"Hop In Back"
I carefully stepped my way down the rock filled trail, way down from Snow Mesa......beating the lightning, that almost daily pounds into that 3 1/2 miles of open plain, at 12,000 ft. Stopped to make friends with one of the many Pika's. (Pika's and Marmots may be the only living creatures that seem to actually love Scree (rocks, rocks , and more rocks). Brushed my teeth so that my breath would not smell too bad ....like I knew the rest of me did, after eight days on the trail.
( Hey, I rinsed my shirt, my face, and my upper body in that freezing cold water of the stream, just beyond and southwest of the Eddiesville Trailhead, that falls it's way to Cochetopa Creek. Talk about freezing cold....the log bridge 7 miles back was washed out, and we thru-hikers all had to carefully cross the knee deep..... at the shallow spot, current of Cochetopa Creek. We lucked out. Fifty percent more volume to that current and it would have been impassable. As it was..... fording was doable....a tiny bit hairy....and a dangerous major bummer if you slip...and freezing cold...... but doable.
Where was I? Oh yeah, rinsing my upper body at about 9 AM in the morning..... only three days ago. No, I did not rinse my pants, nor my lower body. It was probably 45 degrees air temp and that water was absolutely freezing cold.)
So..... as I said...... I stopped before I got down to the highway, and brushed with my .85 ounce tube of Crest, in case I had to beg for a ride. And then crossed the highway, to the trailhead parking lot. I mentally noted that there was no pull off on the near side, the side I would have to hitch from in order to go toward my Post Office Resupply Drop in Lake City....... some 17 miles away. No "pull off" means that it will be a lot tougher to get anyone to stop for a filthy, smelly, pathetic , old hiker. And more dangerous. I will have to milk the "old guy" sympathy card for all it is worth, if I am forced to try to hitch my way out of here.
A guy, I met earlier on the trail, had told me that with my white beard, and my white Foreign Legion hiking hat.... that I looked like Ernest Hemingway. Really, he did. So I resolve to go for the Hemingway look........well...... the shorter Hemingway look, anyhow.
A guy, I met earlier on the trail, had told me that with my white beard, and my white Foreign Legion hiking hat.... that I looked like Ernest Hemingway. Really, he did. So I resolve to go for the Hemingway look........well...... the shorter Hemingway look, anyhow.
Yesterday afternoon, I had misjudged the distance that I had hiked a bit. The result was that the last flat ground for potential campsites was a mile behind me. Immediately ahead was 9.5 miles of high, exposed hiking. Rain was coming. I could see it. I was tired and the one thing I would not do, was backtrack. Thru-hikers do not hike back.... if there is any way to avoid it.
So I was creating a make shift tent site on the side of the hill at tree line. Trying to make a spot before the rain came, as I knew it surely was coming, to that last place below tree line, a place that was safer from the lightning.
Today, I do not realize that the broken branch that poked me in the forehead during that mad scramble to gouge a tent site out of the hillside, had actually gouged me a bit, in 8 different places across my forehead, and that instead of Hemingway, I currently look like an old bum who lost a street fight last night over the remaining slug of whiskey in the jug. I had seen the blood in two places on my hat...but thought both were the remains of critters or flies that had been squashed as punishment for getting inside the tent.
So I was creating a make shift tent site on the side of the hill at tree line. Trying to make a spot before the rain came, as I knew it surely was coming, to that last place below tree line, a place that was safer from the lightning.
Today, I do not realize that the broken branch that poked me in the forehead during that mad scramble to gouge a tent site out of the hillside, had actually gouged me a bit, in 8 different places across my forehead, and that instead of Hemingway, I currently look like an old bum who lost a street fight last night over the remaining slug of whiskey in the jug. I had seen the blood in two places on my hat...but thought both were the remains of critters or flies that had been squashed as punishment for getting inside the tent.
I scoped out the cars in the lot. No people in any of them....so I dropped my pack....took a slug of water, and sat on a comfortable rock. I unzipped my pants pocket, pulled out the gallon zip lock bag that contained my phone....(Did I tell you that it has rained seven of the eight days that I have been out this time?) and switched on my cell phone. Hey. I missed a photo op on a big bull elk that climbed to the ridgeline above me, because of that Zip Lock during my first climb away from that, side of the hill, tentsite. Anyhow I turned off Airplane mode, crossed my dirty fingers and waited. No Service. I could not call and pay for a shuttle. I am stranded. It was time to be Hemingway....and time to do some serious begging.
When you have no choice...no choice...it is easy to act. I amaze myself at the desperate things I will do on these hiking adventures, that I would never do at home.
A younger couple in a white SUV pull off the highway and motor past me and my rock chair. I casually wait until they disembark and then I pounce, immediately.
"Hi!! How are yah? Great day for hiking. Been up since 4 AM myself. Yup. Been up there at almost 13,000 ft. So are you going to Lake City, or what? Say, my name is "Hawkeye". (But I sure do look like Hemingway...don't you think?).
While I am busy feeling them out...... and building raport...(Who says that sales training was wasted on me?)....another vehicle, a big white pickup pulls in...... does a circle and is heading past us new friends....... back toward the highway. I stop talking in mid sentence....(Yes I can! I don't begrudge your doubts on this, but I tell you, that I did stop talking in mid sentence)....stick out my left thumb....and look like Hemingway!
