Denver to Pueblo: And Musings from the Slow Trail

Fits and starts out here lately on the trail, these days, I’ve mostly lost track of time…until someone asks (“what day?!”) or it comes time to fill out the stats here when I publish another story of my wanderings.  It seems “math” has become a bit more important than I usually care for it to be as I try to calculate how far I can go on how much, that is until a winter storm buries me in snow, an arctic front ruptures the inner workings of a zipper slider on my tent, shoes fail to live up to the task after just a couple days, and I find myself fumbling with needle and thread in the dark as the digits plummet, my calculations coming up short once again…

I’m sitting in a motel outside Denver Proper this Thanksgiving day, eating ramen and sweet potato, calculating once again my future!  Earlier this month I departed Denver under the cover of dark, hiking into the Colorado Rocky Mountains for the last time on this cross-country trek with high ambitions of reaching Kansas City.  A little more than 200 miles later, some 37,000 feet ascended and descended through days of blizzard conditions, a persistently wet and frozen tent, knee high snow and drenching road spray from careless drivers; I walked into Pueblo before sunrise and hopped a bus back to the mile high city.  I was pleased to have successfully stress tested the wet gear I biked so hard to earn during the October weeks prior, not even the heavy slush spray from trucks managed to penetrate a finally “waterproof” shell.  I stayed dry and warm through long, hard freezing nights and equally challenging days, but found myself wanting for a few gear items I hoped I could mange without for a time.  

Back in October, as I biked from Grand Junction to Denver, I suffered some gear damage and losses: my tattered but still functional sunglasses washed away during a water crossing, the plastic pump plunger on my MSR stove snapped off during that same crossing (having apparently gotten snagged on some branches!), and my thrift store billed cap developed a few too many holes.  Additionally, a pair of socks I thought had more life suddenly blew out, along with a cheap pair of shoes I hoped would hold up longer than two days.  Until now I haven’t much needed a headlamp, but with the long hours of winter darkness and cold temperatures (blizzards too!) lending to much more time spent in my tent, I decided amongst other things…it’s time!

My renewed time in Denver has been spent biking long days to earn a buck and riding the light rail far enough out to where motels are just barely cheap enough to not exhaust every last dollar earned, though some days they still do exactly that.  With many cold and wet nights ahead out there on the winter trail, I’ve welcomed the warmth and security for now, even as it has slowed my return to a hike I am increasingly eager to continue.  I’ve managed to replace the missing gear and heal (I think!) the emotional exhaustion I’ve been feeling as of late, though I continue running through such irreverent math with hopes of now reaching Cincinnati from Pueblo in a single push, some 1700 miles in the dead of a midwestern winter.  

I am learning (and relearning!) to slow my roll, while continuing to balance the realities of a trail where miles-per-day amount to resource reached and saved, a penny-budget hike this has certainly become.  Back in October I had my old Nikon F 35mm film camera with a fast 50mm lens sent to me, a camera I bought shortly before this hike began and have yet to run a roll of film through.  Since then, I’ve mostly carried this beautiful and fully analog machine (all mechanical!) around in my pack, as I quickly discovered it would need a small piece of foam replaced on the inside before loading any film. 

I finally spent the five bucks and twenty minutes of labor last night to return this beauty to service, now just awaiting a roll of film in the coming days to restore the music to a machine whose simple elegance, long ago, we replaced in the name of expediency.  I’ll rattle off the 36 exposures, no doubt, in a day, followed by a week’s long wait to see if I’ve managed more than a blur of streaking light.  All the while, I’ll labor toward the privilege of walking once more through cold, darkness and uncertainty where most others would seek a wiser refuge, such metaphor and reality can’t possibly escape, the machine offering a rare reminder…to take stock in the labor that becomes the reward I seek, in stillness, the breath of life.

Happy trails!