[To see the entire photoset from this trip, go here!]

We went to happy hour at Brit’s Pub, then Matt took a somewhat-tipsy me to the airport. Our flight was delayed an hour and we were early as it was, so Stephanie and I went to a bar in the concourse. By the time we got to the gate, I was loudly exclaiming, “Dude! I’m not too drunk to get on this flight!”

We were airborne after 11pm, in a plane with nonworking air conditioning. They said something about attaching portable a/c to it, so all I could picture was a window unit stuck in the side of the airplane. I slept for most of the flight.

Stephanie and I arrived in Denver and picked up our car at 1:30am. It was a gold PT Cruiser. We cursed him, then named him Poontang. We drove what felt like 100 miles, and got to bed around 3am.

Saturday morning, we drove Poontang up to Estes Park to get our hikin’ in the Rockies on. It was freezing there and we were unprepared, so we stopped at an outfitter so I could buy a fleece. There were elk everywhere, wandering around in people’s yards and everything.

We encountered a snowstorm around 8,000 feet! It was gorgeous, though the wind was ridiculous. They closed the main park road because 80mpg gusts were pushing cars off of it.

nymph lake

on the emerald lake trail, with a snowstorm in the background.

dream lake

me freezing at dream lake

We hiked a ton, til we couldn’t feel our toes anymore, and then descended from the mountains around dusk in order to see the elk rut. It was fascinating. An elk would trumpet and a whole herd of ladies would try to fend off his advances. We saw a little bit of aggressive behavior between males, but nothing major.

elk in the mood for love

We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant north of Denver on the way back to the hotel, then fell over exhausted from hiking.

Sunday morning, we had brunch at Tom’s Diner in Denver. I fell in love in an instant.

We drove around and saw the city, then headed to Pepsi Center to see the Dalai Lama.

It’s hard to explain what it’s like being in the same building with him. I started crying the second he walked out on stage. He’s such an amazing combination of absolute serenity and goofiness. I loved him. It was over way too soon, but I feel like his insights and just the memory of being there are going to stick with me forever.

After the event, we wandered downtown and found ourselves in the middle of Oktoberfest in Larimer Square. There were shots of Jagermeister, polkaing, and a tshirt that reads polka like you’ve got a pair. I intend to wear it to Gasthof’s.

We walked around downtown Denver, checking out the shops and local sights. There was a huge hispanic festival going on in a park, but we didn’t know what it was about. We walked back down towards Pepsi center and encountered the halfway-to-St-Patrick’s-Day party at the Pour House. We met a bunch of dudes from Wisconsin and ended up having a singalong to Don’t Stop Believin’ with the entire bar. It was perfect.

Afterwards, we had a very late dinner downtown, and had a very sleepy return to our hotel.

On Monday, we went to Colorado Springs to see the Garden of the Gods, and do some more hiking.

garden of the gods, with pike’s peak in the background

ROCK SHADOW

We went to pay our regards to the hockey arena (for Stephanie’s WCHA-pride’s sake), the ProRodeo Hall of Fame, and Shepler’s, where I bought some superhot urban cowgirl boots. You know how I know they’re awesome? Gay boys love them.

We headed towards the airport with what we figured was plenty of time, only realized it was something like 60 miles away. Why is everything so distant in Denver? It’s crazy. Anyway, we managed to get there on time, and ended up on the same unairconditioned plane. Dear Northwest Airlines: you had an entire weekend to fix that thing. Hello?

Wendy dropped me off at home, and I hopped in the car to go to work. I got home after 12:30am. I may have been a little angry about that. Don’t tell the Dalai Lama.

On Sunday, I decided to drive up to Mesa Verde. While I tend to visit Colorado fairly often, it’s in a part of the state that’s hard to get to. Of course, it was hard to get to from Santa Fe, too. I didn’t find that out til later.

i’m a nerd who gets excited about things like this.

It took me at least 5 hours to reach the park, though it’s only 280 miles. There are a lot of narrow, winding roads involved, but it’s worth it because it’s very picturesque. I stopped in Durango and then rushed as fast as I could to the park entrance.

