Category Archives: Outdoor Activities

Celebrating Our Accomplishments

Life is full of events, both events in which we have control over and events which we do not. This is true for everybody, from the most successful and confident people to the most disillusioned. It’s also true that all people will experience both positive and negative events.

There are a lot of cheesy sayings out there that get to the same general point. The one that sticks out in my mind is…

Every time I’ve ever read this statement, I imagine the author primarily referring to those “negative” events- the kind of events that can cause anxiety, and, when not properly handled, have long lasting negative consequences, including a reduction in confidence and self-worth.

However, I feel as if this statement can apply both ways. The same way the impact negative events can have on our lives can be minimized through the proper response, the positive impact of certain events can be truly realized, both with regards to life circumstance as well as confidence and self-worth, with the right response to a good event.

That is why it is important to celebrate accomplishments whether major or minor. When celebrated properly, a person’s accomplishments can reinforce positive perceptions they have about themselves- without doing so at the expense of others, the way so many mistakenly do.

I wanted to reach the 2,000-mile mark, celebrating the biggest cycling year of my life, at a location that is iconic as well as meaningful. I might have selected a place right in the middle of the Central Rocky Mountains, had it not been for the basic fact that it is November. While the weather has been warm, to the point that it doesn’t feel like summer actually ended, the month of November still comes with constraints. 70 degree temperatures will not change the fact that by 5:00 it will be getting dark. And, in the mountains, there is more risk for trouble, in the form of precipitation, wind, and chilly mornings.

Luckily, there was a reasonable place to host this event; Davidson Mesa, a moderate sized hill, that sits about 600 feet above town, roughly six miles East of Boulder.

The view of the Flatiorns to the West on a clear day is magnificent enough to warrant the Colorado Department of Transportation putting in a scenic overlook, which is particularly popular among tourists to the area driving from Denver to Boulder.

As is the case at the top of Vail Pass, the rest area is shared between motor vehicles and bicycles, as there is now a bike trail that follows highway 36 between Denver and Boulder. As a regular visitor to Boulder, I have ridden on this trail about a dozen and a half times over the course of 2016. So, it felt both scenic and meaningful to celebrate reaching this mile marker at the most scenic location along the trail between Denver and Boulder.

What makes events like this truly special is sharing them with others. For me, this meant even sharing the event with someone who had a more significant accomplishment, mileage-wise, than I did. In fact, I know that there are a lot of cycling enthusiasts who ride far more miles than I do, some even topping out at over 10,000 miles in one year!

2016 was a memorable cycling year for me, and the fact that I hit this milestone, 2,000 miles is only a small part of it. When I look back upon the year, that is now almost over, and think of the cycling I have done, it is about way more than numbers. It is pedaling around Niagara Falls

The Adirondacks

Over the mountain passes of New Hampshire

And reaching the ocean, after six days, to have a fresh lobster.

It is treks to places like Cheyenne and Castle Rock.

It is countless rides long the Platte River, Cherry Creek, and Route 36 bike trails. It is even commuting for work. This celebration for me, was about all those experiences way more than it was about reaching a milestone. In a way, I was celebrating a year’s worth of positive and healthy experiences on my bicycle.

And I got to share the event with others, some of whom joined me for the 25-mile ride from downtown Denver, and some of whom joined me along the way.

I even shared the event with a friend who was celebrating a more significant accomplishment than mine, 3,000 miles. The true way to celebrate our accomplishments, both big and small is to do so in a way that does not take away from the accomplishments of others. Knowing there are people out there who accomplish more, ride 3,000, 5,000, even 10,000 miles, and have gone to more destinations, some even riding across countries or continents, does not take away from what I have done.

I know I am not a super hero, or someone saving the world because I do some interesting bike rides that add up to 2,000 miles a year. And, I know my life will have some more significant accomplishments. But, I also know how to properly harness an event like that. And, it is certainly not by using it as a means in which to compare myself favorably with some people for an artificial self-esteem boost. Nor is it by dwelling on how much more others have done. It’s by simply being joyous, celebrating, being happy for others, but most importantly, allowing myself to be happy for myself.

Pure Instinct

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Day-to-day life over the past month or so had left me kind of burnt out. I was inexplicably feeling exhausted. I was not at my best- which I truly hate. I’d realized weeks ago I would eventually need a day to disconnect. We all need that every once in a while. I figured out that I would not want to hear everybody’s recap of the election (regardless of the result), and Wednesday’s weather was forecasted to be unseasonably warm.

So, I took Wednesday off, got in my car and just started to drive. I had no plan, no idea as to where I would be headed when I left. I purposely refrained from making a plan. I didn’t look into options, or pre-meditate in any sort of way. I wanted to try something different than what we all typically do when we travel. I wanted to lean simply on my instinct, and just let it determine where I should go as I go. Everywhere I went, every decision I made regarding when and where to turn, I made on the fly, just based on what felt right.

I went west out of Denver, following highway 6 through Golden, than 93 north, and 72 west towards Nederland. I continuously resisted the urge to pull out my map book, or my phone, or turn to any other source of information to achieve a welcome break from one of the things that may be exhausting all of us in the mid-2010s. This is the process of gathering information. In this era, often gather way too much of it, agonizing over it, to the point where we delay actually making the decision, sometimes far too long!

Along the way, I experienced this strange hyper-emotional calm. I began to tear up. I was breathing heavy. But, it felt really good. It felt as if for the past couple of months, emotions were one by one filling up inside my head, bouncing around like molecules until they gradually started to reach a critical mass, where there was no longer room for them to move around. They had just become jammed . And, now, with whatever barrier that was keeping them inside removed, I was suddenly free to just let them out, and let them all out at once.

As I continued along this windy path, this strange hyper-emotional calm became accompanied by a feeling of optimism. I felt like I knew I was in the right place, doing the right things, and making progress toward where I wanted to be. I’d freed myself from all the data, all the second guessing that gradually erodes away at our confidence. I knew that, both that day, and in life, I was moving in the right direction even when I didn’t see the destination.

For a while, I had no idea as to why I was experiencing burnout. The term typically conjures up images of someone working long hours into the night, neglecting their friends, their families, and other areas of their lives. Burnout is people working 70+ hour weeks, which I most certainly had not been for the duration of 2016. So, why was I burned out? Why did I feel drained so often?

Having searched for answers regarding this, through reading, conversation, and observing people, I came to a series of important realizations about burnout, which run contrary to the image of long nights with pots of coffee.

It’s not the amount of work that burns us out.

