It was easy for me to slip into the routine of living my life at home. My parents had never been very adventurous. In all of my childhood, I can probably count on two hands the amount of times I saw their friends, and on one hand the amount of times they actually left the house to go out with someone. I normally found them on their own at home, doing something quiet that brought them pleasure. My brother was a tad more adventurous, but even he found enjoyment in locking himself in his room for days to play video games.
I grew up more extroverted, but when chronic illness hit, I began to spend more time at home. Many of my young friends could not understand what it meant to be unable to go out, even though I looked fine. My symptoms were not visible. It became easier to entertain myself at home rather than deal with the judgment and expectations of others. But I missed going out. I missed seeing the world. There is an entire year that I don’t remember the seasons ever changing because I never took a step out of my house. I regret that year of my life most.
One summer evening, while looking online for something to do to take away the boredom, I came across an interesting national holiday: July 1 is American Zoo Day. I looked to my mother, who was absorbed in her own laptop, and asked her if we could go to the zoo that week.
Her face clouded with confusion. She looked up at me, her eyebrows knit.
“Why do you want to go to the zoo,” she asked. I shrugged.
“I just thought it would be fun.” She watched me for a moment longer, and then she looked back down at her laptop.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
“Okay?” I could not believe she had agreed.
“Yes, okay.”
It may sound weird for a nineteen-year-old girl to be so excited about visiting the zoo, but I was more thrilled about this than I had been about graduating high school the year before, when so many thought I would have dropped out. I eagerly began searching online to find the nearest zoo and to plan the event. That week, my mother and I made chicken salad and packed snacks to bring, and early on a Wednesday morning, we left for a day in Washington, D.C. with my friends, Erin and Kristina.
There is something odd about being the most excited person on a trip. While my mother and Erin obliged me and let me lead the way as I skipped down the cobblestone streets of the zoo, Kristina could only look upon me with distaste. I admit, I must have looked childish. My eyes were filled with wonder as I gazed down into the pit where the lions roared at one another. I laughed as I watched the strange squirrel-like creatures tussle. And I cowered in fear when my mother dragged me into the monkey house to see the animals she found most interesting, which happen to be animals that most terrify me. Meanwhile, Kristina sat at the edge of the room, her face engrossed in her cell phone, probably complaining about the lame trip she had been forced to go on.
But when we entered the elephant house, I forgot all about my less-than-enthusiastic companions. Face-to-face with an Asian elephant, her large amber eyes staring into mine, all the other voices around me fell silent. In that moment, I felt more seen than I had in years.
I had all but wasted away; my body had grown so thin from disease I was surprised I had not completely disappeared. Friends had forgotten to call for my birthday, and then forgotten to call at all. I had slunk away from the world, holed into myself, trapped myself in a house because it felt warm and protected me from the rest of the world. But this lonely elephant saw me when no one else had, and in that moment, I saw what it truly meant to be caged from the rest of the world.
I have read that elephant mothers are one of the few that stay with their children, in particular, their daughters. While the sons grow up and leave, their daughters join the herd and stay with their mothers for life. It is said the bond between these females is one of the strongest in the animal kingdom. In my life, I have only felt love this strong from one person. I looked back at my companions and found two of them engrossed in their own lives. My mother, however, was gazing at me with pure joy. I knew then why she had agreed to this trip when she normally would never venture beyond the confines of our local county, much less would brave the stressful, crowded streets of Washington, D.C. My mother loved me with a fierceness that I could never match nor comprehend, and the only way to repay this was to live my life in a way that would make her proud – to never take another day for granted, to never let myself miss out on life, and to never let another day pass in which I felt unloved or invisible.
Yesterday was not the quintessential Colorado morning I was expecting, and I can’t say this morning was either. There is something strange about waking up in a tent in the middle of the woods, listening to the gentle mooing of cows. But the cool morning air and the mountains in the distance are a step in the right direction.
Joseph and I packed up our campsite and drove to Mesa Verde for an early morning hike. Unfortunately, most of the trails were closed because of COVID-19 or the fire hazard. We found one loop trail that was supposed to lead us around the canyons and give a spectacular view of the cave dwellings, but halfway through, we came up to a sign that prohibited us from going any farther. Disappointed, we turned around and walked back the way we came.
Despite this, the view was still astounding. From a distance, we looked out over the canyons to the homes carved into the rock. People are truly incredible. I can only imagine what it would have been like to build and live in those homes, with the risk of falling down the side of the canyon always a real possibility and living in a tight community where everyone worked together. As far as society has come since then, I can’t help but wonder if we have lost something.
