Day 3: Learning about Colorado thunderstorms

Today is a shorter day. We plan to finish section 3. This section is all rolling, smooth dirt trail with shady pine trees and occasional bracing streams.

I start slow and sleepy. We sleep till 6, then pack and start walking by 8. I eat mushroom spaghetti for breakfast, since we're a day ahead of schedule and I have an extra dinner. I'm still feeling lazy from last night, when we lay sleepy in the tent for hours.

Today seems hotter, mostly because there's no breeze. Also, expectation ruins experience. Knowing that today is short and flat, I expect the miles to fly by.

Instead, I feel nauseous. Around 10 AM my feet are achy and I'm hungry and I eat a caffeinated clif bar. But then I feel icky, my tummy too hot and sour and annoyed. I find myself trudging up a hill just after 11 AM, stomach unhappy. OK, I say to myself, just hang on. Hang on till noon and if you're still nauseous then, we'll deal with it then.

I put a wet bandana on my stomach and undo my hip strap so all my weight is on my shoulders. That's fine; I am basically out of water and I'm down to a day of food, so I guess my back weighs close to 22 lbs. Fine for a short, sick hike.

Granite and I walk separately for parts of the day, catching each other at streams and junctions. I dip my feet at 2 streams.

At noon, I feel better. Not great, but OK.

I keep on because I'm only 90 minutes from the end, and we burn through the last section at a pace that leave us both skeptical when we look at the map. We rest at a freezing cold stream where I force my burning feet to submerge for a few minutes. Then a quick climb and we are done.

We arrive blinking and stumbling at a wide dirt road. A white minivan awaits, back opened wide. We step off the trail and see Steve inside, smiling and waving. 

I hurry over, grinning. "Steve!" I say. It's strangely perfect.

Bill, the driver, owns the Lynwood hostel with his wife Lynn. They run a B&B and for the last few years they've been taking in hikers. Mostly folks who get into trouble, Bill explains. He's a big guy, owning his space, red tinged skin and huge hands. He tells us about folks coming off the trail to escape torrential thunderstorms and to recover from blisters.

"Colorado thunderstorms aren't like the Sierra Nevada or the Appalachian," he warns. "Temperatures here will drop 10-15 degrees right after it rains, sometimes more. And if you get wet..."

Steve agrees. He recounts his own brush with hypothermia on the Colorado Trail years back. He waited too long to put on a slicker so he could finish filtering water and was soaked. Then the temperature fell.

We roll into town and Bill points out all the amenities: the gas station, a tiny camping store, a couple restaurants, a winery (unfortunately closed) and a beer garden.

Then we arrive at Lynwood and it's rustic and weird and delightful. The property is neighbored by a

roaring river and has a heart-shaped fishpond with a big jet of water forming a facsimile of a fountain in the middle. The hiker dorm is a big open space with a few camping cots, a fridge and sink, and a bathroom with a shower.

I immediately duck into the shower, grabbing a lightly used bar of hotel soap from the dish by the sink and using a bit of Head and Shoulders shampoo that was left in the shower. It feels almost too good. I don't find any ticks. Win.

Granite and I try to hitch into town, but nobody stops in the first 5 minutes and then it starts pouring suddenly. We dash to the nearby market, grab some slices of cheese and small packets of Fritos and then decide to eat next door at the Italian restaurant.

We sit, dripping, next to the window overlooking the rushing, brimming river and watch the rain. Steve is at the restaurant, and he stops over on his way out the door. We bid him good luck as he takes off for the trail. He's apparently hoping to get out and camp tonight, even though it's raining intensely outside.

Dinner is lovely—cheesey pasta dishes—and we drink wine and play with our phones and chat. It's all easy in town. Then we wander back to the hostel to do laundry. We spend the evening on the porch watching hummingbirds, cuddling with the hostel's terrified Pomeranian, and chatting with Lynn and Bill and Steve, who decided to spend the night after all.