Workload can contribute, but more important is how we feel while we are doing our work.

The primary source of burnout is feeling as if we are being phony, or fake.

Pretending to be someone else, for whatever reason we do it, is exhausting. It is not sustainable. The only way to be is our true selves. That is what our instincts tell us to do.

Negative energy in all forms leads to burnout.

One of the nastiest forms is fear, trying to prevent some sort of bad outcome such as loss of job or status. When we act out of fear, or anger, hate, etc., everything we do is significantly more draining.

One of the most exhausting things we do is try to prove ourselves.

I’ve seen plenty of instances where someone is working long hours, but is not burned out because they are doing what they love and they feel confident while doing it.

My instinct even took me down a random dirt road, something I otherwise never would have done if it were not my previously specified destination.

I ended up at a place called Rainbow Lakes, part of the Indian Peak Wilderness.

I hiked roughly 2.5 miles, getting to the treeline, which was surprisingly nearly snow free! This is definitely not encouraging for fans of winter sports.

As, well, as can often be the case in our lives as a whole, the change of season that winter sports fans are waiting for is simply not happening yet. This hike, on Wednesday Nov. 9th, felt shockingly similar to the way it would have felt in the middle of the summer.

Just over the ridge, I got myself to a place that was extremely inspiring. Unfortunately, I did not get a photo, as, well, my phone died. It was a sign that what I needed to do was disconnect, and, once again, connect to my own thoughts. Just for good measure, though, here’s a pic I found of the exact place where I sat.

rainbowlakes_20161109

I actually stared at that one little gap in the rock straight ahead.

Our subconscious thoughts do take into account recent information, even as our conscious minds look for more info and don’t know what to make of it. My subconscious mind, my instinct, though, processed all of this; the election, interactions with people, my own feelings, and summed it up neatly in one sentence, a sentence that simply popped into my head…

The age of deference is over

Make what you want of that.

I also came to another revelation regarding a matter that is more specific to my life. I had been thinking a lot about the concept of acceptance. It is why we are always trying to prove ourselves, and often exhausting ourselves. Afternoon exhaustion, dissatisfaction, lack of inspiration, all of these concepts are inter-related.

We want to be accepted, and can only be accepted as who we are.

But, for each person individually, myself included…

If we want to be accepted as who we genuinely are, we must do so for others as well.

We’re all looking for acceptance, but if we make it easier on each other, as well as ourselves, we might all have a bit more energy leftover for other things.

The previous night’s election, regardless of how any of us feel about it, is yet another example where sometimes more information, more data, is not better. The best models, based on every piece of data available, made predictions that were quite flawed. My instinct, many months back, came to a more accurate conclusion about what was to occur.

In an era where we have access to unlimited information, and are often bombarded by it, sometimes we need to realize that less is more. I, for sure, will, going forth, make a better effort to rely less on data and more on instinct. After all, it brought me to Rainbow Lakes, without even so much as looking at my atlas, or my Google Maps App.

Looking Forward to Winter

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No season is the subject of speculation quite the way winter is. Sure, people anticipate all four seasons, planning activities such as vacations, sporting events, and outdoor activities around each one. But, there is something about the way winter is anticipated, as experiences can vary year to year in winter more than in any other season. Every October, speculation begins to intensify. Fear and dread clearly radiate from the voices of some, while excitement and anticipation come from others. Most likely, this depends on one’s location, as well as preferred activities.

I spent a lot of years in the Midwest, and completely sympathize with those who dread winter, and hope for nothing more than to have their pain be as minimal as possible for the season. Here in Colorado, on the other hand, enthusiasts of outdoor snow sports, mostly skiing and snowboarding, anticipate winter with great excitement, typically hoping that the coming season’s snowfall and snowpacks will be at least in line with seasonal averages, if not more.

As an Epic Pass skier who lives in Denver, my ideal winter would be one with plenty of snow in the mountains, particularly the resorts I ski near the I-70 corridor, but generally milder east of the mountains, where Denver is. And, given this year’s setup, I may actually get this kind of winter that I want!

I have received quite a few questions, both from people local to Colorado, and those considering traveling here to ski in the mountains, regarding what kind of winter to expect. Now that the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association (NOAA) has released its outlook for the season, there is no better time to give my own take on how winter 2016-17 is looking.

First, I should note that, the NOAA forecast, as well as other forecasts already made for the winter season primarily focus on one phenomenon: La Nina. This, of course is the inverse of El Nino. So, while El Nino winters tend to be wet to the south and dry to the north, La Nina winters will tend to be the opposite.

winter_lanina

This is reflected in NOAA’s graphical precipitation outlook for the winter.

noaa_winter2016_precip

However, this year’s La Nina is likely to be a weak one. Both El Nino and La Nina can be strong, moderate, or weak, and the predictive power of the phenomenon is limited in cases when the anomalies are weak. In these cases, I find it useful to look at other patterns that are beginning to emerge when speculating about long-range weather patterns.

Anomalies in Sea Surface Temperatures are the most commonly used data point when predicting weather long term. This is because the ocean retains much more heat than land or air, making it more likely that the current pattern will persist for longer. Ocean temperatures can also have a major impact on atmospheric circulation, as is evidenced by the El Nino phenomenon itself.

When looking at current SST anomalies, three patterns emerge as having the potential to impact the weather Colorado and the rest of Western North America will experience this winter.

First is the weak La Nina, whose impact would be more precipitation for the Northwest, but less for the Southwest.

Second is the abnormal warmth off the East Coast of North America. This pattern emerged at the end of a summer that was hotter and drier than normal across much of the Northeast, a pattern that generally has continued, although they are currently experiencing a cold snap. This warm anomaly, if it persists, would mostly likely lead to frequent northwesterly flow over Western North America, as the predominant pattern in winter is one called a wave #3 pattern. This means three ridges and three troughs over the globe, a ridge to our west and a trough to our east.

The final temperature anomaly that appears to be in a crucial area are the warm anomalies off the coast of Alaska. These warm temperatures could strengthen a phenomenon known as the “Aleutian Low”, which would act to steer wet weather into the Pacific Northwest. Under this scenario, Colorado and the interior west will likely be drier.

All three phenomenon point to, although not with too much confidence, more frequent northwesterly flow across the state. This pattern tends to be dry in Colorado overall, but, as pointed out by Joel Gratz, is a favorable wind direction for upslope storms at ski resorts along the I-70 corridor, including Vail, Copper Mountain, and Breckenridge.