I had contracted a killer cold on the flight out, and the vast quantity of medication I was consuming did NOT help with the hiking at that altitude. I felt out of breath very quickly. (I have a flask and shotglass from Denali with the geological survey marker for Mt. McKinley. These things excite me a lot.)

looking south toward Shiprock

I went to the visitors’ center to get tickets to tour the cliff dwellings. I picked Balcony House, because it was described as most difficult (for altitude and climbing through narrow passages). They had a little demo tunnel you could crawl through to see if you’d fit. Awesome.

ladder to balcony house

The ladder-climbing wouldn’t have been scary if it weren’t for the fact that we were already far up on a cliff wall. The altitude makes you dizzy.

The park ranger gave us a tour of the cliff dwelling. It’s kind of amazing to think that people could scramble all over the side of the cliffs like that, and live in such tiny compartments.

kiva

leaving balcony house; adults have to turn their shoulders at the end or they get stuck!

I drove around the rest of the loop and stopped at the overlooks to see the other cliff dwellings.

cliff palace

Leaving the park, I decided to drive through Durango to see the town. It’s super-cute, and was overrun with motorcycles. Also, there was a very brief snowstorm on the way there. My first snow of the season wasn’t even in Minnesota!

The drive back to Santa Fe seemed to not take as long, despite getting stuck in long lines behind bikers. I wasn’t in a huge hurry, anyway.

sunset near ghost ranch

I left Vegas at 7am, iced coffee in hand. As I drove out, I noticed that the trip odometer was at exactly 5000 miles. It was in the 80s and the change was a huge relief. By the time I reached Mesquite, I had to pee. I drove by a billboard with the magic symbol on it: Starbucks. So, yes, I stopped at the Casablanca Casino to use the bathroom and get coffee. You do what you have to do.

The landscape the whole way was incredible. It was all desert scrub and mountains with red and white rock, studies in plate tectonics (see, I learned something in school). The Virgin River Gorge was beautiful, so I didn’t even mind more steep, winding grade and the 55mph speed limit. I crossed into Arizona and cursed losing an hour. I hit I-70 and was excited by the sign reading ‘Richfield’; I wanted that to mean Richfield, Minnesota, where I live. I stopped a few times to go to the bathroom. Then I stopped in Richfield to try and find coffee, but couldn’t. I was zoning out again, eating sunflower seeds to stay awake, and taking off my sunglasses so the glare would keep me alert. When I saw a sign telling me there was going to be a big stretch of nothing for 110 miles, I took that as my cue to stop.

The town I pulled off at had a couple trucker bars and a Denny’s. Beyond caring, I chose Denny’s. I got out of the car, shaking, with the cold sweats. I staggered in, got a table, and almost cried with relief when I saw that they had a gardenburger. I ordered coffee and sat and wrote. I sat there for a long time after I finished eating, too, because I was afraid I’d stand up again and realize that I was still in bad shape, and wouldn’t be able to drive. But, no, when I got up, I was fine, and I had confirmed that my problem was definitely low blood sugar. I vowed to be more careful about that in the future.

I got back on the road and make the 110-mile drive through the middle of nowhere easily. Utah is beautiful, and the landscape is really diverse. Anywhere else, it would all be national park, but there’s just so much of it, they probably couldn’t do that to the entire state. Although maybe the Mormons could get in on some of that action and convert all the visitors. It’s a win-win, really.

I crossed the Colorado border and the scenery continued. It was somewhere close to a million degrees outside, and I was dying. My pants were soaking wet again, so I devised a method in which to dry them: I cranked up the air and aimed all the blowers down towards my seat. I braced my knees against the dashboard and pushed back against the seat, to lift my ass up and allow for air circulation underneath it. Thanks to my thighs of steel, I could hold that position for miles, and it worked.

