When I woke up, the world around me was still dark. The car had grown cold in the last few hours. I snuggled deeper into my sleeping bag, wondering how much longer I had to rest.
Just then, the alarm on my phone began to blare. A small, internal grown escaped me. I shut off my alarm and allowed my head to fall back into my pillow, exhausted. Four o’clock had arrived far too early.
I pulled myself out of my sleeping bag as Joseph rolled out of his hammock. We cleaned up our campsite in silence and drove to a nearby gas station to get ready.
Our first and only stop today was Monarch Crest Trail at the Continental Divide, the site where mountains separate the rivers that flow into the Pacific Ocean from those that flow into the Atlantic Ocean. The sun was just starting to rise as we began hiking up the steep incline of the trail. We watched the light touch the tops of trees and the mountain peaks. The moon, which we have watched grow throughout our trip, sat just above the mountains in the distance, finally full and bright.
“Tyler, I have a feeling this just might be one of the best views we have ever seen,” Joseph said.
We were looking for a particular point Troy, a fellow hiker, had told us about yesterday. However, after three miles of walking, we still had not found it. We knew we must have taken a wrong turn, but today was the day we were supposed to begin our long drive back to Maryland, so we did not have time to search for it. I suggested we return to the car, but Joseph, who had a vision of the view he wanted to see, insisted we continue a little farther. After another half mile, it became apparent that we were not going to reach the top of the summit anytime soon, at least not by any conventional means.
The thing is, Joseph has never lead me on a conventional hike. When it became apparent there was not enough time to get to the point we wanted, Joseph turned instead off of the trail and straight up the mountainside. I followed him up towards the summit, scrambling over rocks and grass, my legs and lungs burning from the exertion. The mountainside was steep and the elevation was increasing rapidly. It felt as if there was not even enough air to sip on.
Just before I thought I would not be able to go any farther, the land began to level. Before I knew it, we were at the top.
The view was breathtaking, both literally and metaphorically. It was by far the best view we had seen during our entire trip in Colorado. Mist gathered beneath the peaks that stretched up towards the blushing morning sky. The pine trees basked in the bright sun’s glow while quarts crystals glistened beneath our feat. We were surrounded by land left nearly untouched by human hands, free to fully express its beauty without any constraints, and it was stunningly magnificent.
I could have spent hours at the top of that mountain, drinking in the arresting view. However, Joseph and I both knew our time in Colorado had finally come to an end. We had already extended our original trip, but this view was more than worth the time spent getting here. This was the epic Colorado finale that we never could have planned.
We stumbled back down the side of the mountain to the marked trail. I checked my watch, and I was dismayed to see that it was already the time we wanted to get back to our car, which we were currently 3.5-miles away from. Not wanting to waste any more time, Joseph and I both broke into a run.
Luckily, the trek up the mountain was far more difficult than the trip down. We sidestepped rocks and skidded down the dirt, letting the clean Colorado air fill our lungs and souls.
Just before reaching the bottom of the mountain, we met up with a group of bikers just beginning their journey. They asked us about our hike and how far we went. The entire trail is 13 miles, which we, unfortunately, did not have enough time to traverse today. We told them about the incredible view we did see, and our failed plan to start driving back to Maryland this morning at 7:30.
“Oh, I don’t think you’re going to make it,” one biker joked, glancing at his watch. The time was 8:15.
“Oh, really, I think we can do it,” I replied back with a laugh.
“Hey, we’re all Christians,” one biker said to the group. “Do you all mind if I pray before we get started?”
“Oh, wow, we’re Christians, too,” Joseph said. “Do you mind if we join you?”
So, we gathered with the bikers in a circle, our heads bowed and eyes closed. The biker who had invited us all to prayer spoke, thanking God for this opportunity for people from all over the world to gather in this place to appreciate His beautiful creation. I felt tears brimming in my eyes as I felt the love of God surge through that group of people, all from different places with different backgrounds, gathered in a place indicative of the magnificence of His handiwork.
The moment was over almost as quickly as it began. The bikers said goodbye and began their journey up the mountain as Joseph and I finished running down. We ate a quick breakfast at the car, bought a postcard and sticker to remember our experience, and then began our long drive.
Joseph drove the first four hours. We stopped at a gas station to fuel our car and our bodies, and then I drove the next few hours to another rest stop, where we bought coffee. We decided then to make another stop for dinner, and then to drive late so we could make as much progress toward our final destination as possible. While we drove, we sang along to our favorite songs, listened to podcasts, called family members, and began talking more about future nuptial plans. All the while, a sense of bittersweet contentment filled us. We are on our way home.
The last two weeks have been amazing, but every good thing must come to an end. We are tired and ready for real showers, comfortable beds, and good coffee we don’t have to pay an hour’s wages for. But we also know that returning home means the end to an incredible adventure and returning to lives where we live hours apart and have other responsibilities competing for our time and attention.
