So a couple days ago, after Jane and Sarah’s departure, I’m walking Frisco trying to find postcards, stamps, batteries, other little odds and ends I need for the leg to Twin Lakes, and I’m made aware of folks looking at me. Staring. Doing a really bad job of hiding the fact that they’re staring, and not like “hey baby” staring, but confusion staring.
And then I realize that I’m pretty much the only brown person in town. Continue reading
We wake early – M has to get out of town to get back to work, and I’m a little sad to see her go. But I have to get out and go, too – back to the trail, six days to Twin Lakes since I’ve decided not to stop in Leadville. One less hitch, but I get the feeling that these are oddly long resupplies in general, and the weight of the food in my pack makes me less than thrilled about my decision. But I’ve made reservations for Special and I – he’s coming hiking with me for a week – and so I’ve a timeline to keep to, and that includes hiking over Tenmile today.
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I am the laziest of bums today. But then, that’s what I’m told zeros are for. If you’re not walking, you’re lazing like a kitty caught in a sunbeam.
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Sleeping in this morning – Sarah, Jane and I only have seven miles to make before we reach the bus to Frisco – is glorious. I’m a Snorlax at heart, and this made my large, sleepy heart so, so happy. Even with my extended unconsciousness, I’m out before Sarah and Jane, who encourage me to go on ahead, which I feel weird about. We’re all pretty much out of water, though, so I agree to meet them at the next water source, where hopefully I’ll have had time to purify some before they arrive.
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My alarm goes off early, 5-something. I wanted to get up early, but my sleep-addled brain thinks the moose will hear, and I shut it off since it’s still dark outside and there may be moose lurking out there. I’m actually awake at 6, out of camp by 6:30. Never have I been motivated to move so fast.
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I spend a cold night in what I discover to be my u-shaped tent spot. Not wet; I’ve got a pretty baller shelter, but cold nonetheless. It’s hard to hear because of the rain and the nearby stream, but I wake up to a rat’s silhouette clinging to the outside of my tent. Twice. Good to know that my Tarptent is marginally rat claw-proof.
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I hear Tim and Chase rustling early, and I’m glad for the wake-up call. 6:30. Getting better. It’s a bright, normal morning, belying the crazy weather of the previous evening, and I’m vaguely suspicious of what’s to come.
I finish my ravioli with little problem, and am moving by 7:15. Getting better all around. Continue reading
I manage to get up earlier today. My alarm goes off at 51, but I’m “conscious” at 6:30. I’m feeling the effects of last night’s lack of food, and simultaneously feeling like the nonono cat when faced with the prospect of actually eating. So I try to distract myself with other things: treating more water, doing trail laundry, eating more snickers, digging another cathole just in case.
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It’s late when I finally find the courage to move, test out my legs, my erstwhile stomach. 7:15. I’m an achy mess, and looking at food makes me nauseous again, so I opt to skip the oatmeal and poptarts in lieu of a Snickers1. I down another liter and a half of water as I pack up a tent wet from last night’s rain, make my way down to the South Platte for more sustenance. It’s 9am by the time I treat my water, choke down poptarts in spite of myself, and make my way uphill again.
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The hardest part about starting wasn’t the 4am wake-up after an evening of burgers and cupcakes with friends, or the constant worrying about whether I’d forgotten anything, or the wondering what the next month, hell, day, was going to hold.
The hardest part was rounding a bend in the road and seeing the sign: Waterton Canyon Recreation Area, Colorado Trail.
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Brown Girl on the NST 