With La Nina being weak, and the other two SST warm anomalies (see map above) being in close proximity to areas of cool anomalies, there is low predictive power to this seasonal forecast. Any scenario is still possible. However, signs are pointing, generally, towards a dry winter for much of the west, particularly the Southwest, and a wet winter in the Northwest. Locally, in Colorado, the most likely scenario is a mixed bag for the ski resorts, with the storms that do occur favoring the corridor of popular resorts near I-70 1-2 hours west of Denver.

And a warm and dry winter on the East side of the Continental Divide.

(Note: the two photos above are from the previous winter season)

The Longest Day Hike of My Life

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Conundrum Hot Springs

The hike from the Conundrum Trailhead to Conundrum Hot Springs is roughly 8.5 miles. Round trip is at least 17 miles of hiking. I say AT LEAST as I have been on plenty of hikes where side excursions, both planned and unplanned, lead to covering a total distance that exceeded the official distance of the hike.

Due to the distance, and the destination, nearly all the people we encountered on this hike were backpacking. This is an attractive option, as the trail is pretty long but not terribly challenging, and the hot springs are the kind of destination one would want to spend a significant amount of time at. However, Conundrum Hot Springs is a popular destination, and there are limited camping sites in the immediate vicinity of the springs.

Conundrum Hot Spring is close to Aspen, which is three and a half hours from Denver. Some of the people in our group, myself included, were not able to leave early enough on Friday for us to be confident that we could secure a camping spot. We ended up deciding to find a campground somewhat close to the trailhead, and hike to and from the springs as a day hike. As an added bonus, we would not have to bring, or carry nearly as much equipment, as we would be “car camping”. The hike would be both easier and harder. We would not be carrying nearly as much weight, but we would be cramming 17 miles of hiking into one day.

Up in the mountains of Central Colorado, trees change color earlier in the Fall than they do in many other parts of the Country. In general, the second half of September, and maybe the first few days of October, is the best time to see the Aspen trees here change colors. I was partially surprised by how vibrant the colors were, by September 16th. For the first two hours or so of the drive, before sunset, we saw a preview of the kind of colors we’d be seeing during the hike, certainly early season, but vibrantly colorful, with sections of bright yellows and oranges periodically appearing in front of us.

To be sure we would have enough time, we had to wake up, eat breakfast and leave the campground at Lincoln Creek (dispersed camping roughly 40 minutes from the trailhead) all before sunrise. We arrived at the trailhead and started hiking at roughly 15 minutes after 7 A.M.

The morning chill was both an obstacle and a boost. Overnight temperatures dropped to roughly 30F (-1C) at the campground. For the first 90 minutes of the hike, the ground was covered in frost. In fact, the frost even made our first river crossing a bit slippery.

This morning cold made me cary several layers, adding a little bit to the weight of my backpack (although it was still way, way, lighter than it would have been had we been backpacking). However, the cold weather motivated us to begin our hike at a rapid pace.

We would cover over four miles before we even reached the sun!

I would describe at least the first five miles of the hike as “easy” from the standpoint of evolution gain.

Many sections of the trail are actually close to perfectly flat, giving me plenty of time to take in the natural beauty that is around me, and also connect with my friends who I was hiking with. When hiking, it is challenging to have a conversation when hiking up steep terrain, but fairly easy to do so in largely flat sections.

The appearance of small lakes precludes the transition to the more challenging part of the trail.

This occurs somewhere around six and a half miles into the hike. First of all, there are sections that are more technically challenging, including a couple of tricky creek crossings, and a section where one must scramble over rocks.

There last two miles of the trail also includes some fairly steep sections. I wouldn’t say they are overly challenging, but in the context of a 17 mile day that included hiking at a rapid pace towards the beginning, they ended up being fairly exhausting.

We ended up spending roughly two hours at the hot springs (including changing and eating lunch). There were a lot of people in the hot springs, but it was not as crowded as some of us had feared.

For a variety of reasons, the fall colors appeared even more magnificent on the way back down! The most significant reason had to be the manner in which the trees appeared in the mid-afternoon sun.

I was also pleasantly surprised to see a significant amount of deep orange shades. In prior experience with fall in the Rockies, I had almost exclusively seen the yellow shade that seems to be the most common fall color for Aspen trees. While “autumn gold” is pretty, I had, in some ways, missed wide variety of shades that leaves on maple trees take on during fall.

I would definitely describe the color we enountered as “early season”. There were still many Aspen trees primarily shaded green, particularly at lower elevations. This indicates that the next two weekends could be just, or perhaps even more, colorful! The colorful trees, the yellows and the oranges, tended to be those higher up. The several patches of deep shaded orange I saw were nearly exclusively up closer to the tree line.

Both the hike up to the hot springs and the return trip took roughly four hours.

We got back to the trailhead sometime just after 5 P.M., and, after the 40 minute drive back to Lincoln Creek, I finally got to see what the campground looked like. And I got to do something I had not previously done. I got to park my car with the rear left tire on top of a rock, showing off just how rugged my vehicle is. Well, at least in an auto show pamphlet sort of way.

Capping off an exhausting day was a side excursion, to a waterfall, well, multiple waterfalls, that those of us in our group lucky enough to be able to leave early Friday had located roughly a quarter of a mile from the campground. In fact, they hyped this place up over the course of the hike. So, we had to go. Additionally, this side excursion was enough for me to achieve something meaningless, but also something I am likely never again to achieve. I recorded 50,000 steps on that step counter thing that comes with every iPhone6. Yay me!

We would explore this likely unnamed waterfall area again Sunday morning before departing for Denver.

If you count all the places where water squirts out of random places in the rock, there are probably close to a dozen “waterfalls” in this area. What a great unexpected treat!

The return trip on Sunday was eventful as well, with some great stops at Independence Pass and Twin Lakes, both places I had driven by on Friday, but after the sun had already set.

I titled this blog “The Longest Day Hike of My Life”, as, well, I can not picture a day where I hike more than 17 miles on a day trip. However, I probably would have never imagined hiking 17 miles in one day a few years back, so there is no way to definitively say never. I am prepared, though, for this to be my longest hike, and understand the significance of it. Like many of the adventures I had over the course of this summer, and in previous years, it was both exhausting and amazing. But, most worthwhile experiences, from relationships to starting successful businesses and such, are. Being exhausted after this experience should be a reminder to all of us that what is easiest is often the least rewarding, and that which is most challenging often comes with the greatest reward.

