Today Brenda & I hiked to the top of Mount Elbert, the tallest mountain in the state of Colorado. At 14,433’ above sea level, it’s second only to California’s Mount Whitney (by about sixty feet) for tallest mountain in the lower 48 states. Today, we stood on the top of Colorado, and it was a hell of a feeling. Our first “fourteener”. Yeah!

Now, Elbert is considered an “easy” fourteener. And it is, I guess. The thing is massive, so the approach ends up being fairly shallow the whole way. But you’re still walking six miles across and 4,000’ up, and then get to reverse and repeat the process to get back to the car. We were quite pleased with our performance, regardless of the “easy” rep Elbert enjoys. We passed several people on our way to the summit, and got the whole ordeal completed in 7.5 hours, including spending 40 minutes up there just looking around.

At the summit I had to chuckle, as I looked across the valley at Leadville, CO. Just a couple miles south of town is Lake County Airport, the highest public airport in the lower 48. And here we were, looking down on it! Pretty amazing. A few planes flew by while were were near and on the summit, and it was kinda cool to be looking directly at them, or looking down on them. In the photo below, you can make out the town of Leadville in the center and the long runway at the airport just to the south of town.

The clouds started building and we decided to get the hell outta Dodge a little before 11AM. The general idea is to be off the mountain by early afternoon, lest you get roasted by a nice bolt of Colorado mountain lightning. Below treeline, there were loads of charred trees and pulverized stumps to serve as reminders of what happens up there when the afternoon thunderstorms unleash their energy. After heading back to the (really nice) B&B we stayed at for a quick shower, we headed home. As we drove along RT24 we watched Mount Elbert get quite a soaking from an afternoon rainstorm, but thankfully no lightning; we knew full well that there were still a bunch of people on that hill, as we had passed them on their way up just hours ago.

All in all, it was a great weekend and a great hike, and I think we’re as ready as we can be for our attempt on Long’s Peak. Stay tuned.

And I’ll scare them all away for you.

This weekend Brenda & I drove to Avon (a few miles west of Vail, CO) to meet my Cousin and Uncle for some fly fishing on Gore Creek and the Eagle River. I stunk up the joint.

To say my Uncle is an experienced fly fisherman is a serious understatement; he’s an ichthyologist by trade, has discovered an entirely new species of fish, and has been fly fishing since he was sixteen years old. He loves fish and fishing, and over the years we had thrown words at the idea of hooking up and having him teach me the finer points of the wonderfully archaic world of fly fishing. When we moved to Boulder, that put Brenda & I just under a few hours away from my Cousin in Avon, and so this summer Uncle Bob came out for a summer visit that included lots of fishing and a visit from his favorite nephew.

After a trip to the park for practice casting, I tried on the rental waders, which make you look like half a fireman. It’s not a good look. Down to the stream we went, but instead of flinging flies into the water we got a full education on the main food source of the trout — the mayfly. Picking up rocks from the creek bottom, we saw primordial creatures in the midst of metamorphosis, culminating in watching one mayfly literally crawl out of its skin, spread its wings and fly off of my Uncle’s thumb. It was pretty cool. Time to fish.

Uncle Bob set us up with some nice kit, some quality rods and reels and expertly rigged line, leader, tippet and fly. And that’s when everything went down the shitter.

I propose we change the term from “fly fishing” to “untangling”, since I spent 45 minutes out of every hour untying complete bird’s nests of leader line that got created after mere seconds of inattention while casting. Oh, and did I mention that trout have excellent eyesight, and so the trick in fly fishing is to use a super-thin leader so they can’t see it? If they can’t see it, you can bet your ass I can’t see the goddamned line either, especially when I’m standing in a river trying to untangle the aforementioned bird’s nest of this invisible thread for the umpteenth time.

Uncle Bob was more of a hunter on the water, able to spot the fish in all conditions (“there’s a fish, right there; you see it Rob?”; “yeah.” (no)), and his actions were more like stalking, his casts more like setting a trap. Me, I was wandering around the river like a drunk, sliding on the rocks and mindlessly casting into the river at nothing in particular and hoping for the best. I might as well have been playing the slots in Vegas, my odds of catching a fish probably longer than hitting a decent payoff on the reels.