I stopped in Grand Junction to get coffee. Heather told me that both Safeway and Albertson’s had Starbucks, so I was on the lookout. I got gas, and asked the woman at the next pump where I could find one of those stores. She was really nice, gave me directions, and said her mom was born in Minnesota. I found Albertson’s, walked in, and asked the odd-looking bagboy where the restrooms were. I bought pop and fruit. At the checkout, the bagboy (who was one of a matched set, prompting the mental debate: twins or clones? Clones.) asked if I had found the bathroom OK. Ha! I went over to the Starbucks counter, and the kid there was super-nice, too, if painfully dumb. It took him three minutes to enter my order in the computer, and he kept apologizing over and over. I asked him if he knew how to get back to I-70 from there. He said no, he had just moved there recently, and he honestly didn’t even know what I-70 was. I laughed and said, “It’s the huge highway that goes to Denver!” Another guy showed up, and I asked him. He gave me really elaborate, detailed directions, even though the answer was essentially, “Drive down this road and you’ll run into it.” I was a little weirded out when I realized that everyone I had encountered in that town was really, really nice. I had to get out quick.

Before reaching the Rockies, I crossed the Colorado River. There’s this area where the interstate runs through a gigantic gorge alongside the river, and I was almost positive it was running uphill most of the way. Anyway, this section of road is a marvel of modern engineering, and I’m not even joking about that. It actually looks like it belongs there, rather than having been carved out with a lot of destruction. There are two lanes going either direction, and they’re often at different levels, one above the other. There are perfect, smooth curves, so you can set the cruise and go. There are walking and bike paths down along the river. There are cool tunnels. And the scenery is great. Also, these were the very important things I thought about while driving insane distances alone.

I saw Vail and all those big ski areas I’m sure someone cares about. I was surprised to see hardly any snow in the Rockies, considering there were elevations over 10,000 feet, whereas I had hiked in snow in Glacier at only 7000 feet. As I got into the mountains, it started raining a little, and the temperature dropped from 105 to 60. I finally got to turn off the air conditioning. I went through the Eisenhower Tunnel, although I didn’t realize it at the time. Going down the east side of the Rockies, there are a million signs for truckers, warning them about the grade, and they get funnier as you go: “Truckers, don’t be fooled! Steep downward grades ahead! Check brakes!” and “Truckers, you’re not down yet! Are your brakes cool?”

I got into Denver around 8:30. 5,700 miles. I wanted to stop for dinner, but the switch to I-76 skirted town, which was actually kind of nice. I decided to keep going to whatever exit had something promising. That ended up being around 9pm, when I saw a sign that listed a few chain restaurants and Starbucks. I pulled into Starbucks, afraid it would be closed after dinner. I went to the bathroom, and as I went up to the counter, the guy had the cash drawers out, and the woman was washing dishes. I asked him, “Are you closed?” He looked at me like I was stupid, said, “We close at 10,” and walked away. I stood there, stunned. Was it 10pm? Was I in mountain or central time? I had no idea. I asked the woman, “Are you closed? I don’t even know what time zone this is.” I must have seemed really flustered, because she looked concerned. She said no, they were open. I told her what the guy had said. I was exhausted and confused, and she probably thought I was really pissed. She very slowly and deliberately made me coffee, then put it on the counter next to my Starbucks card. I slid the card towards her, and she just looked at me and said, “Have a good night.” I told her she was very nice, and thanked her for the coffee.

I had dinner at Applebee’s, the only sit-down place in town. The food sucked, but it was food. The server sat at my table for a long time and talked about being vegetarian. She was great. In fact, everyone in Colorado was really friendly. I couldn’t figure out whether that should scare me or not.

I got back on the road, hoping to get a couple more hours of driving in. The farther I could make it, the fewer miles I’d have to drive to reach home the next day. Since I was once again in the middle of nowhere with no cell signal, I stopped at a gas station to call Heather on the payphone. While I was standing there talking, bugs were swarming around me. I had to keep stamping my feet to knock off the beetles that were climbing on my shoes.