Backpacking in the Weminuche Wilderness: Day 3

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The Weminuche Wildreness appeared to be particularly devastated by the recent Mountain Pine Beetle epidemic. While a portion of the second day was spent above the tree line and in storms for much of the journey, we wound our way in and out of the forest, alternating between hiking through the forest itself, and hiking across an open meadow where we could gaze upon the forest to both our left and our right.

Throughout the State of Colorado, and throughout the West, I observe areas where the Pine Beetles have decimated the forest, changing the ecosystem forever. Nowhere, though, have I seen a higher concentration of dead trees. I would estimate that, over the course of the trip, some 70-75% of all the pine trees I saw, were, in fact, dead.

But I did notice some signs of life, particularly at the campground Sunday (Day 3) morning. Tucked away amongst the densely pack forests of decimated trees, little signs of life seemed to appear. It reminded me of many American cities, circa 1982, decay being the overarching theme but, signs of life and pockets of hope beginning to appear here and there for those willing to observe. Maybe indeed, the worst has now passed for this particular forest. As was the case for many of our cities, it is possible that in a decade or so, we will revisit areas like this, and see once again a thriving forest, albeit, as was the case with our cities, with a different character?

As is typically the case on a three day excursion like this one, the last day was primarily a descent. As we descended, we quickly reached elevations where Aspens, rather than Pine trees made up a significant proportion of the forest.

Maybe it is different at this latitude, farther South than the Denver area, where I live and spend most of my time. But, it feels as if in this wilderness, Aspen trees are able to grow at some pretty high elevations.

We figured out the tree line here to be somewhere close to 12,000 feet in elevation. When looking upon sections of forest from afar like this, it is easy to picture some of these Aspen trees living at elevations close to 11,00 feet. Over the course of my four years in the Denver area, I had grown accustomed to them disappearing between 9,000 and 10,000 feet.

Sunday’s hike was a 7.3 mile trek along the Ute Creek trail (the East Ute Creek trail we had followed the previous day merged with the main Ute Creek trail). The trail alternated a bit, climbing up and out of the valley formed by the creek for some sections, and descending back toward the creek for others. Due to the previous night’s onslaught of rain, which likely impacted the entire valley, the trails on this, the final day, were at times even muddier than the were the prior two days. At the end of three days, our total distance came out around 25 miles. I speculated as to whether the extra distance we traveled stepping around puddles, and veering left and right to avoid some of the muddiest sections of trail, over the course of three days made this a mile or so longer than it would have been had the trails been completely dry.

I personally added some distance on top of that. I love side excursions, whether hiking/backpacking, cycling, or on a road trip. And, in addition to the side excursion to the feature known as “the window” the previous day, I took one completely on my own the final day. Roughly halfway through the hike, I saw a place where I could cut down to the creek, and see a mini-waterfall.

The final part of the day consisted of a small climb out of the Ute Creek valley, followed by a descent back towards the Rio Grande Reserviour.

It is inevitable that, on the last day of any trip, we all begin to ponder our return home, and a return to our “normal lives”, whatever they may be. This return, though, is somewhat unique, as a trip into the woods is not just a journey away from our jobs, or certain responsibilities, it feels more like a complete separation from the modern world, or as some people refer to it, the “real world”. All of us were separated, not just from work, but from TV, from the news, from Twitter, and even the manner in which society is structured in the 21st Century.

Since my return to Denver was a return to, after being completely separated from, the “real world”, I started to contemplate the “real world” as one big entity, which, even for a big-picture abstract curious minded thinker like me, turned out to be strange. I feel like we often compartmentalize the “real world” into buckets; the working world, the relationship world, the school world, etc. We will write blogs, have conversations, confide in others about our hardships, or celebrate our successes, with respect to one specific bucket of the “real world” at a time. Some people will even chose to accept or rebel against the modern world on a bucket-by-bucket basis. “I’m a freelancer, happily married with two kids and a picket fences house.” “I work 9-to-5 for a large corporation, but I only eat organically certified food.”

I’m not saying there is anything wrong with any of the partially-rebellious lifestyles I am describing here. We often try to oversimplify the actions and lifestyles of others as being either “conformist” or “rebellious”. When I thought about life in the woods, and the few people that actually do it, live off the grid, and off the land, I think of those people as “rebellious”. But, then I thought of human beings as part of the animal kingdom, and thought about what all non-domesticated animals do. They live in the woods. They hunt their food, many wandering around nomadically. When thought of in that manner, it is us human beings, and our domesticated cats and dogs, that are rebelling against the way the rest of the animal kingdom works by farming our food and setting up permanent shelters.

At the conclusion of our journey, we had to actually wade across the Rio Grand River to get to the car, as the trail ended abruptly at the river. This likely explained why we did not see any other people the entire time we were on the East Ute Creek and Ute Creek trails yesterday and today.

Shortly after leaving the trailhead, I saw what looked like baby mule deer living along the steepest part of the hill.

Like the journey to the Wilderness, the journey home took us by some of Colorado’s highest peaks and most stunning mountainous features. I thought of the “real world” I was gradually re-entering, the life I live and the journey I just took. It is not important whether we are “conforming” or “rebelling”, because, like life in the woods, it can be thought of as conformist or rebellious depending on perspective.

Those of us that are honest with ourselves, and with those around us, will undoubtedly find ourselves in both situations. We’ll find ourselves in a place where our choices are the same as those around us, and be suseptable to being labelled “conformists”. We’ll also, at some point, find ourselves in a place where our choices are not those of the majority, and be met with skepticism, hostility, and possibly even pressure to change. What matters most, is not fitting into an image we may have of ourselves, whether it be the upstanding citizen, rebel, outcast, or whatever, it is that we have the courage to be all things, depending on our setting, in order to be true to ourselves.

Backpacking in the Weminuche Wilderness: Day 2

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Before moving to Colorado, I experienced seasons in a completely different way. While there would be some anomalies, for the most part, winter was winter and summer was summer. Snow was something I experienced starting in November, through the winter, probably one last time in early April, and then not again for 6-9 months. Likewise, heat would be primarily confined to the summer months. In other words, I experienced being cold and being warm in two separate parts of the year. The experience would generally only mix during the in between seasons; mid-spring and mid-fall.

In Colorado it’s all different. In Denver I’ve seen temperatures reach the lower 70s (23 C) in the middle of February. At higher elevations snow can fall nearly year round, and there are places where snowpack persists well into the summer.