When we returned to the car, we ate a quick breakfast and then headed to a nearby gas station. The tire pressure warning light in the car has been repeatedly appearing, despite Joseph filling the tires with air daily. When he checked the tire pressure today, the amount of air in the front left tire was alarmingly low.
“I just filled it last night,” Joseph said. “There must be a hole.”
So, in addition to the failing breaks, damaged rotors, and cracked windshield, we now have a hole in one of our tires. Because of the amount of driving we plan on doing tomorrow, we decided it best to get the tire, along with the breaks and rotors, fixed today. Luckily, our next stop was the main street in Telluride, so we planned to drop the car off in the town while we walked around.
While Joseph filled the tires with air to get us to our next destination, I went into the store to buy ice for our cooler. The bags of ice I saw in the freezer all looked a little too big, so I went to the cashier, a small woman with long brown hair and impeccable eyebrows, to ask if there were any other sizes available.
“No, just the eight pound bag,” she told me. “Do you have a small cooler?”
“Yeah, I just don’t think it will fit,” I said.
“Would you want half a bag,” she asked.
“Actually, yes, that would be great.”
“I have a small cooler and I do the same thing for me,” she said. “And I won’t charge you for it.”
“Oh, really,” I asked. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” The cashier shrugged it off.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” she said. “The full bag is only four dollars, so there’s really no point in charging you. Just give me a minute.” She tended to other customers waiting in line, and then she went into the back room, grabbed a fresh bag, and shoveled ice into it from a machine. After thanking her again, I excitedly presented the gift to Joseph, and then we were on our way to our next destination.
It was almost a two hour drive to Telluride, but after sitting in the car for days, the trip flew by as if we were just driving down the block. We stopped a few minutes outside of the main town to drop off our car at Telluride Tire and Auto Service. The owner, Stuart, told Joseph that it would be about an hour, so instead of going into town, he recommended a scenic spot where we could eat lunch. Joseph and I packed some food, and we walked a short distance to a nearby baseball field adjacent to a clear, blue lake. We sat on one of the benches and gazed up at the snow-capped mountains just a few miles away.
When we arrived back at the auto shop, we enjoyed a cup of complimentary coffee while waiting to be seen. When Stuart was ready, he delivered both good and bad news: The leak in our tire was fixed, but our brakes were not capable of bringing us safely home. He himself did not have the parts to fix them, but he asked where we were headed and then personally called mechanics in that area for us to find out who had the parts and could work on our car first thing tomorrow morning.
I am not sure we would have had any luck had we not had Stuart’s help. He had personal relationships with the owners and managers of each of the places he called, so we were able to get an appointment with a trusted mechanic when the shop opened tomorrow. And once securing us with that appointment after nearly half an hour of calling other shops, he told us that he was not going to charge us for the tire plug, nor the hour of labor he put in to fix it. We were stunned by his generosity and thanked him profusely, but he shrugged us off just as the cashier did earlier today. He said that his shop fixes tires for free for people passing through all the time.
“I believe in karma,” he said. “Years ago, my wife was driving to Oregon, and her water pump broke in Idaho. A farmer pulled over on the side of the road and told her that his son had an auto shop. He took her there and fixed her pump for free. I have never forgotten that.”
We thanked Stuart again, and then we left to continue our drive into Telluride. We passed through the main town, searching for what we were most excited about: The gondola ride. We continued down the windy road until it ended, sure at this point that we were driving in the wrong direction. However, the mountains ahead kept us going. We parked and took a few minutes just to take in the beauty of the giants towering above us. A waterfall cascaded down the side of the rock, and beside it, just like in Disney and Pixar’s “Up,” was a house sitting on top of the mountain.
As we drove back toward Telluride’s main street, Joseph spotted the gondola cables stretching up the side of the mountain. We parked in Telluride, and while Joseph paid, I ran to save our spot in line, which stretched down the sidewalk from the entrance. Luckily, the line moved quickly, and soon we were in our own little compartment, floating into the sky, watching the shops and homes grow smaller beneath us. The gondola climbed through tall white trees and over trails that wound down the mountainside, where people were biking. At the top, Joseph and I stared at the mountains in awe. This was the Colorado we had been dreaming of seeing.
We exited the gondola at the mountain market, a small town that had the feel of an amusement park main square. Despite the fact that people actually did live on the ski resort, the way the buildings were designed to match and connect with one another made it almost seem like a facade. I kept waiting for the people in costume to come out dancing.
