My journey with Pike's Peak

(This post is a few days old. I finally have the luxury of electricity and wifi in my home.)

Yesterday I climbed Pike's Peak. Hold on a minute while I read that sentence to myself a few times.

I not only climbed it, I climbed back down. By myself. A thirteen mile trail that takes you from 6,500 feet (well over a mile) to 14,000 feet (nearly three miles up) only to turn around and head back the thirteen miles, alone, to my truck. I'd guess that my pack weighed between twenty and twenty-five pounds. I carried a gallon jug of water, some breakfast bars, a 6 pack of Snickers, my sleeping bag, 3 light coats, my flashlight (THANK GOODNESS!), my camera, some gloves and a hat. I'm sure I over-packed but I didn't know if I would make it, or if not, whether I'd wind up having to sleep on the side of the mountain. As it was I wound up not getting back to my truck until 8:30 pm.

I began at about 7 am, just before sunrise. The first three miles of trail were fairly packed with people. The frickin nuts out here like to jog up and down the first section of trail...for fun?!?!? In my defense, they carry only a small water bottle and no extra pack or clothes. Indeed some of them wear very few clothes. :) I must be honest, even just walking from my truck to the trail head made me breathe heavily. Walking across parking lots out here still makes me breathe deliberately. If you are aware of it and consciously breathe heavier than normal, everything is fine. It is when you're distracted or walking a bit too fast that you find yourself out of breath. It was so warm that I actually hiked shirtless but still sweat pretty bad. 

This is sunrise over Colorado Springs and the warning sign that resonated in my head my whole trip. I had no support or buddy to help me out if I ran out of water or got hurt. The trail is pretty heavily traveled at certain times of day and I had pretty good cell reception most of the way, still...

I made it to Barr Camp bout three hours in, the only man made oasis between the trail head and the tourist trap at the top of the peak. Even then, it's just a primitive campground. Very primitive. Everything the have has to be hauled up by ATV from town. I was very encouraged to have made it 6.5 miles in three hours, made it seem as though I'd reach the peak in 6. Ha! This picture is what the summit looked like from Barr Camp. My knees were hurting a little by this point in my day, 3 hours into a thirteen hour day.

I wanted to reach the peak but would've enjoyed my experience either way. My goal was ultimately to enjoy the mountain and the solitude. I knew it was supposed to be four hours down so I set a time limit. At two in the afternoon, no matter where I was, I'd turn back so I wouldn't be stuck in the dark on the mountain. Setting an arbitrary time limit helped me to just enjoy the trip. 

Sound travels well on the mountain. The switchbacks make it pretty easy to hear some one behind you on the climb, the gravel on the trail is very crunchy and loud. Generally I was completely alone, occasionally I'd hear people behind me. At that point I'd take a Snickers break and let them pass. It seemed everyone else was only carrying a backpack while I was carrying a real hiking pack with hip straps and all. Oh well, I knew I packed heavy because I was alone and had no idea what to expect. 

Most of the walk was exactly what you would expect. Head to the ground and just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. And breathing, always breathing. I had to walk at a fairly slow pace so I wouldn't wind up dizzy or have to stop completely. Very deliberate pace. I did stop often to just absorb the views and the smell of pine in the air and to enjoy the fact that I was there. Like I said, my only goal was to climb until two. No need to push too hard and forget to enjoy the journey. I was even passed by a man that had to be pushing seventy years old. I fought my competitive urge and told myself that this journey was mine and should be taken at my pace. Here is a quote from Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance that was in my head the whole day: 

"Mountains should be climbed with as little effort as possible and without desire. The reality of your own nature should determine the speed. If you become restless, speed up. If you become winded, slow down. You climb the mountain in an equilibrium between restlessness and exhaustion. Then, when you're no longer thinking ahead, each footstep isn't just a means to an end but a unique event in itself. This leaf has jagged edges. This rock looks loose. From this place the snow is less visible, even though closer. These are things you should notice anyway. To live only for some future goal is shallow. It's the sides of the mountains which sustain life, not the top. Here's where things grow."

By about noon I reached the tree line, about 11,000 feet. A scant half mile vertical to the peak. This is what the peak looked like from about the tree line. At about this point I ran into a group of three couples in their twenties. They passed me but we repeatedly ran into each other at our various water breaks. Eventually they beat me to the peak by at least a half hour, only carrying light packs... Irked me a little but like I said, this is my journey at my pace for my soul. 