Saturday morning, the start of my second day in the Weminuche Wilderness, was a cold one. The chill had awoken me at 3:00 in the morning, when I reached for my warm hat and for the zipper to zip my sleeping bag all the way shut. At roughly 6:30 I woke up for good, and crawled out of the tent to find ice on the fly! Frost was found on many of the items we left outside, including this bear cannister.

It warmed up fairly quickly at the campsite making me wonder why I did not simply stay inside the tent for another hour. All the weather forecasts we had looked at prior to this backpacking trip had indicated that a wet period was coming to a slow end, and that each day would get progressively drier (lower probability of rain). Yet, in the morning I saw something that would indicate differently; alto-cumulus clouds. These are puffy clouds with a base somewhat higher up in the sky than the clouds we typically see. On some storm chases, the presence of alto-cumulus clouds indicated the presence of moisture at higher levels of the atmosphere. This was seen as a good sign on a storm chase, but, on a backpacking trip, is a bad sign.

The first few miles of the day took us by a lake we are glad we did not chose to camp at the prior evening, and then back into the woods, where once again the trail was muddy kind of on-and-off.

Headed farther up in elevation, towards the summit of the day, we approached the tree line, encountering several waterfalls. This one, by far, was the most pictureqsue.

I did not even know the name of any of these waterfalls. In fact, I did not even verify that they even have a name. It didn’t even seem important at the time. We just liked what we saw. At that time, most of the conversation within our group revolved around whether we would see marmots in the nearby rocks, and speculation as to what elevation the tree line was at at this latitude.

We followed the Rincon La Vaca (Cow Canyon) trail, which is also considered a section of the Continental Divide Scenic trail, above the tree line, and approached a rock formation we had been looking at since early the prior afternoon, “The Window”.

This is where we decided to stop for lunch, at a lake where we could safely refill our water bottles.

It was noon when we finished eating lunch and, four of us (out of a group of six) decided, despite the potentially ominous weather, to make a side excursion. We dropped our packs and hiked the 500-ish feet (and half a mile) up to “The Window”

DCIM159GOPRO

We got back to the lake, where our backpacks were, around 1:00. As soon as we prepared to move, and catch up with the rest of the group, it started to rain. A few minutes later, ice pellets began to fall from the sky.

We briefly took shelter from the inclement weather, but eventually soldiered on through the not quite rain not quite ice, which would eventually change over to snow!

I experienced a lot of this living in Chicago. I called it “precipitation jambalaya”. But, I never thought I would hike through it, and, well, am used to experiencing this in December, not late August! Once again, that thing about the seasons!

The precipitation stopped right before we turned off the Continental Divide/ Rincon la Vaca trail, and started looking for the trail we would take back towards the reservoir, the East Ute Creek Trail.

The scene looked familiar. The shape of the Ute Creek Valley where we were headed, with an open meadow surrounded by mostly dead forests on either side looked quite similar to the Weminuche Creek Valley we had hiked through the prior day. The trail, though, was hard to find.

For the first mile we kept losing the trail, or we just saw it show up only as a barely visible line in the grass. We actually speculated as to whether or not this trail was so infrequently used and/or maintained that mother nature was basically starting to take it back!

We hiked until roughly 5:00 P.M., and by the time the day was over we hike a total of 10.2 miles (11.2 for those of us that took the side excursion to “the window”). The last hour featured two crazy river crossings where we actually removed our socks and shoes.

We found a campground near a small lake called Black Lake, where, once again, the weather took a turn for the worse.

The rain started shortly after 6 P.M., and did not let up until after sundown. I rushed back into my tent! With all of the experiences of the day, the mixed precipitation at over 12,000 feet elevation, wading through water, and now, once again, more icy rain, I was cold! I was way colder than I wanted to be, and way colder than I ever imagined being in the month of August. For the first 20-30 minutes, I had to lie sitting still inside my sleeping bag, otherwise I would start to shiver.

All I could think of were things that were HOT and DRY. I wasn’t even thinking of warm, pleasant experiences, like drinking rum on a beach in Puerto Rico at sunset. I was thinking about things that would immediately heat me up and dry me off; sheets that were pulled directly out of the drier, a sauna, Death Valley!

With the hard hiking parts over with, I had originally hoped to have kind of a party with the group on Saturday night. We had even brought flasks, filled with whiskey for such an occasion. But, the weather changed my plans, as the rain continued and I continued to periodically hear thunder through the 7:00 and 8:00 hours.

I also did something I never do on group trips; read. I joke I often bring a magazine or even a book, places, but never touch it. This time I actually read. It was the July edition of Adventure Cyclist. Fitting for the mood, thinking about warm places while trying to stay warm, I read full stories about cycling journeys through Morocco and Hawaii, both warm places!

I guess regardless of whether you are in an urban setting or in the wilderness, life has a way of changing plans. In the city, it is some merger, or a random change in commodities prices. In nature, it is the weather. But, when it comes to rain, and anytime rain changes my plans, I always do my best not to complain. Even while I was bummed that I was not partying with my friends and hating how cold I was in my tent, I was mindful to remember that rain is necessary for the food we eat, the water we drink, as well as everything that made this trip possible in the first place. I do not want to be one of those people that fails to realize this, and cannot put up with a little bit of rain.

Backpacking in the Weminuche Wilderness: Day 1

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During the month of August I had fallen back into some bad habits. In particular, I’d fallen into the very habit I often criticize my own generation for: scrolling. I know the costs outweigh the benefits. By gazing at the predictable content of our news feeds and customized social media echo chambers on our phones, we miss out on countless opportunities out there in the real world, all to avoid the discomfort of boredom, or a potentially awkward interaction with another human being.

It’s not just about scrolling. Scrolling is what we all see. It’s the same routine day in and day out. It’s going to the same bars and restaurants over and over. It’s watching movies and TV shows we have already seen multiple times instead of calling people up and organizing a social gathering. It is all the things that we do because the alternative requires a greater amount of effort. It’s low risk, low effort, and low reward. Unfortunately, for me, it lacks stimulation, it lacks enthusiasm, and over time can even lead to depression.

I haven’t thought of a better word for it than “defaulting”. I often feel as if there is some sort of invisible force always dragging us toward this kind of life, this “defaulting”. There seems to be a constant struggle, to mix things up, to avoid the mundane, to avoid losing contact with people. And, while I think my personal record is pretty good (i.e. all the things I write about in this blog), there are times when I get tired of the struggle, and times when I do feel as if this invisible force is indeed advancing on me. At these times, it is good to have some sort of activity, or some sort of trip that helps us hit the “reset” button.

