What do you get when you mix together rocky trails, dirt roads, canyon detours, and no cell signal? Throw in five of your church friends and a Turo minivan rental, and you get a 1,200+ mile expedition in the Colorado Rockies.
Over the past week, this crew has shared a crowded minivan for 1,200 miles and dusty paths for miles more. We’ve surrounded fires and tables and interpretation plaques. We’ve waited in long lines and reminded each other to grab their mask. We’ve reveled in both gregarious and profound conversations. We came to absorb Colorado, and most of the epic stuff found our camera phones in our pockets. This group made me benevolently uncomfortable and led me to discoveries I would never have found on my own.
What I love about traveling in nature is scale. The complexities of tiny flowers juxtapose themselves against gigantic mountains. My ego needs to be set in its place. My problems and my dreams both need to find their right proportion. Colorado proved itself a good reality check.
We camped next to the creek that poured out of this alpine basin. As we approached Comanche Lake, I was again blown away by the beauty that God hides for us to discover.
We heard that the desert between the Sangre De Cristo and San Juan mountain chains gets four inches of rain per year. As we drove away from the sand dunes, we got to watch rare rain march across the barrenness. It felt like an incredible privilege, a cherry on top. It led me to wonder, which ushers me into worship. I’m grateful for a Sovereignty that brings rain to the emotional and spiritual deserts of my life back home, too.
This was one of the most level sections of trail we encountered on the Venable-Comanche loop. We averaged stout elevation change per mile with full packs. This week was my first time hiking to 13,000 feet since 2010 (the Inca Trail) and the first time with anything more than a day pack. COVID-19 took a lot of my workload this spring. That gave me lots of time training on local trails, which gave me lots of time absorbing books & podcasts and lots of silence to process life. The journey to these mountaintop moments didn’t start when I landed at a Colorado airport. That’s part of why I like trips like this: the vacation ends up being just the pinnacle of a season of discovery.
John and I rented this 2020 Maverick and found out what it could do. We more than doubled the speed limit on scenic mountain roads on our way up to and back down from 10,000 feet. We got loose in the wide curves (like here). Then, after an error in judgment, I drove what our outfitter told us not to attempt: a “technical” trail. I almost rolled this rental on paths that would’ve been challenging on an ATV. Steep drops. Bridges narrower than our machine. Hilariously-uneven surfaces. Stumps. Rock crawling. John was so great—so calm and encouraging. We thoroughly enjoyed hours of a grand adventure neither of us had anticipated.
This is the view from behind my tent the first night of camping. We had trekked from 8,884 to 11,592 feet above sea level and needed to set up our tents in the rain—just before hail joined the show. The next morning, sunshine revealed this beautiful meadow and our destination (the saddle at the top of the picture).
I don’t always enjoy sleeping on the ground. I typically don’t enjoy the physical act of backpacking. But I like where both get me, what they allow me to experience. I’ve learned that I need to build discomfort into my life to confront my unhealthy obsession with comfort and instant gratification. I’m thankful for friends who invite me to challenges and tired legs—but also to new heights and grand discoveries. Conquering tough days on the trails builds an emotional stamina for me to lean into tough things back home.
Most of the places we visited in our 1,200-mile tour of Colorado resulted from recommendations by Woody—my mentor, pastor, and friend. But this was a place I researched and suggested: Chessman Canyon (a big fly fishing destination). I’m so thankful the group agreed to check this out. As we hiked up the canyon, the views improved upon even this beauty. The water proved incredibly clear. Had I been alone, I would’ve sat here for hours with my laptop; but this stroll burned itself onto my hard drive as though I had been there for hours.
COVID-19 stole all of my significant summer travel. I got a text from Woody: “Hey, just thought I’d let you know that I’m planning a trip to Colorado backpacking in July. Didn’t know if you were interested but you’re welcome to come along.” Before he told me who else was going or where in Colorado we were backpacking, I agreed to go. That’s not like me. I prefer to research the heck out of a destination. But I’ve learned to say yes, to just open the arms of my heart and say, “Why not?” I’ve been rewarded with serendipity and beauty and self-discovery. This trip just continued that trend.
As we set camp and I unpacked my pack in my tent, I discovered that I had left my rain gear back in Virginia. As irony would plan it, it rained almost every day while we toured Colorado. So, I used my ground pad (leftover Tyvek from building our house seven years ago) as a makeshift poncho.