Yes!!! The guy stops, and rolls down his window. I am careful to stay 6 feet away, and do hope that I am not upwind of him. As sincerely.....as old guy pathetically, as I can....all the while looking like Hemingway....I state that I am trying to get to Lake City. He gives me the quick look over, and says "Hop in back".
Whoa....I was not expecting that...really was not. My first thought is "Damn....I am upwind of him". I force my tired brain to operate. "Think...think.....I have it!".
"Won't we both get arrested if I do that?" But he is quicker than me.
"Hop in and we'll find out." He says, and rolls up his window.
"Hi!! How are yah? Great day for hiking. Been up since 4 AM myself. Yup. Been up there at almost 13,000 ft. So are you going to Lake City, or what? Say, my name is "Hawkeye". (But I sure do look like Hemingway...don't you think?).
While I am busy feeling them out...... and building raport...(Who says that sales training was wasted on me?)....another vehicle, a big white pickup pulls in...... does a circle and is heading past us new friends....... back toward the highway. I stop talking in mid sentence....(Yes I can! I don't begrudge your doubts on this, but I tell you, that I did stop talking in mid sentence)....stick out my left thumb....and look like Hemingway!
Yes!!! The guy stops, and rolls down his window. I am careful to stay 6 feet away, and do hope that I am not upwind of him. As sincerely.....as old guy pathetically, as I can....all the while looking like Hemingway....I state that I am trying to get to Lake City. He gives me the quick look over, and says "Hop in back".
Whoa....I was not expecting that...really was not. My first thought is "Damn....I am upwind of him". I force my tired brain to operate. "Think...think.....I have it!".
"Won't we both get arrested if I do that?" But he is quicker than me.
"Hop in and we'll find out." He says, and rolls up his window.
Yes....yes....I know..... I know.
At my age....and having considerable, and quite varied life experience, I must add.... a rational person would expect me to be wise enough to heed the voice of my inner self, that voice of common sense. And right now that inner voice is sarcastically asking....asking in a way that said "Are you kidding? Do You really need me to verbalize this for you? Okay, If I must I will. It is what I do. Listen up. "Hawkeye", Inner Voice to "Hawkeye"....Are you sure that you want to do this?"
I heard the inner voice....honest I did....and I do appreciate it. But I also know that I can not stay here at Spring Creek Pass. I am on a hiking adventure.
So I unsling my pack, hoist it over the tailgate .....and I do hop in.
"Haven't done this for a long, long, time". I tell myself. "What a fun way to travel 17 miles down the mountain to Lake City".
My inner voice is silent....busy looking for something...anything....on which to hold on.
My inner voice is silent....busy looking for something...anything....on which to hold on.
It turns out that highway #149 twists and turns down those mountains...... for 17 miles into Lake City. It one of those roads where you can look way, way, down into the valley...... way, way below............No! Stop that! Don't do it! Don't look down! Just look staight out the back. Read the uphill 20 Mph signs. And find something better to hold onto than this side-rail, or this adventure is over. There... right there is an eyebolt tie down. I can get one finger through it. The force of the curves may rip my finger off...but it is my best hope for survival. Hwy 149 is one of those narrow mountain roads somehow wide enough for two vehicles, traveling in oposite directions to squeeze past eachother, but where you feel that the vehicle is being pulled irresistibly off that road and over the precipice. We are now whizzing down the highway taking all of the 20 MPH curves....at 40 MPH. Every one is marked 20MPH for the uphill traffic..... with big, black inked, curves displayed on every sign. I decide that I am ok with the truck hurtling over the edge....... as long as it takes the maniac driver , and the three woman who are with him too. I will not be happy if only I get tossed out of this truck. I want to believe that this driver's intent is just to have a little fun....to give Hemingway a Colorado thrill. And that the man is not an escaped lunatic driving someone else's truck "off into the Wild Blue Yonder". If that is true....... then this old timer really has no idea how hard that I am fighting, with all of my might, to stay inside the bed of this truck. No idea!
Two thirds of the way down the mountain, the truck roars into a pull off and slams on the brakes.
Two thirds of the way down the mountain, the truck roars into a pull off and slams on the brakes.
"Oh great." I think. "Now they are going to boot me out in the middle of nowhere. At least I survived". I console myself.
The lightning...oh, I did not tell you about that one, yet....nor the rock slide, when half the mountain came down....Whew!! But I am telling you about the most death defying thrill of this hike......so far!
The lightning...oh, I did not tell you about that one, yet....nor the rock slide, when half the mountain came down....Whew!! But I am telling you about the most death defying thrill of this hike......so far!
Turns out the guy 75, looks 65, stopped so they could all see the scenic view, and read the placard about a famous major landslide that had occurred there. I tell them about my moose video. And we all become friends. Then with great tact, but loud enough so that all three women can hear me....hoping that one of them was his wife, or even better his sister, I mention to him that I am going to have to empty my drawers, as soon as I get myself a motel room. He asks where I wish to be dropped off, and I say the the Post Office, please. Then I hopped in back....slid my least precious finger through the big eyehole and hung on. I think my scheme worked, because we only took the curves at 35 miles an hour the rest of the trip down the mountain. At the PO, I showed them all my bull moose pictures, and video of my bull moose grunting. And we parted as friends.
PS. Now I have to go into town, and all the way to the other end of it, to buy more tent stakes. It is a long walk. You know hikers hate walking when off the trail. Maybe I will hitchhike. I have washed most of the blood out of my hat, and cleaned up my gouged forehead a bit. So, do you think I look like Hemingway? "Hawkeye".
Funny, watch out for the curves
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