For this purpose, there truly is nothing like going into the woods, away from it all, out of cell service, completely out of my comfort zone, and in a place where “defaulting” is not only no longer easier, but not an option at all!

Our three day backpacking trip began at ThirtyMile Campground, just a mile or so east of the Rio Grande Reservoir.

After passing by a weather station, that is near and dear to me, as it is one of the stations that helped me calibrate the mean impact cold air funneling, in valleys throughout Colorado, has on nighttime lows, we encountered the Rio Grande Reservoir within the first mile of our trip.

Going into this trip, which had been planned for several weeks ahead of time, we knew there would be muddy trails, and a heightened chance of rain. Not only is Southwestern Colorado the most active part of the state during the late summer monsoon season, but this past weekend featured an active pattern in the region.

Friday was supposed to be the most active day, with regards to chances for precipitation. Yet, we lucked out. Leaving at 10 AM, after enjoying a nice relaxing morning at the campground, we hiked 7.5 miles, up the Weminuche Trail, dealing with very little rain, only with muddy trails. Mindful of the storm threat, we stopped shortly after 3:00 P.M., having found a good spot to set up camp, near a stream and some trees. Despite the periodically ominous looking skies, the storms held off until after sundown, giving us plenty of time to set up camp, cook a nice meal, and take in the wilderness, now being officially away from civilization.

I felt exhausted at the end of the day, as I had not gotten a good night sleep the prior evening at the campground. So, I ended up going to sleep shortly after sundown. With two backpacking trips behind me, I am starting to think that sleeping even more than the normal 7.5 hours per night is pretty normal on trips like this.

I spent the last waking hour of the evening inside the tent, listening to the sound of gentile rain tapping on the fly. Under normal circumstances, many of us drown out these sounds, with TV, music, or some other sound. Hearing this sound, for nearly an hour before falling asleep made me imagine a completely different life.

I imagined myself, as I often do, as a completely different person, with a completely different personality, upbringing, circumstance, and desires. I imagined myself living in the woods, in a cabin of sorts, not too unlike the kind many people in Michigan, Minnesota, or Wisconsin have today. It would be a modest sized cabin, with one main room, a bunch of bedrooms, a kitchen, and a closet, to keep things like cross-country skis, wet suits, and all of the other necessary equipment. But, I would not have too many high tech or expensive toys. It would be a life in a small community of sorts, where people know one another, spend a lot of time over at each other’s houses for dinner and games. It would be a life way closer to, and way more connected with nature. It would be a life that would never satisfy the real me, as restless as I get for one adventure after the next, one major social interaction after another, and testing limits. But, for this alternate person I imagine myself being, as I drift off to sleep on a rainy August evening high in the San Juan Mountains of Southwest Colorado, it is perfect, cozy, and quaint.

Cycling from Denver to Cheyenne

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On the evening of July 3^rd, having just finished an exhausting six-day bike ride, including four days of cycling over one hundred miles, my body felt a bit relieved. I was actually ready to rest, ready to sit in front of a computer again! Clay, however, told me that I was going to wake up the next morning, realize I was not biking 100+ miles and not know what to do with myself.

The truth ended up being somewhere in the middle. I could not have pictured cycling at all the next day. This was literally how I felt.

The next day, I biked six miles, to and from Union Station from my home. And, I was perfectly fine with that.

However, I did eventually get antsy, despite two other, closer to home adventures. By Tuesday July 19^th, I posted this picture on Instagram, stating I was bored and wishing to get on my bike and explore again!

I ride the new RTD A-Line train, which connects downtown Denver with Denver International Airport, roughly three days a week for a gig I am currently working at the airport. At Central Park Station, one of six intermediate stops between downtown and the airport, this curious piece of potentially symbolic artwork sits atop a pillar.

Whenever I am on the train, and not trying to sleep for efficiency sake, I see it, and sincerely wonder what its purpose is. It seems to depict a person running to catch the next train, but headless. But why headless? Could it actually be a satire on the futility of the rat race? Could the artist who created the sculpture have had an alterior motive? Could he or she have created this sculpture with the secret hope that a few commuters each day would look at this sculpture and be prompted to ask; what am I doing and why am I doing it? Is this the life I wanted? Is this the natural state of human condition? Etc.?

I, however, had other plans, actually for the next Friday, and, they once again involved my 2012 Bianchi Cyclocross bicycle. The Cheyenne Frontier Days Rodeo was starting, and, I was going to ride my bike there!

The prior evening, I spent the night in Broomfield, after a softball game in Boulder. So, even before this next 100+ mile bike ride, I was already spending some significant time on my bike again. Knowing it was going to be hot, we got an early start. I actually wish we had gotten an earlier start.

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A lot of people hear about my bike adventures and immediately sounds perplexed…

Is there a trail there?

Are there safe roads to bike on there?

There’s a lot of trucks on that road.

I would never ride my bike on those roads, you could get killed.

Etc.…

There is some risk, no denying it. When I was a child, one of my favorite bands, the Offspring, told me “Back up your rules. Back up your jive. I’m sick of not living just to stay alive.” More recently, Drake told me, “Everybody dies, but not everybody lives.” The truth is that there is the possibility of death doing nearly everything. People die on the slopes. People die rafting. But, people also die commuting to work. And, due to the health risk factors such as cardiovascular disease and such, sitting around watching television can be deadly!

That being said, I still considered risk when choosing a route, and am still willing to go a few extra miles to reduce my risk. I am just not willing to miss out on opportunities altogether out of fear.

The first part of the ride was pleasant, 95^th St. from Broomfield to Longmont is a road I knew had bicycle accommodations in the form of bike lanes or wide enough shoulders.

Longmont was a little bit tougher to navigate. Like many towns, their bike route network was designed primarily with travel within the town in mind. I stared at their bike map for a good half an hour to figure out the best route through town, but it ended up being a fun route.

I particularly enjoyed all the sculptures along the Saint Vrain Greenway!

One thing people miss when they drive along I-25 between Denver and Fort Collins is how many lakes there are in the area. On the interstate, there are none. On this route between Longmont and Fort Collins, through Berthoud and Loveland, we actually saw a lot of lakes.

I’d been pondering riding my bike from Denver to Cheyenne for years, even going as far as thinking about some of the details, such as what time of year to go and what route to take. As soon as I started thinking about routing, there was one segment I knew I was going to do, the combination of Taft Avenue and Shields St. through Loveland and Fort Collins, roughly half a mile west of highway 287. This straight shot through both towns has a bike lane the entire way, and made navigating through Loveland and Fort Collins was easier than navigating through Longmont.