Despite all the religious brimstone I endured growing up, I had never experienced hail and fire at the same time. First time for everything.
Woody covered our camp stove with his old pot, as we ate under trees or Tyvek. It gave the hail a chance to play some music for us.
These are my favorite socks. Balega doesn’t make them anymore. =( As I tried to dry them and my shoes by the fire, one of my socks got damaged, and I melted the top of one of the shoes. I spent the rest of the trip with a shoe framed by duck tape.
I had an emotional moment in front of these falls, listening to Maverick City Music’s “Thank You.” Tears slid down my cheeks as I stood with arms raised above my head. I’ve seen grander water falls. I’ve stood in more epic places. But something about this spot melted me, crumpled my resistance. I’ve been grieving some recent losses and hardships, and the release from that moment set the table for me to be fully present for the rest of this trip.
This is my buddy, Mike, taking a picture of me taking a picture of that stream. I love hiking with Mike. We hike at the same pace, even though he’s 32 years older than me. We laugh at the same jokes. We both get teary when grateful. We both say yes most times when Woody asks, “Wanna join me?” Also, none of my friends has a better mustache.
As we hiked out of our first campsite, I looked back to see it was a lush meadow. We had spent our daylight in camp, searching for dry, brittle wood—which we found in abundance. Right next to that brittle and arid place where we set our tents unfurled this verdant sanctuary.
This is one of the two upper Venable Lakes, and this is our guide soaking it in again for the first time in almost 50 years. I typically like to be the guide on a trip or to explore alone without a guide. I prefer rentals over tours. But the right guide makes a world of difference. That’s true in a faith journey and in a physical expedition.
The view to our right (not included in this frame) as we contoured this saddle could not be done justice with my phone. I tried. And failed. We actually didn’t take a lot of pictures, especially during our dirt road and canyon drives. We were too busy soaking it in.
It was wild to stand in the middle of a lake while trout jumped out of the water around me.
Here is one of those (cutthroat) trout. Oh, and a mule deer.
We took a lot of dirt roads and narrow-canyon paved roads throughout the eastern half of Colorado. When we saw good climbing rocks on public land, Woody pulled the van over for us to have some recess.
The top of that is where I took that last picture.
These lovebirds told us stories from their years of leading backpacking trips in the mountains that guarded our miles of road and trails. I wonder how many stories I’ll have to tell when I’m their age.
I love the texture of this bark. Woody convinced us to sniff some ponderosa pine. I ended up sniffing a dozen different ponderosas during our hikes, because when the bark gets warm it gives off the aroma of caramel. So good!
When I’m driving, I have a similar restriction for all occupants in my vehicle.
After we took a *TINY* elevator 1,000 feet into the rock below us, we toured the Mollie Kathleen gold mine by foot and by tram. This type of mining has been made obsolete by the strip mining back up on the surface. Right behind this historic system of tunnels, large equipment harvests a million dollars per day.
This is what that mining looks like before the land is reclaimed for alpine forests and meadows.
I’m not sure I’ve ever spent so much time on a vacation looking at paper and Google maps. We took unconventional routes to destinations that changed constantly with circumstances. We found a few canyons Woody had never seen and many more than the rest of us hadn’t. Thank goodness for LTE in wider valleys. We made meal and lodging plans on the fly, as our itinerary proved more fluid than the whitewater we followed.
I hate the beach. Take out the water—the only thing I like about the beach—and you’d think I’d have hated the experience at Great Sand Dunes National Park. Quite the contrary. We leveraged our short time there for indelible memories.
Nan loves the beach. John and I love naps.
We had only 20 minutes until we needed to head back to the cars. Five of us perched atop a dune, but Woody eyed one higher and took off for it. I was grateful to rest on the blanket, and I thought he might want to experience the peak alone. Then I trashed the comfort and ran to catch him. He never turned around once. He never looked to see if anyone was following. My lungs burned. I wheezed. But I got to the top a minute after he did. It was worth the discomfort. Earlier in the week, Woody and I had been talking about leadership—what it actually is. He dropped this line, “It’s easy to tell if you’re a leader. If you turn around, and someone is following you, you’re a leader.” On those dunes, he didn’t even have to turn around to know he was.
