent. I sat there for a minute, gathering myself. I was thankful to be able to stand and walk normal. A misstep could be the end of the hike. I kept moving and ate lunch by a lake, watching folks fish nearby.



I proceeded along an old railroad, gentle and wide along a mountainside. The trail shimmered under a few inches of snow-melt water. Eventually I gave up trying to keep my feet dry and halfheartedly stomped through. The trail turned sharply up a steep hill, and for the next few hours I fought my way up the mountain, miles creeping along. The snow patches, the steep hill, the elevation, the mud, the water.. all worked against me. I toiled away, step after step. Finally the top, then a few miles more down endless switchbacks until I made it to camp. A moose disguised as a rock looked up as I set up my tent in the valley next to Guru's. I soaked my feet in water colder than ice and tucked into my sleeping bag as the sun set.


 

I heard Guru packing up and didn't want to accept the fact that it was morning, but I joined the party and got everything together. I took off up the hill, gliding up nice gentle switchbacks. Above tree line the wind started to hit. It was temperamental, coming and going in spurts from random directions. I bundled up and kept going. Over the first pass with spectacular views, down, up the next one, more views, down, up the next one... Walking carefully on the loose talus rock and stomping in steps over the short snow traverses. The last climb was brutal, and once I neared the top the wind hit so strong I could hardly breathe. It knocked me backwards, refusing to let me go over the pass. I fought against it, cresting the hill and descending the other side. The wind wasn't any gentler on the backside.

Guru taking shelter from the wind

Not too long after I joined the others in a small nook among trees off the side of the trail for lunch. It was the only sheltered place for miles. I shivered in the wind, peering through the trees at the spectacular valley floor below. It was too cold to stay long. Moving on, the wind continued to knock me around like it was playing pinball. A few more climbs and four miles later over the exposed ridge, the trail finally cut sharply down. One final burp of a hill and then a huge descent sent me into trees that blocked the wind. It had already done its damage though; losing energy, I paused by a hidden lake to eat a snack. Unmotivated and hungry, I stopped often the last few miles, crossed a creek thick with snow melt, and counted down the miles to camp.


I wasn't in a good mood when I got there. I had been hoping to escape the wind for the evening but the others had set up in an exposed valley. I tucked away in a low area and I ate dinner by myself. I didn't want to bring my negative energy into the group space, plus my tent blocked the strong breeze. I was so tired. The constant battle with the wind had left me exhausted.


 

I slept in, unmotivated. This whole hiking thing was getting old. When I finally made it out of camp it was 7:30, late for me, and I started and the 3,500 foot climb up to the pass.


Views from Lake Ann Pass

I had seen some pictures of Lake Ann Pass under a lot of snow and it looked pretty sketchy. As I approached I wondered what it would look like now. I made it to the top and peered over the edge. The snow, or lack of it, posed a tricky situation. Glissading down the first patch of snow would be too steep to control speed and shortly thereafter the snow hand melted revealing a patch of rock. That route was a recipe for disaster. Inspecting the snow, I saw people had stomped in a sort of a ladder off to the side. I had sent my snow gear home in the last town, and although I delighted in loosing two pounds off my back, I wished I still had it for this part. I carefully side-stepped down, digging my trekking pole into the frozen pre-existing holes and anchoring it before I moved my feet. Once I made it to the bottom I could breathe easy again, and charged across the rocks to the lower patch of snow where there was a perfect (and safe) glissade line. I sat down and slid; my trekking pole worked fine as speed control; no ice axe needed.


It was nearing lunch but I wanted to see how far I could get before hunger took over so I kept descending through the patches of snow, crossing creeks and hiking till one o'clock. I found a really cool spot amongst the trees for lunch and lay my snow-soaked footwear out to dry. I sorted through my food bag. This would be maybe only the second time on the CDT that I'd walk into town with near-empty food. That didn't happen often. I had been overpacking food on this trail.

I had made decent time despite the terrain and late start, but had another huge climb to go, so I got moving again. I strolled down the rolling hills, through the valley under the hot sun.


As evening approached, I started to ascend Hope Pass. It was as steep as it looked on my map; straight up a mountain for 2500 feet. I stopped every 25 feet or so to glare at the hill and catch my breath. This was so dumb. Mountain goats would object to climbing up this thing. I tried to distract myself with podcasts and slowly, so slowly, made my way up. I came to a section where the trail crew had the decency to put in some switchbacks, though that helped very little. My legs felt like jelly. I didn't want to stop for fear I wouldn't be able to start again. Still, I eased myself down on a rock, ate some sour patch kids, drank some water, and then summoned energy to keep going.