There was only about three miles of trail left, ten done. Things really changed at the tree line. I went from just hiking slowly to a regimen of ten small steps then a pause to catch your breath. Ten steps, breathe, ten steps, and breathe. Just like my last summit with Luke, I lost the trail but so did the group I was behind that seemed like they knew what they were doing. After a horrible and nearly vertical climb up a huge pile of loose gravel I found the trail again. Being on the trail was still hard but not nearly as hard as just walking up the side of the mountain. On the way up this section I came across a few other groups that were just picking their way up because they lost the trail. The peak still seemed impossibly far away. This is me with about two miles to go.

I had averaged two miles per hour for the first five hours, that was cut in half for the last three miles. The pace was awful, all the while I was checking my watch. Just gotta make it until two, then have a candy bar and turn around. But I also knew I was nearly out of water, four hours of hiking down with only a half liter of water was foolish and dangerous. Also by then the thought had crept into my head that maybe if I reached the summit,  the nearest human outpost, I could ride the cog railway down or maybe hitch a ride with some tourists that had driven up. I was hurting pretty bad by this point and the slow progress only made it feel that much more pointless to put myself through the pain.

By two o'clock I was about a half mile from the peak and seven hours into my journey, knowing that I'd either have to make the top and get a ride back or commit to another four hours of walking to get to my truck. Very tough choice, I at least needed water. I reached a point called '16 Golden Steps', I'm convinced that was the name of some sort of ancient torture device. Just walking up a slight incline was hard but now, after over twelve miles of hiking in very thin air the trail designers thought it would be neat to make you traverse up two foot boulders like steps through very tight switchbacks.

I was literally grunting with frustration at every turn and yelling out 'Really?? Another f-ing step up???.' I was ready to give up and turn back. Then I saw a fat tourist eating a cheese burger at the peak, just a hundred yards above me. He was looking down and gawking at me as I heaved air and steadied myself against a boulder. Then I saw another tourist looking at me through the overlook binoculars. If I had the strength I would've surely thrown a rock at them and told them to f*** off. I had labored for seven hours to get to this point while they had driven in their nice warm cars to the top of the peak, purchased souvenirs and overpriced cheese burgers and doughnuts, then got a thrill from watching my pain. I could not give up now, no way should they get to be on the peak and not me. I had earned it by this point. I was going to reach the summit. I was going to buy a cheese burger and doughnuts. I was going to get my picture taken by the big sign. I was really hoping to get a ride back down...

That last hundred yards took me a half hour. I reached the peak and crossed the cog railway tracks and immediately asked a fat tourist to take this picture for me. Then I tried to enter the souvenir shop/restaurant but had to wait for several families of tourists to push through the door ahead of me. Again, if I had the strength I would have flattened several of them but as it was I could barely stand. I got in eventually and purchased five dollars worth of crappy food for twenty-two dollars and said a very very sincere 'Thank you.' I wanted to slam the whole meal but was feeling a bit queezy. I had to eat slowly and breathe with concerted effort. I was nearly brought to tears several times while I ate in my quiet little corner of the shop. I had done it, alone. Still I'm quite moved. The journey was beautiful but the fact that I had made the summit was just too much for my heart to handle.

Then the cog rail trains arrived and unloaded at least a hundred fifty fresh tourists on the summit for their thirty minute stay. The shop became instantly packed from front to back, you could hardly walk through the place. I was quite upset that these people got to experience the summit with so little effort but also I was VERY thankful for a hot meal and a chance to refill my water. An abandoned peak may have been more beautiful but I would've had to carry twice the water and supplies. Keep in mind every gallon of water weighs nearly ten pounds. You carry ten pounds up a mile and a half ladder sometime.

I saw about ten hikers file onto the train after the tourists got that were off looking for a ride down. I've done the cog railway before and found it to be an amazing and beautiful ride. I finished the portion of my meal that I could stomach, packed the rest and made my way to the car to inquire about a ride back down. The hikers there said they had friends who had already purchased tickets but would not be allowed on the train because it was too full. That was it, I was walking back down. I got myself into this and I was going to get myself out, self reliance all the way.

I went back into the very crowded shop and refilled my gallon jug half way. It took me a gallon and eight hours to reach the top, should take me four hours and half the water to make it back down...hopefully. I also put on my extra set of wool socks because I was getting some hot spots on my feet and figured the extra padding would help. Quite fun to take off your shoes and put on socks in a small diner full of rich tourists. I'm pretty sure I smelled worse than I felt, I found great joy in this. Also I found joy in the fact that the young hikers that had outpaced me were filing into a car for the ride back down while I was about to leave civilization again and commit to at least four more hours of solo hiking to get home, which fyi was a travel trailer in a grocery store parking lot.