However, it’s the finitude of moments in life like this that makes them sweet. There is beauty in endings. I have learned so much about myself and my relationship with Joseph during this trip, and I am ready to use that knowledge in my everyday life. This is the end of one chapter, but it also the beginning of a new adventure that I am just as excited for.
Until then, I have two days left in the car to soak up every last moment of this journey.
One year ago, I spent my Fourth of July running into Salida, Colorado with my teammates. We were part of 4K for Cancer, a fundraiser created by the Ulman Foundation. Last year, two running and two biking teams spent their summer traveling across the country to raise money for young adults impacted by cancer.
That was one of the most impactful summers of my life. For seven weeks, I challenged myself, physically, mentally and spiritually, more than I ever had before. I met twenty of the most incredible people I have ever known, who have continued to dedicate their lives to helping others. An entire summer was dedicated to a cause much bigger than myself, and I will never regret that experience or the memories I made on that trip.
But that was the summer my chronic health illnesses, which I had spent years trying to improve, became so much worse. My self-confidence was crushed. I felt labeled by my disease. I hated the idea that my health was burdensome on anyone. The last year has been a battle against those still worsening health conditions, which ultimately lead me to being on the new supplements and diet that have made this trip a bit more complicated.
This morning, I woke up in Salida, Colorado, ready to once again spend the Fourth of July in one of the most beautiful states in America. Last year, I would never have dreamed that I would be returning to Colorado so soon, nor that I would be watching the fireworks from the same place that I did then. And I could have never imagined that the man I was dating then, the man I had probably bored my teammates by talking about so much, would be here with me, and that we would be engaged.
We began our day with a morning hike at Waterdog Lakes. Joseph had chosen the trail because he realized we had not yet done a lake trail in Colorado. When we arrived at the trail head, we met Troy, a Colorado local from Denver who told us to keep hiking to the second lake because it’s better than the first. Armed with that knowledge, we began trekking up the steep incline of the mountain. We passed cascading waterfalls, climbed rocky paths, and wound through lush pine trees before finally arriving at the first, clear, blue lake.
The second lake was more difficult to find. While searching, we met up with two other Colorado locals, Hannah and Olivia, speech pathologists from Colorado Springs. They had met in graduate school in Iowa, and they just happened to both accept jobs and move to the same apartment building in the same week, just before the novel coronavirus shut down the country. Enjoying the extra company, the four of us continued our search for the trail. What we ended up doing instead was climbing up a pile of boulders that led us to where the lake was nestled between the trees and mountain peaks. We said farewell to our new friends at the top and sat for a few minutes to enjoy the view before beginning the long walk down. It had taken us two hours to get to the top of the mountain, and there were thunder clouds once again threatening us in the distance.
Luckily, we made it to the bottom safely, just as Troy and his family were finishing their hike. We talked with him about the hike, and he recommended another trail just a few miles up the road at Monarch Crest. Joseph excitedly proposed that we wake up early for a sunrise hike tomorrow morning before beginning the drive to Maryland, and I agreed.
We headed to Salida next to spend our last day in Colorado relaxing and enjoying our time together. Just as we parked, the clouds began to sprinkle rain on us, so we hurriedly packed a lunch and headed to the park. We huddled under a tree to eat. In the middle of the park, a crowd was gathered to watch traveling circus performers from Chicago. We watched the dancing performers and trapeze artists from a distance, gasping when we were fooled into thinking a trick went wrong and applauding enthusiastically at the end of each act.
Main street was our next destination. We walked the shops, pausing to eat a scoop of ice cream and dairy-free gelato from a local parlor and to buy lattes from a small coffee shop.
The afternoon flew by, and before we knew it, the fireworks were only a few hours away. We made dinner at our car and then walked around the park and neighborhoods for an evening stroll. As the sky grew dark, we returned to our car, where we set up pillows to sit outside and watch the fireworks. We had parked just below the memorable “S” mountain in Salida, where the letter is painted in white near the top peak. For Independence Day, the “S” was lit up with white lights and a string of red lights formed a heart around the letter. We finally opened the personal-sized wine bottles we had been saving for just this occasion and toasted our final evening in Colorado.
The festivities began just after the world finally grew dark. Mountain bikes strung with lights appeared from the top of the mountain and wound their way down in an ant line formation. The crowd cheered enthusiastically, prompting one young spectator nearby to ask his parents if the bikers were famous.
The expectation in the crowd mounted as the bikers finished their descent. We all waited excitedly for the first boom and crack that lit up the night sky.
As bright colors filled the sky and gold dust rained down toward the mountain, I couldn’t help but think about the journey that brought me there (and I’m not just referring to the last two weeks). The last year of my life has been a journey that brought me to this moment. It has not been an easy year – between personal health struggles, starting my own business, the coronavirus pandemic, and so much more, this has been a tough year for me and many people. But there is no doubt in my mind that it has been the best year of my life, and a lot of that is owed to the man that was sitting beside me, watching the fireworks. I have grown a lot in the last year, and with his support, I have learned more about myself and who I am with my health problems, not who I am because of them.