But I learned a lot, Brenda & I had fun, and standing around in the Eagle RIver under a beautiful blue Colorado sky is not a bad way to spend a Sunday. Seeing Uncle Bob and Kate was great, and Kate prepared an awesome dinner Saturday night out of a 21.5” rainbow trout that Uncle Bob caught the day before we rolled into town. That fish was the largest he’d ever caught in all his yeas of fishing, and carries its own story which I’ll not get in to now. Naturally, his luck changed as soon as I arrived.

Brenda & I also got a taste of the hell that is I-70 east on a Sunday evening. I’m told this stretch of highway — the gateway to the Rockies from the Denver area — is a nightmare during winter, as all the weekend warrior skiers and snowboarders head back to civilization, but I was hoping that in summer the crowds would be a little lighter. Boy, was I wrong. After sailing all the way to the Eisenhower Tunnel, shortly thereafter we hit a traffic jam that brought us to a 12MPH crawl for an entire hour. And I thought the Jersey Shore traffic was bad!

We stopped in Idaho Springs for ber and burgers at Tommyknocker Brewery and formulated a plan to get home by staying off I-70 as much as possible: we took Rte 6 through Clear Creek Canyon, which revealed — once again — a beautiful, unwinding vista, this time all the way up to Golden and then it was a short ride back to Boulder.

A couple of odd sensations hit us as we arrived on the outskirts of Boulder. First, as “the flatirons” appeared on the horizon on our way, we felt like we were “home”. The flatirons are now “our” mountains, our identity with our place called home. Second, all our empty water bottles were compressed on arrival. This makes sense, since the atmospheric pressure in Boulder is much greater on average than it is up in Eagle. But that means that now when I think of going to Boulder, it’s going down to Boulder, even though Boulder’s at 5,400’ above sea level. After spending 37 years living basically at sea level, it’s kind of odd to consider this place, 5,400’ high and nestled against the mountains, home. But it is home, and I’m just as happy as ever to call it such.

The Long’s Peak preparations continue, and this weekend it was Mount Audubon (our first thirteener!). Once again, the views were amazing and the hike was a huff-and-puff extravaganza as we neared the summit. As usual, the summit revealed views that made it all worthwhile, and something about the effort and the oneness with nature even causes me to eat rice cakes and fresh fruit — and actually enjoy it — while I’m up there. So this hiking thing is really healthy for me, all ‘round.

From the top you could see Long’s Peak, and it sorta just stood there saying “yeah, that’s right, I’m right over here, bitches; whenever…”

Leslie was headed for Peru on the day of the hike (on any given day in Boulder, you probably know someone who is on their way to some hiker’s paradise) so it was just Brenda, Bryce and myself. We had a ball and more pictures are sure to follow, I just need to go to sleep right now.

On the way home we made a quick stop in Nederland, to pick up some acid. (Anyone who knows me knows that this was not for me. The last thing I need to see is a melting floor, or say, a purple rabbit. I merely mention this because I think it’s pretty damned funny.)

Yesterday’s long day was followed by another great day today, where we got to once again see our dear friend Patty who was visiting her brother in Parker, CO and we celebrated her niece Grace’s fourth birthday with presents, cake and amazingly sweet Colorado corn (and yes, Patty once again brought cold cuts!).

Today marked one year since I moved to Boulder, Colorado. Lots of shit has happened in the last year, and since almost a month has elapsed since I’ve posted a word on this site, I figure I’ll throw down a quick recap.

First off, I am really, really happy living and working here.

Brenda is finally back in Boulder, after spending seven weeks in Santa Fe working for the Santa Fe Opera as a costume draper. She did well, but it’s definitely better to have her here than there.

Some more good sunsets have happened; I have pics.

The drive back from Santa Fe was along route 285, which took us through some of the most beautiful country I have ever seen. After a whole year of living in Colorado, I found myself falling even deeper in love with this part of the country. The mountains and the valleys between them are simply awesome.

