Finishing Section 14
~5 miles
I open my eyes at
5:30, stretch, and slip on shoes to go pee near the tent. We have
just a few miles to walk today to the road, and no particular rush,
so I curl back into my sleeping bag. Granite rustles and leaves at
some point, and I curl up and keep sleeping.
When I wake, it's
light outside and the sun cascades through leafy trees and onto the
tent. It's 8:30 AM. I slept 11.5 hours.
I exit the tent and
walk the 10 minutes back to the campground to use their latrine,
since scattered car campers make privacy hard to come by. I eat a
simple breakfast and pack.
I'm ready to leave
but Granite stays back to let the sunshine dry the tent, which is
damp along the bottom.
The day starts with
an 800 foot climb. I feel amazing as I climb, my legs strong and
energetic. I daydream and plan and drink in the view of trees and
distant mountains. I feel better today than I've felt in a week,
maybe more. Maybe it's because we're lower now, closer to 9,000 feet,
or maybe it's the long sleep, or maybe i'm just getting better at
hiking. Whatever the reason, my feet fly over the ground.
I'm supposed to meet
Granite at the road, but I see a dirt road and I'm worried this might
be our meeting spot, even though it's too early. I stop to build him
a trail marker with rocks so he knows I continued, and he catches up
just as I finish.
We walk quickly the
next two miles, and I'm sad to see Rt. 50 down below when we crest
the hillside. I wanted to walk like this all day.
But we need our
resupply package with food for the next leg, so we head down to the
road. We thumb it, and within 15 minutes we are climbing into the
open back of a pickup, me leaning back on Granite, wind whipping
against us.
Our driver is
friendly and wants to hear about the trail and tell us about his
daughter, who is moving to Oakland. We chat a while and Granite
realizes one of the lenses has fallen from his sunglasses. We search
the back of the pickup but can't find it.
Monarch Mountain
Lodge is a stale, sad hotel. It's got a tiny gift shop that the
anxious woman at the front desk tells us she can run over to if we
want to buy something.
Their restaurant is
closed, which is annoying. I called twice from Denver because I heard
on the Facebook group it would be closed, but the woman promised it
would be open on Sunday. It's not, and the young woman is deeply
apologetic and also a bit nervous when we ask her.
So. We check into
our room, and decide to try to hitch to Salida for food. I hop in the
shower while Granite goes to get our resupply package. He's back when
I step out. The woman can't find our resupply package, even though
she knows she saw it earlier.
Granite showers and
then we go stand along the edge of Rt 50 and thumb it. The sun is
blazing hot and it takes 20 minutes to get a ride, a sweet lesbian
couple who smoke cigarettes and tell us about their kids and seem
like the kind of people we'd like to be friends with. They drop us
off at their favorite Mexican restaurant and I devour a veggie
burrito in minutes.
Salida is hot and
sunny, cute boutique stores and a nice outfitter. I call the Monarch
Mountain Lodge and the harried woman tells me our resupply box hasn't
appeared and that she has "asked every employee who hasn't quit
since it arrived."
We meander Salida to gather supplies for our next leg, since the box seems to be lost. We also grab potato salad, cheese, fresh bread, and pineapple for dinner.
We stop by the
Simple Hostel, a backpacker favorite, a raid their free hiker box for
supplies. Sitting at the table when we walk in is Pika. We happily
reunite and ask how she's getting on post-bear attack. She is smiley
and relaxed, says she's taking two days before hitting the trail
again. Her legs and hips are giving her issues and she needs to see a
chiropractor.
Since we have so many groceries, we decide to take a taxi back to the hotel. We hang in a distillery drinking whiskey and sweating in the heat, conversation run dry, for half an hour. Then a taxi driver with sandy dreads to his waist and an aquiline nose arrives, wide smile. He says there's another passenger trying to get to the Lodge tonight, if we'll wait a bit we can split the fare.
We hang out at the
bus station for 20 minute until the bus arrives. The new passenger is
Woody and he's a truck driver from Georgia. Apparently one of the
trucks was abandoned up at the Lodge and the company flew him up to
drive it back.
Woody jokes about being the only black guy in Colorado and takes photos of the mountains with his phone. He asks the driver about Sasquatch.
"I don't tell
everybody this story," the driver says, slowly. "But I was
coming down that mountain over there—not the tall peak but the one
next to it—and it was dusk, a few years ago. And I saw this thing
crouched by the side of the road. I thought it was nothing at first,
but then it took a step onto the road and stood up. And that step was
completely silent. Then it went down off the side of the road, and
rocks were falling. I thought I might have been seeing things but the
rocks falling made me realize it was real."
He said it was 7
feet tall, maybe a bit more, and very hairy, but also gaunt. He said
that he thought Sasquatch hung out on that mountain because there are
hot springs there and it could stay warm.
Then we are back in
the hotel, watching TV and doing laundry and sorting food. We stay up
late watching Everest. I turn it off before everybody dies.
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