By 11:30, I couldn’t drive anymore. About 20 minutes outside of Sterling, I saw a mouse run across the highway, and had a bizarre flashback: the last time we were driving through that area about 3 in the morning, while I was dozing in the passenger seat, Heather told me she was seeing mice running across the highway. Then she saw mice flying across the highway. Then we blew a tire. I decided to stop. So I exited and pulled into the first motel I saw, which happened to be the Travelodge. I parked in front of my room, went in, and did the first thing I usually do, strip the bed. I flipped over the pillow, and there was a big black beetle sitting happily underneath. I froze. Now, I have bug paranoia, so that wasn’t great. Our first apartment had roaches, and I will never, ever get over the emotional scars. I was pretty sure this wasn’t a roach, but my head wanted me to believe it was. It was probably one of the million beetle-y bugs from outside. Still, it was big, and it was just sitting there looking at me. I got some kleenex and tried to kill it, but it ran away. I chased it, yelling, “No no no no no!” It disappeared under the bed.

I unmade the other bed and checked all over for bugs. Then I went to get ready for a shower. While I was undressing, another smaller bug ran across the floor. I smashed it with my shoe. In the bathroom, I discovered another black beetle writhing around on its back behind the door. Sufficiently grossed out, I took a shower but didn’t wash my hair – I didn’t want to stick around long enough in the morning to redo it.

I brushed my teeth and re-checked the second bed. I left the bathroom light on because I was freaked, and wanted to be able to see the bugs before they got to me. I laid there for about 20 minutes, having visions of beetles crawling in my bed, in my shoes, into my bag. Also, I still wasn’t convinced they weren’t roaches. I thought about going out to sleep in my car, but then was pissed that I would have to pay for the room. So I got dressed, grabbed my stuff, threw my sleeping bag, pillow, and blankets in the back seat of the car, and went back to the office.

There was another woman at the front desk, checking in. I said, “I can’t stay here, there are bugs all over my room.” The woman signing in stopped writing and stared for a minute, thought about it, and went back to writing. The front desk woman said, “Do you want to try a room upstairs?” I said no, I was just going to go. She printed up my refund and handed it to me without a word.

I thought about trying a different motel, but my other option was the Super 8, and I didn’t hold out much hope for that, either. I already had the creeps. Plus it was 1am and I had showered and brushed my teeth, so why pay $50 for a bed? I decided to drive on to the rest area, which I knew was within 50 miles.

I got back on the interstate, set the cruise at 80, and blasted music. I passed a town every 10 miles. It was pitch black, and reminded me of driving late at night in Montana. I kept the brights on even with oncoming traffic, because I was scared of hitting something. But I did anyway – one of those huge strips of semi tire laying on its side in the middle of the road. I didn’t even see it. It slammed loudly against the bottom of my car, and I thought I was going to be sick. I was sure I would at least have a flat tire. I shut off the stereo and listened, and everything seemed fine. No bumping, no weird noises, no alarms. After ten minutes, I reassured myself that the car was OK.

20 miles later, I found the rest area, right on the Colorado-Nebraska border. There were about ten cars and campers already parked there. I settled in and was comfortable, starting to doze off right away. I closed the screen on the sunroof to block the light and the sound of the rain that was just starting. I woke up a little later, cramped and drenched in sweat. I spent the next few hours flopping around, having delirious dreams. I was in California. I was in Las Vegas. I was sleeping in the desert. I’d wake up confused, remind myself where I was, and go back to the dreams again. At 5am, I had had enough; I probably got an hour of sleep. It was getting light, and the wind was blowing really, really hard. I sat up and saw tons of lightning to the southwest, heading my direction. That decided it; I was getting out of there. I ran to the bathroom, fixed my hair, and got back on the road.

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random notes from my travel journal:

it’s 500 miles to denver, through mountains and nothing. i want to cry.

you know you’re tired when you’re thinking picking up a hitchhiker might be a good idea, so you can share driving.

why do all old ladies have the same hairstyle?

i just heard ‘never surrender’ by corey hart. wow.

i so want to be a trucker. i really, really want to make use of the runaway truck ramp, too.

‘no name, colorado.’ joke towns. ha.

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