The top was the most beautiful pass I had ever seen; not necessarily because it looked beautiful (which it was), but because it meant the end of a hard climb. I didn't spend much time up there before starting down the other side. My ears popped as I descended. I wanted to find a good place to camp but kept pushing miles. I was scoping out sites when Ranger passed. Surprised he was hiking late too, we continued up the trail and settled on a spot to camp at the next water source. It was a bumpy spot, but would set us up for a shorter day into town the next day.


 

I had slept well despite the slight angles of the ground and curled up until 8:00, getting every ounce of sleep. My thighs ached with the work of yesterday but overall I felt pretty good. As I hiked out of camp, I saw some fresh bear tracks. They were leading straight toward us. The bear must have ducked into the woods when it heard me coming.

Views from the superintendent's house

I detoured off the trail to check out a cool historical site. Over a hundred years ago the old resort hosted fancy folks looking to retreat to the mountains. I took some time to explore the unique architecture of the superintendent's house before heading back to the trail.


I had chosen to make the 9 mile trek around the lake rather than following a shortcut straight to town. But with the sun beating down and dayhikers swarming the trail, I wondered if I had made the right choice. Boats whizzed by, and I considered the possibility of hitching a ride on one; beautiful sand beaches lined the shore of the clear water and I was tempted to stop; the pull of town competed with the pull of sitting on the beach and swimming. Coming around to the other side of the lake, the trail paralleled a road. It was hard to justify walking under a hot sun when there was a perfectly good road with cars right next door. But I did my miles and didn't hitch until the trail crossed over.



The people of Twin Lakes were incredibly kind, and I got a hitch rather quickly down a mile to the general store. The store owners went above and beyond for hikers, and although there were limited options I managed to squeak out a few days of food and some treats for lunch that day. I heat up my breakfast burrito, dug into chips and salsa, sipped a root beer, and savored homemade chili chocolate cherry ice cream. Ranger and I were sitting in the hot sun trying to charge our phones in the only outlet available when a lady pointed to the visitor center and informed us we could go there to charge in the shade. We headed over immediately. Ranger and I chatted for a while as things charged, and by the afternoon we headed back out to the trail, taking a shortcut up an old gravel road to avoid hitching. There was a steep hill which I wasn't happy about, but finally we reconnected with the CDT. I tried to figure out where to camp; I wasn't planning on going very far. Ranger split off to start the climb up Mount Elbert and I took a detour by some beaver ponds where I went for an incredible dip. The water was perfect. Most lakes thus far had been filled with snowmelt and were intolerable temperatures, but this one was a pleasant cool. Feeling much better with the sweat knocked off of me, I continued on mile and found a beautiful spot overlooking another beaver pond. The beavers had been busy and fallen trees littered the area. I cleared a space for myself and settled in, watching Netflix as I ate dinner, called home, and went to bed.



My mind raced back to the bear prints I saw that morning. I woke often that first part of the night, paranoid that a bear would come and take my food. I mentally walked through the steps I would take to defend myself (and more importantly my food), which involved shining my light in its eyes, making a lot of noise, and stabbing it in the face with my trekking pole. When I was confident of those steps I rested a bit easier, interrupted only by the occasional beaver slapping its tail on the water.


 


I wanted to cover a lot of miles but at the same time I didn't feel like walking. Still, I put one foot in front of the other. The clouds were threatening but I wasn't sure if they were going to spill until the thunder clapped overhead. I wasn't spectacularly high on a ridge, and felt safe among the trees. I pitched my tent in preparation for precipitation. Just in time. The moment after I crawled in, hail started to fall. The thunder and lightning got louder and closer; 3 seconds... within a mile. Excited for the first real Colorado storm, I ate my lunch while the storm rolled through. After 45 minutes I called it good and packed up during a break in the rain. Shortly after setting out the rain started again, during which I merrily put up my umbrella. Eventually the storm moved on and the hills came in.


The mosquitoes were thirsty for blood after the shower and attacked ruthlessly. I couldn't stop for fear of assault, and sweated and panted as I climbed the thousand foot hill. It was very frustrating to not be able to pause for a breath or take in the views. The terrain leveled out and I thought the hill was over until I looked up and saw that indeed it was not. Downhearted, I checked my map to confirm, put my head down, and charged up, fighting the mosquitoes the whole way. The other side of the hill held epic views and snow. I hadn't been expecting that. Even more so, I never thought I'd be slapping mosquitoes while trudging across a field of snow. Heading into a valley, I managed to find a spot to pitch my tent with a few less tiny blood-sucking dragons.

