The Last 75

 

The End of the Journey

After Silverton I stopped journaling on the trail. With the addition of Steffano to the trail, I felt the responsibility to take care of my tough, resilient recruit, and most days we finished too late, too tired to do anything but set up our tent, hang our food, and sink into our sleeping bags.

Steffano and I didn’t end up taking a full zero in Silverton, but walked 16 miles with the crew that next afternoon. I knew we couldn’t keep up with our friends the whole way, but I wanted to finish the same day as Mary: my walking buddy from the start.

The last few days were simple walking. Once Steffano and I lost the group, we also lost that same sense of urgency that stressed me out so much the first day he was on trail. I leaned into the slower pace and we walked as long as we needed, as slow as we needed. It was a great time of laughs and long talks, and long silences between Steffano and I. We met some people along the way, but the trail felt shockingly solitary.

Along the last stretch, the scenery began to shift from that raw wild alpine to being a bit softer, a bit more forgiving. It started to rain more and the days were filled with mountain views: lush and green, with aspens on one side of the hill and pine on the other. We saw many storms pass over us and skirt us either side, but we didn’t get stuck in anything that made us uncomfortable. (well…… that’s almost true).

I still struggled with the slower pace, but I realized we were walking the miles we needed, so I tried to slow down and enjoy myself. The ending of the trail represented a great accomplishment, but on top of that, it represented something much bigger: the end of summer, and the end of a period of intense travel and discomfort. I knew that when the trail was done, I would return back to normal life after nearly six months of traveling. I was so ready to be done, but I suspected I would miss the wild adventures of my present.

The last few days on trail were so quiet, but there were moments that still stick with me. It is crazy how simple they are, in retrospect:

There was that moment at the last alpine lake, jumping in, laughing, hugging to keep warm after.

There was walking in the rain in the evening in the green forest. There were three mountain ranges  in the distance. There was a coziness in my heart.

There was hunkering into the tent as the thunderstorms came over us, knowing that I knew how to survive. I was capable.

There was walking over that last low ridge, seeing Durango a day away.

There was a feeling…. a sense of bittersweet.

On the last day, Steffano and I hiked the last 7 miles in under 2 hours. Easily. I ran that trail home.

In the last mile there were hoards of day hikers and as we passed, so many asked, “Did you hike all the way from Denver?”

It felt so good to say,

“Hell yeah I did!”

27 days.

That’s a lot of days to get up and walk. That’s a lot of days to sleep in a tent. That’s a lot of days to be tired, hungry, uncomfortable.

We got to the end at 12:00 p.m. on July 25th.

I was so glad to be done.

486 miles. 27 days. A lot of frickin’ discomfort.

A LOT of joy.

Steffano and I took our pictures at the end and stuck our thumbs out to get into town. I was going to go eat the biggest burger I could get my hands on.

The first car to pass pulled over.

The trail was done!! The trail was done.

A van pulled over; it was a guy coming back from paragliding. He looked at us and said, “I’ve been doing a lot of hitch-hiking lately, so I’ve gotta pay my dues. Where are y’all heading? Put your bags in the back.”

“We’re heading to Durango, man. Thanks for the ride.”

And just like that:

It was

The End.