I was nicer than I wanted to be and waved to several people on the train as they passed. It was 3:30 and I was beginning what the signs predicted would be a four hour journey back down. The progress was invigorating. It occurred to me that the journey back down the mountain is your prize for making it up the mountain. In the first hour I think I made it three miles and breathing was much easier. I was completely invigorated and full of joy that I was going to get myself off the mountain on my own. Lots of people walk up the mountain but few walk back down, very few. My whole trip down I didn't run into a single soul headed down and only a total of maybe ten going up and most of them were very close to the summit and predictably their rides back down. 

It was a bit unnerving to be walking down with no one else headed down. Was I choosing something really stupid or dangerous? The sun was already close to setting over the mountain. Most of my decent over the tree line was in the growing shadow of the mountain. It was cold up there. I was wearing a t-shirt, long sleeve t-shirt, fleece, gloves and a stocking hat. Pants too, der. There was no way after even just a few yards down that I would try to make it back to the summit. I was committed.

I made it back down to Barr Camp by about 6 pm. According to the signs I was expecting to get there by 5:30 because it was roughly half way down but the section above it was pretty difficult for decent. Lots of stepping down over one foot rocks. Doesn't' sound that bad until you've done it a few hundred times, thousand times. That tiny jolt to my knees repeated again and again became very painful over the course of thirteen miles. 

Not long after Barr Camp it became too dark to see. There was about a half moon in the sky which helped quite a bit but not enough to avoid tripping over rocks in the trail. I grabbed my flashlight, which I am immeasurably glad that I carried up the mountain, at about 7 pm. I thought for sure by 7:30 I'd be at my truck, surely. Nope. At about 7:30 I stopped for a snack and a pee at a spot overlooking the lights of Colorado Springs. It was amazingly beautiful and made even more beautiful by the pain that I had endured to get to see it. I would've taken a picture but I didn't have my tripod and predicted that I couldn't be steady enough to get a good shot. So I sat and enjoyed. I had earned this. I had really earned this.

I sat on the bare trail for maybe five minutes. When I tried to rise again my entire body cried out in pain. Silly body thought the trip was done. I was about 2.5 miles from the end and I thought that judging by my pace I should be done in maybe twenty minutes, turned out to be another very painful hour. That hour was made worse by the fact I could see the street lights at the end of the trail, I knew I was very close. Just like my journey to the top, that last little bit of the trip was the hardest mentally to endure. What was my option though? Pull out my sleeping bag two miles from the end of a twenty-six mile journey and sleep on the side of the trail? I just had to finish it. If you research you'll find that the trip back down the mountain is much harder on your knees than the walk up, I agree.

At 8:30 I emerged from the Barr Trail and walked very slowly and intentionally to my Ex-Terra. I believe I said I love you to my truck because now I could travel almost effortlessly while sitting in a nice comfortable seat. I stopped at Taco Bell for my three dollar congratulatory meal, in pain even while sitting still. Then I stopped at a liquor store in my parking lot to grab a 6 pack of beer. The walk to the store was more painful than I can describe, then I realized I left my wallet in my truck. Ouch.

When I reached my camper the batteries were dead so I had to keep my truck running and plug it into the camper. I let it run while I enjoyed an amazing beer and tacos. I took a wonderfully hot shower and cranked the furnace up to a whopping 70 degrees. I was getting chills from time to time, likely because my body was completely exhausted. After two hours of letting my truck charge the camper I disconnected it and went to bed. I had turned the furnace off to save power, it got down to 40 that night. Here's a picture of the parking lot I called home.

I awoke at 8:30 to a 50 degree camper and a very upset lower half. Knees, thighs and muscles I cannot even name were yelling at me. I grunted my pains out loud as I stepped out of my bed. I actually yelled out in pain when I went down my stairs this morning because my knees hurt so bad. I hooked up the camper and drove it to a nearby rv park where I could charge my batteries and discharge my tanks. Laundry was a bonus too, had about three loads today.

I'm happy to report that my knees don't hurt at all anymore. I only have some sore and tight muscles to deal with. Not bad for a thirty-five year old known more for drinking ability than physical prowess. Twenty-six total miles including one and a half strait up and one and a half strait down. Thirteen hours total hiking time almost completely alone. I did it. I did it. My soul is happy.

Now onward to Austin, TX. I will either 'make it' or come back to Iowa, either way I will enjoy the journey and take it at MY pace. Life is mine.

From my newest song:

I have walked among the mountains

Felt the tall grass of the plains

Bathed in the warm ocean

But always fly away again

Where do I belong?