We dipped into a couple of shops, including one filled with animal photographs, paintings, and figurines created from of rope, wire and beads. An older woman with a foreign accent I couldn’t quite identify sat behind a desk at the front of the shop, books filled with photographs of African animals in front of her. She informed us that everything in the shop was created in South Africa, and all of the proceeds were used to help save the elephants and rhinos.
Elephants are my favorite animal, so obviously I couldn’t stop myself from supporting this cause. I selected a small, beaded, elephant figurine who was in mid-trumpet. The woman behind the desk informed us that she was from South Africa, and she worked with Peace Parks Foundation, an organization that fights to keep the animals in Africa safe. She works particularly with elephants and rhinos.
“Did you know that 57 percent of the world’s species are extinct, and that happened in just the last forty years,” she asked us. “We need young people like you to help. If you have the chance to put a signature on something, sign it. And if you can volunteer, do it. It’s not easy work, but once you go to Africa, you aren’t ever going to want to come back.”
The view of the mountain market from the gondola
She grabbed a documentary off a nearby stack of DVDs, peeled the price tag off of it, and handed it to me.
“This is for you to watch,” she said. “It’s not pretty, but it’s factual, and it’s important.” I promised her I would watch it, and Joseph and I left with moods slightly dampened but adventures still to have for the day. I will have to research more about Peace Parks later. I have always wanted to go to South Africa, but circumstance has kept me here in the United States. However, perhaps I can find other ways to help support this cause.
Joseph and I rode the gondola back to the main street of Telluride to explore those shops. We bought some Belgian chocolate to enjoy for dessert and another post card to commemorate our experience. Then we returned to our car to start the drive to Black Canyon.
By now, it was getting to late, but we were determined to do at least a short hike in the canyons before the sun set. Just twenty minutes away from our destination, we stopped at a Walmart to pick up a few essentials. As we stepped out of the car, I gazed out at the black clouds in the distance and inquired about the weather.
“I was thinking about that, too,” Joseph said. “But I checked the weather and it said it is supposed to be clear all night.” We went into the store to pick up food and super glue for the crack in the windshield. As we approached the checkout, Joseph received a text from his mom, asking about how the weather was and where we were located. We bought our supplies and then headed to the doors, where we stopped in shock. In the short time that we had been in the store, the world had gone dark and the trees were bent sideways from the power of the wind.
We hurried to the car, where we checked the weather on our phones again, but the app still said the it was supposed to be clear all night. We decided to head to Black Canyon to see if the weather blew over, and if not, we would head straight to the campsite.
By the time we arrived at the national park, the weather seemed to have calmed. The wind was still heavy, but the skies had cleared a bit. The air had cooled considerably, so we put on jackets and sweatpants and headed to the trail. But just as we started the trek into the canyons, the rain began to pour down on us. We ran back to the car, where we watched lightning streak down the sky in the distance.
Still not wanting to miss our chance to visit the canyon, we decided to wait again. In fifteen minutes, the weather had cleared, but now we were twenty minutes away from sunset. With the agreement to be careful but to move as quickly as possible, we grabbed our rain jackets and hurried back to the trail.
I am so glad we decided to go. The temperature had warmed again, so we ended up shedding our layers within the first half mile. And the view was incredible. I thought I had completely tired from seeing canyons, but I found this view more magnificent than when I visited the Grand Canyon last year. The canyons plunged deep into the earth, teeming with trees and wildlife. And just as we were finishing the trail, the sun dropped behind the trees and lit up the sky like fire. I have never seen a more incredible sunset in my life.
As always, the picture does not do it justice – the sunset was absolutely breathtaking in person
Our campsite was just a few minutes away, so we made it there just before dark. The road was a little rough, and there was not enough space to set up our tent, but it was too late to try another campsite. While I made salads for dinner, Joseph cleared out the back seat, and then we ate in the woods. Joseph hung his hammock between our car and the trees so he could sleep beneath the stars, but I wanted protection from the wind and mosquitos, so I slept in the car.
As I fell asleep, I thought back to all the incredible people we met today. From brief encounters with kind townspeople, to the cashier who gave us a free bag of ice, to the man who fixed our tire for free and helped us to stay on track with our journey, to the woman who has dedicated her life to saving endangered species, we experienced the true gift of kindness and generosity throughout our day. And our experience would not have been the same without it. It’s curious to me that, just this morning, I was pondering if society had lost something since the time when we lived in close quarters in cave dwellings to our comfortable homes today. Then it seemed that every interaction I had today was created to remind me that simply wasn’t true. The spirit of human cooperation and benevolence has not been lost. The challenge now is to be willing to focus on the goodness of people, and to challenge ourselves to extend that kindness to others as well.
