July 11, 2009, Highway 34, Colorado
7/11/09
US elsewhere
2495
3
Day 53
July 11th, 2009
Highway 34 Revisited
I was scared.
Not paralysis scared, or gripped frozen scared, but an unsettling nervous unquiet; like standing on a newly frozen lake, you know empirical evidence will most certainly provide two answers one wet (and dangerous), the other not. The question you now ask: should you have gone out on that lake at all?
Damn this Trail Ridge Road skiing it always riles my Mountaineer core. Dropping in blind on every run¦
I scan down the slope and see that the smooth snow turns more and more summer-like below me with sun cups and weird melt channels forming. Thankfully not much ice, but certainly transitioning to neve. Or so it appears. Damn this slope! (I smile inwardly you love this and you know it!)
I ski down further and the snow once again transitions, this time back to smooth corn¦and getting steeper. Its becoming do or ahem - die time. I knew that the further I went the steeper the slope and the real possibility that the corn would disappear altogether and I would be left with an ice slope to negotiate over a scree field safety net. The anxiety I felt I channeled into each turn, watching for the snow transition for tell-tale signs of ice. Finally, I cleared the horizon and could see the bottom which miraculously looked much like the week prior. I skied over to my favorite line and it looked like it was still in. Spicy, but in.
I crept into the couloir with the rushing sound of the waterfall 5 feet to my right. The moat created by the water was 15 feet deep and the snow bridge boarded by rock on the left, and drowning on the right, with a weird left to right double fall line sending a sliding rider right into the water under the snow pack. Not a good place to fall. I skidded out onto the snow bridge and found solid corn. Good. Sliding down the bridge, I jumped turned and was able to exit the bridge facing forward and ski out onto the slope below.
Phew.
Suddenly my anxiety lifted - I would make it!
A short hike, ford the river, and climb up the other side and I was standing on the Fall River Road.
***
My plan was to meet up with my friends who were supposedly camping down in Estes. I had planned to meet them the next day, but a revised family schedule put the kibosh on that¦so here I was. As they were camping I couldnt call to tell them I was skiing, and I had no idea where they were camped. So I went with the odds that they would be at the usual spots. I hoped they would be driving up the road for their first run, how cool would that be? Only one way to find out. I dusted off my thumb and stuck it in the air. My luck was not that good, however.
***
A couple of cars drive by (some folks even stopping to take my picture as if I was wild life; Maybe they would feed me?)
A jeep with one occupant stops. The driver looks at me like Im an Alien.
You were skiing? Where? The driver says incredulously. I point behind me, across the valley to the fingers of snow carved out of the cliff-studded face. My drivers jaw drops open¦
As we drive up the road, my pack and board now in the back seat, we trade pleasantries. Turns out back in the day this guy worked at Winter Park and was now in the habit of heading over there on weekends whenever he had off.
Oh, what do you do? I ask.
Im not really supposed to say, he admits secretively, but Ive got a gig out in **** for a couple months. I work for the FDIC.
A cold chill runs down my spine. My wheels start turning. A-ha. Welcome to the new world economy. It was like touching the intangible; like watching TV and realizing you are one of the statistics the talking heads are hyping. Except this isnt hype, its the real deal. I wonder who this guy is closing down? My brain runs down the short list. The serendipity of meeting him considering my own work is like a bolt of lightning to my brain.
I remain silent.
Suddenly, we come upon a back up of cars. A lot of them. People mill about their cars. My driver and I get out to see what is happening.
An elk is blocking the road! A beautiful young women says, giddy with the excitement of it all. Animals! In a National Park no less!
Groan. I bet dollars to donuts it was the same one as last weekend. We could be here a while.
As I mingle with the camera toting throng, it hits me theyre all girls. Like 30 of them. Hot girls. Then I looked at their parked cars and see the tell-tale signs: the sorority Greek letters, the designer clothes, the college bumper stickers; it all added up: here I was, in a crowd of sorority girls on summer holiday. If the Hawaiian Tropic Bikini Team arrived, I wouldnt have batted an eye. This was, perhaps, one of the best ski hitch-hiking pick-ups I ever had.
I work my way to the head of the throng and go to speak to the lead car, who sits 20 feet from the Bull elk standing in the middle of the road. The elk eyes me curiously.
If hes the same one as last weekend, youre going to have to man up and drive on. Slowly. Dont piss him off. I tell the driver.