When I’m 73, I hope I, too, can look back on my adventures with the satisfaction of a life well-lived. I hope I’m still adventuring, still growing, still exploring. I hope I still don’t watch TV, still try new things, still make new friends. I hope I have sayings like Woody’s “I’ve never had much in terms of traction, but I’ve gotten places with momentum.”
I love the contrast between the smooth dunes and the rough-hewn mountains. The sand piles here because the desert winds drop the sand in their ascent into three passes in the Sangre de Cristo mountains. They leave the heavy sand to blow to new heights. Might be a lesson in there.
On the left, the dunes reach 750 feet above the parking lot. I’ve never seen anything like it. The scale dropped my jaw.
Mike grabbed this video of Woody and Ron running down one of the faces of the dunes. Later, I chased Woody down another. He took off like a school boy with a grand smile on his face. Woody was going to run down the dunes whether we followed or not. At one point, we had climbed 492 feet from the parking lot. So, we had lots of opportunity for fast descents.
The talent on stage at the Flying W Ranch in Colorado Springs was incredible. Fun music from an era before color television, I wish my grandpa could’ve joined us. He would’ve LOVED it. I thought it was going to be hokey, and some of the jokes were. But I enjoy watching ridiculous talent on display. The ranch just reopened 10 days before we visited after 8 years of rebuilding from a catastrophic forest fire that consumed every building on the property.
Before we sat down to eat, this Enneagram 7 was concerned with being able to get seconds. I didn’t care about that question anymore after I finally got to the bottom of this chuckwagon tin.
If you’ve ever wondered why your bags on the East Coast seam to insufficiently guard your chips, it’s because they need room to expand at elevation. This happened to most packaging we encountered in the mountains, including my Clif Bloks.
On trips with Woody, each guy is assigned a day to give the spiritual direction for the day—from our recent discoveries and wrestling. I found it interesting how differently we all talked about our faith, our circumstances, and our shared holy book. These are the notes my buddy, Ron, used to explain how our interaction with the divine is like a funnel. Over the last 15 years, I’ve learned that studying the Bible with friends and even strangers makes ancient words come more alive than when I engage with Scripture on my own.
I came out to Colorado Springs early to acclimate and visit with my brother. He had to work one afternoon. So, I bought a disc golf bag and a set of discs. Then, I played 54 holes of disc golf across three different courses. This was the tee from the most daunting hole of the day: number 5 at The Aviary. My final course of the day was guarded on the west by Fountain Creek and on the east by the barbed wire of a prison. I finished the round with a birdie on a 500-foot hole—no small feat for me.
My brother introduced me to Colorado Custard Company. I think that’s the first time I’d ever had frozen custard. So, when the rest of the crew arrived in the Springs, I introduced them to the quirky town and this yummy treat. As we walked back to our van, this lady reminded us that Colorado is serious about their mask policy.
John and I had 2.5 hours of extraordinary fun in the mountains around Grand Lake, thanks to On the Trail Rentals. We drove with wide smiles on our faces and laughter we could hear above the 800cc motor. John and I have seen a lot of the world together, and I appreciate that he speaks wise rebuttals into my stories and statements. He’s got a golden heart and a contagious laugh.
As you can see, we were given a highlighted route to follow up into the mountains. We were told to avoid a green (easy) section where two rollovers occurred the day prior. We did. But I didn’t avoid the blue and red sections intended for ATVs and experienced drivers. I almost rolled our Can-Am Maverick on Blizzard Pass. I rubbed some trees. The whole time, John remained calm and encouraging—even though we both know he could’ve maneuvered the beast better than I was. Such a fun memory!
I visited Garden of the Gods Park twice on this vacation: once with Timmy and once with my Virginia crew. I love it up there, and this might be my favorite perch. I’m so thankful for a beautiful place to reconnect with my brother—for beautiful places period. I’m grateful for those with foresight who bucked commercial pressure and preserved places like these and those who carefully built low-impact infrastructure for experiencing them.
So, apparently, redwoods used to grow in Colorado. 18 petrified samples wowed us at the Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument. I almost rolled my eyes when we pulled into the park. I am typically not a museum person. I was willing to endure a free experience to get out of the van and use a bathroom. But the ranger made the story and situation of these massive, old trees come to life. One of the stumps (not pictured) was probably as wide across as my MINI is long. Unreal!