When I imagined my first morning in Colorado, I pictured waking to cool, crisp air, surrounded by pine trees, the sun’s rays peeking over distant snow-capped mountains. Instead, I woke up in the back of a car in an RV parking lot, cold and achy. But nothing could dampen the excitement I felt to finally be in the place I have been dreaming of visiting for most of my life.
Our first stop today was Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve. Driving towards the park, we marveled at the dunes that stretched nearly a third of the height mountains behind them. As we got closer, it became more apparent just how out of place the dunes seemed. With mountains and forests surrounding them, the dunes seemed to have just appeared out of nowhere. It was as if God had dropped a giant sand box in the middle of Colorado for all the humans to play on.
We bought a national park pass, an investment both Joseph and I have been excited about making. Hiking has always been one of our favorite pastimes, and with this pass, not only will all the national parks we plan on visiting on this trip be free, but so will all the others we visit for the next year. The idea of future weekend camping trips and day hikes is something we are both looking forward to.
We arrived at the sand dunes before the visitor’s center opened, so we headed to the trails first. We walked the half mile from the visitors center to the sand dunes, following the map on Joseph’s phone. However, as we walked across the sand, it became apparent that there was not much of a trail to follow. The challenge was basically to climb the dunes to the highest point; however visitors wanted to accomplish that was up to them.
To say the hike was difficult would be an understatement. Even as active people and experienced hikers, we had to stop multiple times, gasping for air and eagerly guzzling our water. The dunes were steep, and our feet sunk into the hot sand, so we were constantly fighting gravity to keep ourselves from falling. The highest dune stretched 755 feet into the air, and we had to climb numerous other dunes just to get to its base.
But the view was worth it. Gazing down from the top, the undulations of the dunes were reminiscent of ocean waves. The view of the mountains and Medano Creek were even more spectacular from that height. We watched in amazement as birds soared beneath us, winding between the dunes with enviable freedom. Far below us, the other visitors attempting the hike or sand boarding looked to be as small as ants. It was a moment of both exhilaration and awe as we gazed down at the world that we now seemed so far above.
We reached the top at just about the same time as another couple. Randy and Peggy are from Iowa, but they are currently in Colorado to visit their daughter. We chatted for a short while, and they offered to take our picture (after using hand sanitizer because there is a worldwide pandemic occurring). We took their picture as well and then parted ways.
I always enjoy having the chance to meet new people and hear their stories. Of the seven billion people on this planet, I have barely even scratched the surface in the amount of people that I know, and even fewer of those do I truly have a relationship with. It always amazes me just how many people there are, all unique and living different lives, all just trying to experience life and find meaning in what they are doing. I wonder how many people at the sand dunes today were searching for that meaning in Colorado. I wonder if that’s partly what I am doing here, too. I wonder if that’s why I am writing this blog.
We would have stayed at the top of the dunes for longer, but the wind was so strong that the sand it blew felt like small shards of glass cutting into our skin. And whenever the wind did cease, the sun beat down on us relentlessly. So, we began the trek back down, which was blessedly easier than the trip up. It reminded me of skiing as we glided down the sides of the dunes. My shoes filled with so much sand that they felt like weights on the bottoms of my feet.
Joseph did not want to take the conventional way down. We had not bought a sand board because they were so expensive, but that did not stop him. With the exclamation, “Who needs a sand board?” he leapt off the highest dune and slid and rolled down the hot sand. He told me afterwards that the sand on the sides of the dunes was so hot, he couldn’t stop moving without burning his skin.
We arrived back at the parking lot, famished and tired. However, we stopped briefly at the visitor’s center to pick up some post cards. Because of COVID-19, the store was operating only from the back door, with wares displayed in the store windows so visitors could choose and point to what they wanted and then have it handed to them beneath a glass partition. I actually didn’t mind this change of pace. It gave the concept of “window shopping” a much more literal meaning, but it was very efficient. We finished shopping in half the time it probably would have taken us.