The car full of people laugh nervously as I walk away. I see him put it into drive and I race back to my ride, wondering if Mr. Elk will jump on top of the car Ive just sent his way.
***
Nervous tensions once again.
My friends had not been at the divide, and my first ride was now well on his way to Winter Park.
I now stand on the side of Highway 34. Which, through the park of course, is called Trail Ridge Road. This euphemism doesnt reduce the anxiety I now feel as I stand with my thumb out, smiling to the anonymous traffic passing by.
I wouldnt think about hitchhiking on I-25. Why would I think Im safe on Highway 34? I didnt. My paranoia doubles when a van full of unsavory characters drives by. Thank god they didnt stop¦what if they had and I was faced with a gang of thugs? What would I do? I suddenly felt very vulnerable standing by the side of the road. This was not Loveland Pass in winter with a posse of my friends. Which I know isnt any talisman against evil, but it was the middle of summer and I was very far removed from that comfortable setting with dozens of fellow hitch hikers.
I look around me and spot a fist-sized rock lying by the road. I pick it up and feel its weight. Oh, yes, hefty. I guess I could pull my Ice Axe from my pack, but then I certainly wouldnt get a ride.
This? Oh, its an Ice Ax. What? Put it in the trunk? No, thanks, Ill just hold onto it in case you decide to attack me.
No, that wouldnt do. I slip the stone in my hat and put it in my pocket. This sucker was coming with me. Driver gets funny, he gets a fist sized boulder in the eye to think over things.
***
I didnt wait long and a car pulls over with one driver.
He looks my age and the back seat I see is full of climbing gear. Nice!
I throw my pack in the car and SNAP! My necklace and pendant go flying from my neck. OH NO!
I had bought the pendant in San Diego with my kids and it had special meaning. It goes launching down the rocky slope on the side of the road. Its now indistinguishable from the rust colored rocks. Cars begin to pile up behind my rides car. Shit!
Was this what all that nervous tension was all about all day? I guess so, and jump in the car.
A pendant for my life? Deal.
***
Back at my car I drop my pack and then shuffle 100 yards to the Elk Meadow Bowl. Two runs down the smooth, soft, creamy corn and my ski season is over.
See you next year!
July 11th, 2009
Highway 34 Revisited
I was scared.
Not paralysis scared, or gripped frozen scared, but an unsettling nervous unquiet; like standing on a newly frozen lake, you know empirical evidence will most certainly provide two answers one wet (and dangerous), the other not. The question you now ask: should you have gone out on that lake at all?
Damn this Trail Ridge Road skiing it always riles my Mountaineer core. Dropping in blind on every run¦
I scan down the slope and see that the smooth snow turns more and more summer-like below me with sun cups and weird melt channels forming. Thankfully not much ice, but certainly transitioning to neve. Or so it appears. Damn this slope! (I smile inwardly you love this and you know it!)
I ski down further and the snow once again transitions, this time back to smooth corn¦and getting steeper. Its becoming do or ahem - die time. I knew that the further I went the steeper the slope and the real possibility that the corn would disappear altogether and I would be left with an ice slope to negotiate over a scree field safety net. The anxiety I felt I channeled into each turn, watching for the snow transition for tell-tale signs of ice. Finally, I cleared the horizon and could see the bottom which miraculously looked much like the week prior. I skied over to my favorite line and it looked like it was still in. Spicy, but in.
I crept into the couloir with the rushing sound of the waterfall 5 feet to my right. The moat created by the water was 15 feet deep and the snow bridge boarded by rock on the left, and drowning on the right, with a weird left to right double fall line sending a sliding rider right into the water under the snow pack. Not a good place to fall. I skidded out onto the snow bridge and found solid corn. Good. Sliding down the bridge, I jumped turned and was able to exit the bridge facing forward and ski out onto the slope below.
Phew.
Suddenly my anxiety lifted - I would make it!
A short hike, ford the river, and climb up the other side and I was standing on the Fall River Road.
***
My plan was to meet up with my friends who were supposedly camping down in Estes. I had planned to meet them the next day, but a revised family schedule put the kibosh on that¦so here I was. As they were camping I couldnt call to tell them I was skiing, and I had no idea where they were camped. So I went with the odds that they would be at the usual spots. I hoped they would be driving up the road for their first run, how cool would that be? Only one way to find out. I dusted off my thumb and stuck it in the air. My luck was not that good, however.
***
A couple of cars drive by (some folks even stopping to take my picture as if I was wild life; Maybe they would feed me?)