I’m back into cycling, a lifelong love, in a big way. I have acquired three bicycles since moving here; one, I ride every day, my on-one singlespeed commuter bike. I scored an Independent Fabrications cyclocross bike on eBay last fall, which is one of the best fitting, best riding bikes I’ve ever owned, but I don’t really ride off-road so it’s been collecting dust since I built up the on-one. Still debating whether to try and fit it out for road riding or just sell it (or start doing more trail riding). Recently I bought another bike on eBay, a vintage Eddy Merckx that I have since taken all my Campy parts from my Zullo and hung on that. It rides like a dream, and it’s a dream come true to finally own and ride a Merckx. (The parts from the Merckx (all Dura Ace) are now hung on my old Zullo frame, and that bike will likely end up on eBay craigslist soon. Wanna buy a 60cm classic steel road bike?)

I have added hiking to my list of hobbies, and it suits me well living out here. But camping and sleeping in the snow, something that everyone seems to do out here, is not gonna happen anytime soon. Hiking a high summit is on my list of things to do this summer, though.

Flying has taken a back seat to my other interests, but remains a deep-seated passion for me. The expense, the fact that I no longer own a plane and the fact that flying in the mountains will require a concerted investment of time and money that I don’t have to spare right now have conspired to put aviation on the back burner for me for the time being. But I get a kick out of watching the gliders being towed to the Front Range right in front of my office window every day, and ride my bike to the Boulder Airport to watch the activities there every once in a while.

I went for a bike ride today. Twenty miles or so, along Arapahoe and 95th Streets. Riding along 95th Street northbound, I looked west at the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains and tried not to cry or run off the road as I took in the majesty of the mountains and pondered the amazing fact that after spending years in New Jersey riding and racing road bikes and reading magazines and catalogs depicting riders enjoying this backdrop, I was actually here (on my Merckx!), barrelling down the road in the thin mountain air.

This is a good place to live. I’m happy to be here, and I’m happier that Brenda, Emma and I are all together again. Twelve months after arriving here, alone, with two suitcases and living in a hotel room, we own a condo here and Brenda & I watched the Folsom Field fireworks from our front porch with Emma blinking inquisitively from the other side of the screen door.

It’s all good.

Brenda has been busy working a couple of jobs, and I was fairly convinced that this weekend she’d be working all weekend. So when I hiked up to Bear Peak via the Fern Canyon Trail yesterday, I really didn’t mind that my knee joints were solidifying as I sat on the couch last night. I figured I was done with physical exertion for the weekend. Imagine my surprise when Brenda emerged from her shop last night, having completed all tasks, and was all excited about going hiking on Sunday (today).

We’ve been meaning to summit South Boulder Peak for several weeks now, ever since we did Bear Peak for the first time last month. Weather and work have conspired against finally tackling the final summit of the nearest Boulder peaks, but today was the day.

We drove down to the South Mesa Trailhead, just south of Boulder and headed on out. We took the Homestead Trail to the Shadow Canyon Trail, and commenced climbing, and climbing and climbing, and climbing….

At one point, you reach a saddle, where you can hang a right and head for Bear Peak, or a left, and head for South Boulder Peak. The view at that point is already amazing, but we knew that more awaited us. Since we’d both already been to Bear Peak, we hung a left. There was about 500 feet remaining to the summit.

On the way up this last segment, we passed a trail runner on his way down from the peak. These people run up and down these trails, and my knees are still asking me tonight: “daddy, why do those people behave the way they do?” I have no answer.

Just shy of the summit, we were greeted by a huge pile of boulders and a couple of hikers just coming down from the top. “You have to climb the rocks!”, they said. No shit. Brenda & I stowed our trekking poles and crawled along the rocks to the summit. Here’s the view:

I have to say, I really like this local Boulder peak. I really think that it’s better than Bear Peak, which affords 360-degree views. A full panorama is nice, but Shadow Canyon is an awesome challenge, with great views along the way, and South Boulder Peak features amazing views with more dramatic vistas; there are plenty of perches on South Boulder Peak where you can look at the Continental Divide, and look down at your feet and stare in to a canyon that is three thousand feet below you (where you were just a few hours ago):

The hike down was accelerated due to an advancing storm, but I think that whatever speed I descended the peak today would not have mattered; between yesterday’s ascent and today’s, my knees and feet have been pounded more than they ever have. The views at the top(s) were worth it, but I’m quite certain that tomorrow I’m gonna be a hurtin’ puppy.

(Galen, if you’re reading, my FKT for Bear Peak via the Fern Canyon Trail is now 1:25.)