This is where I started to feel the heat, which was right around 10:30 or 11:00. The temperature probably hit 90 sometime while we were in Fort Collins, making me regret having not left even earlier than we did (we departed at about quarter to 7 in the morning).

Also, the wind had a slight easterly component that day. This made the next two segments of the ride, first from Fort Collins to Wellington, where we stopped for lunch around noon, and then from Wellington to Nunn to reach U.S. highway 85, quite possibly the most challenging segments of the ride. I had this nagging feeling about entering Weld County. I do not know why, I just felt as if something bicycle unfriendly would happen to me in this county specifically. It was mainly just a premonition that bore out to be true, just not in the way I had anticipated.

Upon entering Weld County, the road we were following switched to newly paved blacktop, while the temperatures had climbed probably into the mid-90s. This lead to the closest thing to heat exhaustion we would experience during the ride.

By the time we reached Nunn, we were desperate to get out of the heat for a few minutes and get some water. Unfortunately, despite the fact that Nunn has a water tower that says “Watch Nunn grow”, I’m 100% sure that my calf muscles were growing faster than Nunn that day. The only place we could find to fill up our water bottles was the police station/town hall, and the only reason that option was available to us is because we were riding on a weekday (Friday).

We followed U.S. 85 for the last 30 miles of the ride. We ended up having to wait out a mid-afternoon thunderstorm near the Colorado-Wyoming border, at the only building within a 10-mile radius.

The storm was, however, neat, and I felt as if I were storm chasing on my bicycle (even though in real life that would have been a disaster).

We arrived in Cheyenne during rush hour, which was a little nerve racking as this is the only part of the ride where the shoulder on U.S highway 85 disappears, the last couple of miles before entering town.

After 109 miles of riding, we were there, Cheyenne Frontier Days, miraculously with enough energy left to party, parade, and rodeo!

A Moderate Hike at Reynolds Park

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I became interested in the weather at a young age, in part, because its impact on all of our lives is quite evident, almost every day. While the weather has an impact on nearly all aspects of our lives, it has the greatest impact on many of the activities we take part in for enjoyment and fulfillment. Activities such as hiking, playing on a friendly softball team, or having a family picnic in the park take place outdoors, and require a certain type of weather conditions, otherwise they are either not possible or not enjoyable. For many, including me, activities like these make up an essential part of life, an essential part of feeling “alive”, and an essential part of the human experience.

The weather also behaves in a sort-of predictable but sort-of not predictable manner. From sheer observation, we can recognize certain patterns in how the weather behaves. But, there are always some surprises, some deviations, something to keep us on our toes. If we always knew what exactly what weather conditions to expect, some aspects of life would be easier to plan, but the weather would be far less interesting.

In Colorado, each season presents a different set of considerations. In winter, we watch the snowpack grow, as well as when and where storms that make travel perilous hit. In spring, we watch as the snowpack melts and the runoff produces both rapids, and potential floods. In the summer, an issue for some in places close to Denver, Fort Collins, Pueblo, etc. is the heat. Mid-summer in particular can get quite hot in these locations, with most days reaching highs in excess of 90 degrees. Those looking to avoid this heat can do one of two things; wake up early or travel to a higher elevation.

I needed a calmer weekend. The summer had been active, and I still have to expend some energy in order to make a living. I am not extremely lucky or extremely wealthy. But, I am hardly one to sit inside all weekend in the middle of the summer.

Luckily, there are places one can get to from Denver in roughly an hour, sometimes less, that offer moderate intensity hikes at a high enough elevation to escape some of summer’s heat. One such place is Reynold’s Park, close to Conifer, where we were able to find a set of trails that offer a six-and-a-half-mile loop, with a vertical climb of just over 1000 feet. This hike is described as “moderate” in difficulty (as opposed to the hanging lake trail, with a similar vertical climb that is described as “strenuous”), and I would certainly agree with the assessment.

We took the loop in the counterclockwise direction, using the Raven’s Roost Trail to connect to the Eagle’s Nest Trail. I am actually glad we decided to take this loop in this direction.

We spent roughly an hour getting to the summit, and were fortunately enough to be shielded from the sun for part of the time, due to both sections of denser forest, and partial cloud cover that afternoon.

However, hiking the loop in this direction, we actually saved the best for last. After “summiting”, there was a section of the hike that was generally flat, and also densely packed with pine trees.

I guess we “descended” a little bit, meaning 150 feet or so into the valley of a small creek. When we popped out of that valley, we actually encountered the best view of all, as a clearer (from trees) section of the trail gave us clear views of some of the more interesting rock formations in the distance, including “cathedral rock” in the background of this photo.

As we descended, I thought to myself about how sometimes I do get disappointed when I do not “save the best for last”. What a letdown it is indeed when the best part of any hike happens within the first 45 minutes! In fact, every time I eat a meal there is always a battle going on in my head. I genuinely want to save the best for last, meaning, saving my favorite parts of the meal for the end. But, I also do not want to get full on the other stuff, and not have enough room for what I enjoy the most. This is what makes collecting the proper food at Indian Lunch Buffets a particularly daunting task. Anyone going to one should know their appetite. In fact, I suggest only going when there is a robust appetite, particularly for those with FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out).

I’ve been trying to, of late, capture some better pictures of wildlife. While I haven’t necessarily been out in search of it recently, I have been trying to keep my eyes out for it, as opposed to just looking for waterfalls, unique rock formations, summits and the like as I typically do. The previous week, in Glenwood, I took this photograph of a chipmunk eating a little cracker (also posted in my previous entry).

At Reynolds Park, I got a chance to take this amazing close up photo of a butterfly in the parking lot after the hike.

In fact, this particular butterfly chose to land on a yellow colored post and sit there with its wings out, color coding herself in a manner that almost felt like it was purposeful, as if the butterfly somehow thought there was a possibility it would get famous from this photo; possibly ending up as the July photo in a 2017 Butterflies of Colorado calendar that people will see at the mall, or at Barnes and Noble.

Add to that the craziest sap discharge I have ever seen (okay, trees really aren’t wild but you get the picture), and, well I was pretty successful in trying to expand my photo-taking to new horizons.