A jeep with one occupant stops. The driver looks at me like Im an Alien.
You were skiing? Where? The driver says incredulously. I point behind me, across the valley to the fingers of snow carved out of the cliff-studded face. My drivers jaw drops open¦
As we drive up the road, my pack and board now in the back seat, we trade pleasantries. Turns out back in the day this guy worked at Winter Park and was now in the habit of heading over there on weekends whenever he had off.
Oh, what do you do? I ask.
Im not really supposed to say, he admits secretively, but Ive got a gig out in **** for a couple months. I work for the FDIC.
A cold chill runs down my spine. My wheels start turning. A-ha. Welcome to the new world economy. It was like touching the intangible; like watching TV and realizing you are one of the statistics the talking heads are hyping. Except this isnt hype, its the real deal. I wonder who this guy is closing down? My brain runs down the short list. The serendipity of meeting him considering my own work is like a bolt of lightning to my brain.
I remain silent.
Suddenly, we come upon a back up of cars. A lot of them. People mill about their cars. My driver and I get out to see what is happening.
An elk is blocking the road! A beautiful young women says, giddy with the excitement of it all. Animals! In a National Park no less!
Groan. I bet dollars to donuts it was the same one as last weekend. We could be here a while.
As I mingle with the camera toting throng, it hits me theyre all girls. Like 30 of them. Hot girls. Then I looked at their parked cars and see the tell-tale signs: the sorority Greek letters, the designer clothes, the college bumper stickers; it all added up: here I was, in a crowd of sorority girls on summer holiday. If the Hawaiian Tropic Bikini Team arrived, I wouldnt have batted an eye. This was, perhaps, one of the best ski hitch-hiking pick-ups I ever had.
I work my way to the head of the throng and go to speak to the lead car, who sits 20 feet from the Bull elk standing in the middle of the road. The elk eyes me curiously.
If hes the same one as last weekend, youre going to have to man up and drive on. Slowly. Dont piss him off. I tell the driver.
The car full of people laugh nervously as I walk away. I see him put it into drive and I race back to my ride, wondering if Mr. Elk will jump on top of the car Ive just sent his way.
***
Nervous tensions once again.
My friends had not been at the divide, and my first ride was now well on his way to Winter Park.
I now stand on the side of Highway 34. Which, through the park of course, is called Trail Ridge Road. This euphemism doesnt reduce the anxiety I now feel as I stand with my thumb out, smiling to the anonymous traffic passing by.
I wouldnt think about hitchhiking on I-25. Why would I think Im safe on Highway 34? I didnt. My paranoia doubles when a van full of unsavory characters drives by. Thank god they didnt stop¦what if they had and I was faced with a gang of thugs? What would I do? I suddenly felt very vulnerable standing by the side of the road. This was not Loveland Pass in winter with a posse of my friends. Which I know isnt any talisman against evil, but it was the middle of summer and I was very far removed from that comfortable setting with dozens of fellow hitch hikers.
I look around me and spot a fist-sized rock lying by the road. I pick it up and feel its weight. Oh, yes, hefty. I guess I could pull my Ice Axe from my pack, but then I certainly wouldnt get a ride.
This? Oh, its an Ice Ax. What? Put it in the trunk? No, thanks, Ill just hold onto it in case you decide to attack me.
No, that wouldnt do. I slip the stone in my hat and put it in my pocket. This sucker was coming with me. Driver gets funny, he gets a fist sized boulder in the eye to think over things.
***
I didnt wait long and a car pulls over with one driver.
He looks my age and the back seat I see is full of climbing gear. Nice!
I throw my pack in the car and SNAP! My necklace and pendant go flying from my neck. OH NO!
I had bought the pendant in San Diego with my kids and it had special meaning. It goes launching down the rocky slope on the side of the road. Its now indistinguishable from the rust colored rocks. Cars begin to pile up behind my rides car. Shit!
Was this what all that nervous tension was all about all day? I guess so, and jump in the car.
A pendant for my life? Deal.
***
Back at my car I drop my pack and then shuffle 100 yards to the Elk Meadow Bowl. Two runs down the smooth, soft, creamy corn and my ski season is over.
See you next year!
Excellent read...
Well composed, funny, poignant at times. It's cool how the solo trips often give a more unique perspective on things than when we do & talk with our partners.
ripper report,
don't hang em yet - ski the arapahoe or the navajo!
don't hang em yet - ski the arapahoe or the navajo!
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