 

The trail was relatively flat and smooth all morning, and I listened to podcasts to pass the time. I passed some old cement boxes buried in the Earth. It looked like a line of hotel rooms but I heard it was maybe coal ovens. It was cool in the small rooms; would be a perfect shelter in a storm. Soon I started the 3000 foot climb. I kept an eye on the clouds which had been building and darkening all day but showed no sign of raining anytime soon. By 1:00 the clouds still had't really done much, so I found a place to stop and eat. I sifted through my meager supply of food and ate as much as I could, setting aside dinner and breakfast for tomorrow. With eye on the sky I kept going, hiking up the hill. I finally made it above tree line. It was beautiful.


The hardest miles of the day often happen between 10:00 and 3:00. By 10:00 you've been hiking for a couple hours and are just ready for lunch but you have to push through those next couple hours to get there. Just after lunch you're still digesting and have to push through that wall. After 3:00 you are pretty much set and on cruise-control to camp.


Over the pass I cruised along the ridge, noticing I-70 and a rock quarry far below. I had driven that stretch countless times. I grinned; I was in familiar territory. I hiked as far as I could to make the next day's trek into Breckenridge as short as possible, and pitched my tent in Copper Mountain Ski area just as the rain started to fall.


I fell into a deep sleep, the rain pattering on my tent, the rush of water nearby. I dreamed about Pop-Tarts. I was back in grade school and heading to homeroom at the computer lab (which never happened, but still-- its a dream). I stashed my pack under Josh's chair to his objection and then made my way to my seat between Jacob and Logan. As I sat down I noticed they were eating Pop-Tarts. I stared at Jacob's perfectly toasted pastry... a berry flavor. "Do you want the rest of this?" he asked. "Yes" I emphatically agreed. But he kept eating it. Logan told me that you could buy them for fifty cents in the cafeteria. I was about to jump out of my chair when the bell rang.


 

Trying to race the rain over the ridge

I drowsily deflated my pad and walked through the ski resort, following the curvy bike trails through to the end. The clouds covered the sun and there was a gentle breeze which made for pleasant hiking. I put on some podcasts and marched up the mountain standing in my way to Breckenridge. It looked like weather was moving in again and I wanted to beat it, so I booked it to the top of the 3,000 foot climb. The trail leveled out as it followed the ridge. The rain clouds began spitting rain on the ski resort I had just left and were racing up the valley. I figured if I could make it over the pass, the clouds would stick to that side of the mountain and I would escape the rain. But before the trial dipped over the other side, the wind picked up and it started to mist. I threw on my rain layers and continued along the ridge, frustrated that the trail continued to climb when it could have easily popped up and over a lower pass. The rain left as quickly as it came.


Town in sight, although still far away, I slipped down the mountain through patches of snow. The trail joined a mountain biking path amongst some trees and I began to see more day hikers and bikers. The clouds rolled in again and released rain off and on. I pushed through, eager to make it to town to meet with a friend. My tummy growled. For the first time that I could remember in my personal thruhiking history, I had 100% emptied my food bag. No candy, no extra dinner, not even a crushed pop tart remained. I usually like to enter town with some sort of backup food in case I'm stuck, but I had been over-carrying food the entire CDT. With the limited supply from Twin Lakes, I took on a personal challenge to eat every morsel I carried, even the rollover stuff I had carried since the desert. With no food, my pack was lightest it had ever been and my pace quick, but the last miles seemed to take forever.

I got a hitch with a young girl rather quickly and reconnected with my friend George in Breckenridge. I demolished lunch which included a hamburger, two servings of fries, and two scoops of gelato. It was amazing to catch up and chat, sitting by the water and exploring town. As we headed to the grocery store Guru called out. He hopped out of a hitch and joined us.


At the grocery store we grabbed some pizzas and snacks. It was already dinner time. It had been too short a visit, but I bade farewell to my friend and headed over to the bus stop with Guru. We had been invited to stay with an acquaintance of Guru's, and hopped off the bus in a mountainside neighborhood. We were ushered inside and shown around. I took a shower, got our laundry in, and made pizza before crashing in a teardrop trailer, stoked for the next section of trail to come.



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