We headed back to the car and ate a morning snack on the way to our next destination: Durango. It wasn’t a place on our original itinerary (which consisted mostly of national parks), but Durango was a small town I fell in love with last summer during 4K for Cancer when my team stopped there for the night. When I first visited, I proclaimed it was where I would want to live should I ever finally follow my dream of moving to Colorado. As Joseph and I were making our route for this trip, Joseph saw it was close to Mesa Verde. Knowing how much I loved it there, and wanting to see it for himself after I made him jealous when describing the town to him last year, he insisted that we visit.
The drive to Durango was breathtaking. We climbed and wound through forested mountains, rain pattering against our car like a gentle melody. Joseph and I drank in the view as if it were water. This is the part of Colorado I love. The sand dunes, canyons, and cacti are all fun to see, but the mountains and the forests have always felt like home.
When we arrived in Durango, the heat of the day had fully arrived. The sun had no mercy for us. Thankfully, dipping into air conditioned shops brought us some relief from the heat.
We packed a lunch and ate outside a closed shop, and then we walked the main street, visiting stores and enjoying the bustling atmosphere. Durango was just as amazing as I remembered. We watched a train go by and listened to its soothing sound, and the feeling came back just as strong as it did a year ago: I want to live here.
Even though it is our first full day in Colorado, Joseph and I both bought souvenirs because Durango is a town with both want to remember. It has had that same impression on both of us – this is somewhere special. Joseph bought me a hat, and I bought him a T-shirt and mug. We stopped at a cafe that served the best espresso and cold brew coffee that either of us tasted for a while. We walked the one street for the full three hours allotted by our parking meter, and we still did not have time to visit all the places we wanted.
On our drive back, I felt the energy in the car, the desire to return, the buzzing question of whether we could. Joseph was the one to bring it up first. Would I consider moving there?
After so many months of him asking me if I would really move to Colorado, today was the first time I answered without hesitation.
“Yes,” I said.
“Really,” he asked, surprised.
“Yes.” The excitement in the car grew.
“Could we do that,” Joseph asked.
“I don’t know.” Moving at all is intimidating, especially without careers in place and debt from school already hanging over my head; moving halfway across the country is nothing short of petrifying. So, why is it that every time I think of it, my whole body seems light up like electric wires are running through it, making me want to dance on the spot?
But the idea of leaving family and friends makes me pause. Moving to Colorado would mean starting over and moving away from everyone I love. Plenty of people do it, but plenty of people also do not.
I am getting ahead of myself though. Right now, I am fulfilling my dream of road tripping to Colorado, that is all. I want to be present, in this moment, not considering possibilities for the future. The future is unknown. The present is the only place anyone can truly live.
We arrived at our campsite, just twenty minutes outside of Mesa Verde. The gravel road led us to a plot of land surrounded by trees with a valley just beyond them and mountains hovering in the distance. The most interesting thing about this site, though, were the cows. There were dozens of them, grazing and walking around without any apparent home or owner. They walked through our campsite, acknowledging us with a few moos, and then continued their stroll. We didn’t see them for the rest of the night, but we have heard them calling to one another through the trees.
We showered in our bathing suits with a portable shower Joseph brought. I thought the water would feel refreshing after such a long, sweaty day. However, as soon as we were wet, the evening Colorado air blanketed us until we were shivering uncontrollably. We dressed into warm clothes as quickly as possible and set up camp. Just a few minutes later, we were warm once again and eating a satisfying dinner.
The sun disappeared behind the mountains, and the stars began to appear. Joseph and I sat outside our tent, mouths agape, staring at the heavens above. The stars in Maryland look nothing like the stars in Colorado. There wasn’t an inch of sky without one twinkling down at us. We gazed at the haze of the milky way that stretched across the black sky, and every so often, we caught a glimpse of a shooting star in the distance.
The stars weren’t possible to capture with a camera, but here is a picture of our view of the sunset at our campsite.
I can’t shake the feeling that this is where I belong. I can only imagine falling asleep under a sky like this every night, of feeling this close to nature, of feeling this rested inside. As the John Muir quote goes, “The mountains are calling, and I must go.” It’s the pull I felt my entire life. It’s the pull that brought me here, tonight, gazing up at this brilliant sky and wondering if Colorado actually is where I am supposed to find my meaning. Maybe there are people I am supposed to meet here and things I am supposed to do. Maybe this is where I belong.
It’s something I will have to think about, something I will have to consider in the back of my mind and ponder as we travel through Colorado for the next week. It’s something I will have to discuss with loved ones and honestly pray about. For now, I am just going to experience Colorado as if I am never coming back, and perhaps that will encourage this place to give me a reason to stay.
The mountains are calling, and I am here to answer them.
