When I moved to Colorado back in October of 1998, I distinctly recall being curious about a few things:
- Am I required to ski every single weekend?
- What the heck is "the mousetrap"?
- What's the fascination with hiking "fourteeners"?
Fortunately, the answer to 1) is, "No, because I'm a lousy skier," 2) is, "Part of the highway system I luckily do not have to drive through every day," and 3) is – finally, as of August 2, 2008 – "I get it now." At 4:00am on August 2, 2008, I loaded up into a Toyota Tundra crew cab with four other gals to hike Gray's and Torrey's peaks, two of Colorado's more popular and accessible fourteeners.
1From left to right: Patsy, Ania, Cambria, and Jill
Patsy and Ania are friends of Cambria; Cambria and Jill are friends and former co-workers of mine from Raindance. Regardless of who knew who from where, I could not have picked a more fantastic group of ladies with whom to spend seven hours slogging up and down oxygen-free mountainsides. And lordy, what a slog it was. The first peak we climbed was Gray's (seen in the picture above at about 2 o'clock from Jill's pink hat). Since the hike begins above tree line, the views in all directions are unobstructed gorgeousness right out of the gate (or, well, after around 2 hours into the hike).
After another hour or so passed, the views got even more expansive.
By this point, we were just beginning to work our way up the face of the peak and I started to wonder, "Hmmm, what have I gotten myself into?" But I knew if I just … kept… putting… one… foot… in… front… of… the… other… I'd eventually make it to the top. Yet, even right in the middle of this oxygen-deprived, self-questioning, motivation-sapped moment, I still looked reasonably happy and fresh. Well done me.
But then I looked up…
…and I IMMEDIATELY looked back down and kept slogging on. Before I knew it, I was standing at the top of Gray's Peak.
THAT'S ME. I'M STANDING AT THE TOP OF A FOURTEENER. I couldn't help but look around at that moment, take in the full three-hundred and sixty degree, peak-encrusted horizon, and think two things: 1) I ROCK and 2) I AM STANDING ON TOP OF THE WORLD. I immediately forgot how much effort it took to get me to the top of that mountain. I forgot about that conversation I had with Jill where we both said, "There is no way I can do Torrey's too." …and that second selective memory failure is good, because as I looked over to Torrey's Peak, I thought, "I'm already here. The weather is better than I ever could've hoped for. My legs have yet to defect from my body and still seem to work. Why the hell not?" So after a few minutes of rest our group of intrepid ladies (who had apparently had the same internal conversations) pointed our wobbly legs down the next trail and went.
Before we knew it (or, roughly an hour later), we were standing at the top of Torrey's Peak.
THAT'S ME AGAIN. I'M STANDING AT THE TOP OF MY SECOND FOURTEENER IN ONE DAY. I couldn't help but look around me at that moment, out to even more peak-encrusted horizon, and think two things: 1) I SERIOUSLY ROCK SO MUCH RIGHT NOW and 2) OH MY GOD, HOW AM I EVER GOING TO GET DOWN. But then I looked back from whence we came…
…and took a long, last look at the soul-stirring views around me…
…and convinced myself that, yep, the now gelatinous legs that got me up here can most certainly get me back down. Unfortunately for my wiggly walking sticks, the way down seemed to take forever. I'd like to think that our group's collective state of exhausted happiness and double-peak high would've made the trip down pass more quickly, but instead we all kept asking ourselves incredulously, "Are we there yet????" We did finally make it down and once we were back at the truck, celebrating "lady style" (ß what group of guys break out gourmet cheeses and crackers after a hike?), we reveled in the giddiness about what we'd just accomplished.
The lingering question that afternoon was, "Would you do it again?" Needless to say, none of us was eager for an immediate repeat (we could barely hear ourselves talk over our screaming muscles), but curiously threw out, "Maybe next summer?" Yeah. I bet we will. Even if the entire group doesn't go, I think I still will. I want to stand on top of the world again.