In a divine sort of sense, sometimes I wonder if one of the reasons for changes in seasons, changes in weather patterns and such is to ensure that people are forced to go to different places, try different things, and have some kind of a variety in their lives and activities. It is easy to do the same thing over and over again, but it is also the least satisfying way to live. But, sometimes we need a push. Whether that be some sort of tough situation at work, an unwelcome new presence in our community, a terrible breakup or anything else, sometimes the silver lining in all of it is getting involved in something new, something more satisfying than what was before. While 95 degree temperatures and exhaustion are certainly less extreme than any of these situations, I know it helps push people towards variety and is giving at least some other people a chance to select a more moderate activity while taking time to appreciate nature, have a nice chat with friends, or, in my case, both.

Glenwood Springs: Where Canyon Country Begins

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When people think of the American West, certain images often come to mind: the unique natural features of Yellowstone. Iconic mountains that tower over the nearby landscape, such Rainier and Hood. The canyons that carve through the American Southwest, creating popular destinations such as the Grand Canyon.

The Grand Canyon is not the only canyon of the American West. In fact, it is not the only canyon carved out by the Colorado River, the continent’s fifth longest running river. The river, has its source at Rocky Mountain National Park and snakes through the west carving out numerous canyons. In fact, there are some that believe that the canyon in Southern Utah that was flooded when Glen Canyon Dam was built, a couple of hundred miles upstream of the Grand Canyon, was even more scenic than the Grand Canyon itself (some are even looking to remove the dam despite the Wests water needs).

An overly simplified model of Colorado’s geography, is that of the three flavored boxes Neapolitan Ice Cream. Colorado’s three sections are the Plains, the Central Rockies, and a region generally referred to as the Western Slope. While the Western Slope is officially defined as anywhere west of the Continental Divide, culturally, we tend to think of it as west of Ski Country, which also happens to coincide with where canyon country begins.

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On the above map, the two yellow stars are Denver, where the Plains end and the Central Rockies begin, and Glenwood Springs, where, traveling west the terrain transitions from tall peaks to canyons, mesas, and plateaus.

The official reason for the trip to Glenwood this year was whitewater rafting, a group trip that I organize every year, with a different destination each time.

This year, the trip was a little bit later in the season, early July, rather than mid-June. The later date allowed more of the mountain snowpack to melt, particularly this year, as the period around the fourth of July was quite hot across the state. As a result, the rapids were not nearly as intense as the previous two years. However, the trip was not without its moments. This time, everybody stayed in the raft!

As was the case last year and the year prior (this is the third year of my annual trip), we camped. We selected a somewhat peculiar place to camp this year, on top of the White River Plateau north of town.

To get to the Plateau, we had to follow a road called Coffee Pot Road, a bumpy road that rose up out of the Colorado River Valley below us and onto the plateau several thousand feet above it.

Here is where I fully came to the realization that I was on the border of two of Colorado’s “stripes”. Looking east from the campground, in clear view are the tallest peaks of the Central Rockies, the Sawatch Range, which includes Mount Evans, Colorado’s tallest peak.

A mere mile to the west of our campsite sits Deep Creek Canyon. I had no idea this canyon existed. Deep Creek is a tiny creek, carrying very little water at the time we saw it. Yet, it manages to carve a 2100 foot deep crevice in the landscape in a manner similar to Black Canyon and other Western Canyons.

What really made this feel like a peculiar place to camp was the range of temperatures we would experience over the course of the weekend. We spent the middle part of the day in the valley, first rafting in the Colorado River than in town, all at elevations below 6000 feet. Daytime temperatures soared well into the 90s! At night, we returned to our campground, above 10,000 feet in elevation, where nighttime temperatures fell into the upper 40s. If one were looking to experience comfortable temperatures, it would make sense to do the exact opposite, spending the daytime hours at higher elevations where it is cooler and then returning to the valley at night.

The town of Glenwood Springs is a touristy town. Everyone around, from the rafting instructors to the bus drivers describe it as such. However, it is touristy in a different way than some other places I’ve visited. I didn’t see 50 ice cream shops like I do in South Haven, MI. I did not see anything like Ripley’s Believe it Not or the other places I see at the Wisconsin Dells. And, I certainly didn’t see 150 T-shirt shops as I do when I visit Cooperstown. It seemed like more bars and restaurants than anything else here. And, of course, one of Glenwood’s other main draws, the hot springs.

Maybe Glenwood’s tourism industry is simply trying to accommodate a different mix of people than those other places, or maybe they are simply trying to stay true to their own unique identity. After all, there are a lot of activities in the area, and a lot of reasons for people to visit.

Just east of town, is the area known as Glenwood Canyon. Due to the narrowness of this valley, there are sections of I-70 where the speed limit drops to 50 miles per hour, the westbound lanes are stacked on top of the eastbound lanes, and parts of the highway are tunneled underneath rock that goes right up to the River.

It is in this canyon, several miles east of town, where Glenwood’s signature hike, Hanging Lake Trail draws so many tourists, that the parking lot is commonly full. In fact, both Friday and Saturday, highway signage indicated that this lot was full anytime we drove by it. We were able to get parking spots in the later part of the afternoon, around half past four, after the rafting trip, and lunch in town.

Hanging Lake is a short but challenging trail. Only 1.2 miles long, it climbs 1200 feet in elevation. This, both made sense and surprised me at the same time. Being in a canyon, I knew that any hike in the area would be steep, and this one sure had its steep parts. What surprised me was, how far up the canyon hanging lake is.

I had seen pictures of this lake before, and knew the trail was short, I just pictured it being much shorter and much closer to the bottom of the canyon.

The trail was crowded, which should not be surprising, given that the parking lot was still almost completely full when we arrived. What surprised me was the ethnic diversity of the crowd hiking this trail. On the way up to hanging lake, which probably took a little over 30 minutes, I heard people speaking all sorts of different languages! I enjoyed seeing so many different kinds of people enjoying scenery, nature, and, as I speculate, a weekend away from it all.

There is only one area attraction I did not get to, the Glenwood Caverns Adventure Park. It’s hard to get to everything on a short weekend trip. I guess there is still a lot more for me to see here in Glenwood, where Westbound travelers leave the high peaks of the Central Rockies and enter the land of deep canyons.

The Action Story

Learning about the world and about ourselves through travel and experiences

Category Archives: Outdoor Activities

Celebrating Our Accomplishments

Pure Instinct

Looking Forward to Winter

The Longest Day Hike of My Life

Backpacking in the Weminuche Wilderness: Day 3

Backpacking in the Weminuche Wilderness: Day 2

Backpacking in the Weminuche Wilderness: Day 1

Cycling from Denver to Cheyenne

A Moderate Hike at Reynolds Park

Glenwood Springs: Where Canyon Country Begins