July 7: The Crags

Today was a truly great day, but it began with a startling discovery. Several weeks ago, I started the process of gathering all of the books on all the different places we're visiting - books on the environment of each place, day hiking guides, field guides, trail maps, etc. We (mostly Jerry and Kathy) have spent a fortune collecting these and building this library that we bring with us when we travel. I started the book selection process by taking a few books out to my trailer, but Mom and Dad wanted them in their camper. So I moved them over, and never thought about it again. But Dad thought that I had brought out all of the books. And so here we sit, brokenhearted, without any of our guidebooks or maps, and without a decent internet connection.

After much deliberation this morning, based on tragically hilarious attempts to read online field guides and topographical maps on iPhones, we decided to go to The Crags. Our drive was without incident until we reached the dirt, rutted, roller coastery mountain road that was the last four miles. Everything was okay until I stole a look at Gabe in the back seat. Gabe you see, is not only the sunshine of my life, he is also the world champion of car sickness. He doesn't suffer from motion sickness, he actually celebrates it in the way an obsessed, passionate artist must celebrate his art. He finds a way on the straightest and smoothest of roads to turn colors that the most brilliant Crayola scientists can barely conceive. He is Sir Pukesalot, the most fearsome knight of Camelot. And so it was, on this fateful morn that, within 15 seconds of hitting the dirt, all the color drained from his face. Now, I don't know how many of you have ever tried to hike up a mountain at 10,000 feet with a kid who is car sick but, I'm here to tell you, it's pretty slow going. 

Oh, the Humanity.

Kieran, however, is an absolutely terrific and strong hiker.  He loves nature and has this amazing eagle-vision that allows him to spot  the coolest stuff on the trail and in the woods and then leads these brilliant discussions on it. But he also made the conscious decision at some point to hate hiking, and he has the world-famous SSG (Stein Stubborn Gene) to back it up. And so every hike begins with the I Hate Hiking tirade and a tooth-and-nail tug-of-war/battle to the death that continues until he either burns out or finds something so remarkably awesome that it distracts him from our misery. But occasionally we get that rare hike - first major hike of the trip, first physical activity at elevation, everything beautiful but nothing truly remarkable, no clear length or destination because we can't find the freaking maps - that just doesn't have an out. And he has to literally be dragged kicking and loudly screaming up a tranquil mountain filled with singing birds and burbling streams. Izzie, on the other hand, was just brilliant, two weeks past her fifth birthday, hiking more than three miles with 1600 feet of elevation gain. But then, she'd probably walk across hot coals if it would show up her brothers.

Today's hike, The Crags, is a beautiful hike that simply screams Colorado. Everything about it - the rocky terrain, the beautiful rock-filled streams, the pines and pin oaks and aspens whistling in the wind like a raging stream - all define the experience of being in the woods and on the trail in the Colorado Rockies. We had hoped to make it to The Devils Playground, this massive jumbling collection of boulders that is supposed to be amazing scrambling. It is supposedly named this not just for the size of the rocks but - and I've got to see some video of this to believe - due to lightning strikes actually bouncing around the Playground during storms. And so we slogged up this hill, gasping breath, wondering if we would reach the end before our legs/lungs/hearts gave out. We made it more than a mile and a half, and the kids were really reaching their limit at 10,625 feet when we heard it. Our bane. Our old foe. Thunder. Nasty ol' cuss had gone and snuck up behind us. So we called lunch and everybody snarfed it down in record time and we began the rapid descent. Einstein once created an equation for how much quicker children go down a mountain under threat of thunderstorm than they went up it: Y = SC9 where S = strength, C = level of complaining, and Y = yikes! The boys (me, Alex, plus the previously immovable Gabe and Kieran) leapt down the trail like goats escaping a cougar on a rocky ledge. We had seen lots of birds on the hike, but nothing else in the way of wildlife. But about 5 minutes from the trailhead - with the air completely filled with thunder, rain and hail about to drop, temperature falling, and winds picking up, we finally saw them. Those elusive creatures that are found in the most unlikely places. You see them on the trail more than you think you would, but it's still always such a thrill. And so our hearts stirred as we saw them, about twenty of them, all at once. We got out our wildlife checklists as they approached. Finally, at last, they were upon us. Morons. Complete dipshits wearing shorts and cotton t-shirts and sandals and no water and no supplies but plenty of young children, just starting their trek up the trail in a rocky mountain thunderstorm. There was a time - as you're not supposed to disturb wildlife on the trail - when we wouldn't interact with these majestic creatures. But now we do. I think it started one 100-degree day in Moab (in the desert) when morons were taking an infant out on the trail with no water and no clothing - just a diaper. They may have also brought a spatula. But I digress. And so we greeted these folks, "How are you? We're from Rochester, New York. Where are you from?" "Aaaaayyyyyyyyyyyy…. weahh from Noo Yawk toooooo. Aaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyy." [insert clanking of gold chains and the unique sound of mountain winds whistling through 8 ounces of hair gel.]  "Say, um, you guys know there's thunderstorm coming?" "Aaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. [clank clank]." But this Jersey Shore crew (I do have to say I've never, ever in all my years of hiking seen a 'roided-up bodybuilder on the trail) was just one of four different groups within about 100 yards of each other. And each time it was the same… "Hey, you guys know there's a big storm coming? Oh yeah, you can tell because now it's cold and it got real windy and the sky is completely black and IT'S FREAKING THUNDERING OUT HERE." Our saving average was .000 on this particular outing, as not one of them actually took our advice. But we finally cleared them, and hoofed it down to the parking lot, and it started absolutely pouring when we were 10 seconds from the car. I put on my raincoat and grabbed some extra gear from the car to go and perform a brave, heroic, mountainside storm rescue of Jerry, Kathy, Liz, and Izzie. Except that the torrential downpour was only in the parking lot. And they had made great time and were only about two minutes behind us. I did pass Big Joey Guido, coming down the trail, bleeding profusely, skin hanging from one of his massive, redwood-like biceps, as if some tree had jumped out and physically rejected him. "Sorry, pal. Not this trail." The rest, I assume, are still on the trail, shivering, weeping.

As we started driving back to the campground, the rain and hail started, and we saw some truly remarkable things, like beautiful columbine and primrose and beaver ponds (including one that seemed to actually be elevated, like the beavers had dammed in four walls in the middle of a field), and then saw cloud formations - real apocalyptic-scary-wall-of-evil-death looking things - that we've never seen before. But we raced the storm home, and we won. And we napped the nap of the righteous, two and three hours through the storm, and then went out for Mexican, to this restaurant that was very highly rated. But it was so in-demand because you could only get five people in there. Jerry went to recon the restaurant and saw that it wasn't going to happen, and was standing at the corner when… 

"Hey, man, I think ya might, like, get splashed by people driving through that puddle." 

Dad: " You know, I was thinking that myself, but I was relying on the goodness of people." 

Them: "Oh, man, that is like, soooo beautiful, man. You are, like, really beautiful, man. And, man, you, like,  smell great." 

Dad backed slowly away from the Colorado hippies. They were, of course, Rocky Mountain High. We ended up at 3 Margaritas, a fantastic Mexican restaurant, and we all ate waaaaayyyyyyyyyy too much. And then we finished with a shopping trip to REI, the amazing outdoor outfitter, and spent waaaaayyyyyyyyyyyy too much.

All in all, a real good, fantastic, totally wonderful day.