So, there I was, back in Salida, Colorado, sitting beneath the fireworks, exactly where I was a year ago. In that moment, it was as if nothing had changed. But I came back to this place changed. I am now older, stronger, and more confident than the last time I was here.
There was something poetic about ending a chapter of my life with fireworks crackling above my head. Sitting there, my head rested on Joseph’s shoulder in one of the most beautiful places in the world, I could not think of a better place to begin the next part of my story.
Today was supposed to be our first day driving back home. We were going to stop by Omaha, Nebraska to spend a day there, and then we planned to slowly make our way back to Maryland. Instead, we are spending two more days in Colorado, and I could not be more thrilled.
Our first stop today was Cheyenne Mountain State Park. We didn’t have enough time to hike the mountain itself, so we chose a 6.3-mile trail that still promised great views and a decent elevation.
The trail wound around itself, leading us through unnecessary loops in the hot sun. Our exasperation mounted when we discovered that we had made a wrong turn and we had to backtrack a quarter-mile.
We were both relieved when the trail led us out of the grassy field and into the cool shade of the trees. A distant thundercloud grew closer, giving us a cool breeze and protecting us from the sun’s rays.
Unfortunately, the views from below the mountain were not spectacular, so we focused more on our conversation than our surroundings. We talked about future plans, both growing more excited by the minute. When we had the chance to turn back, we decided to hike a little longer to finish out the loop. By the end of the hike, we were both exhausted but felt accomplished. Our hike had extended over an extra two miles and had taken up over three hours of our day.
We ate lunch at a picnic table in the park, and then we headed to downtown Colorado Springs. We bought lattes and strolled as we sipped. The sidewalks were crowded with people, many of whom seemed to have forgotten that there is a pandemic. Joseph and I were two of the few people wearing masks. We dipped into a few shops, but there were not many that sparked our interest, so we left soon after and headed to Pikes Peak, one of Colorado’s 14ers (mountains in Colorado with an elevation of at least 14,000 feet) and the spot that inspired the song “America the Beautiful” by Katherine Lee Bates.
As we drove up the windy mountain road, I saw something that awoke the child at heart in me. We found Santa’s workshop.
The North Pole near Colorado Springs is really just a small amusement park (which was, unfortunately, shut down when we visited) and a gift shop. Despite this and Joseph’s exasperated reminders that it was July, I still felt so joyful surrounded by Christmas trees and sweaters.
After perusing the shop, Joseph and I continued the drive up the mountain as the first few drops of rain fell. The distant thunder cloud from this morning had finally reached us.
We reached the gate for Pikes Peak, where the attendant told us it would cost $15 per person. The price seemed a bit steep, even for such a tall, majestic mountain. Besides this, the rain was beginning to fall more earnestly, and the attendant told us if it got any worse, the mountain would most likely be closed. Not wanting to pay the money if we wouldn’t even get the reward of the view, we decided to turn back and drive down the mountain.
It was a good choice. Just as we reached the parking lot of Santa’s workshop, the light rain turned to a downpour, and then a hailstorm. Joseph and I stared as marble sized pieces of ice pelted our windshield.
We decided to start the drive to Salida earlier than expected. That, too, was a smart choice because traffic slowed our progress. When we did arrive, it was still raining, so we tied our tarp to nearby trees to create a makeshift shelter. Underneath this, we made dinner and set up camp.
Nothing today went according to plan. It was filled with impromptu choices and adventures. But that’s okay, because this entire day was an impromptu choice, an unexpected part of our impromptu road trip adventure. Planning is great, and I am glad we planned as much as we did for this trip because it made it possible for us to visit so many amazing places and see so many beautiful views. Sometimes, though, the best days are days like today, when nothing goes according to plan, but the journey itself and the good company make it more than worth it.
When I woke up this morning, the shirt I changed into was the one I earned last summer when I ran across the country with the Ulman Foundation. It’s a bright yellow shirt, with the words “Be Courageous” emblazoned on the front in dark blue letters. It’s one of my favorite shirts, one that always reminds me of the feat I accomplished last year and that serves as a helpful reminder for my life.
Already feeling encouraged, I excitedly began my day, even though the difficulties of this trip were starting to get to both Joseph and me. Our biggest complaint today was how badly we needed to shower. The way we smelled was starting to offend even us, so I can only imagine what other people thought. My feet, the one part of me I had not been able to get clean even in our makeshift outdoor showers, were caked in dirt.
Luckily, we reserved an Airbnb for tonight in Denver. For much of our day, instead of being excited about the adventures we were experiencing, we were most looking forward to showering. Every hour, Joseph gave me the countdown of how long it would be until we would be clean again.
We started our day with an easy two-and-a-half-mile hike with a view of the mountains in the background. We then stopped at a local library so I could teach a yoga class via Zoom, and then we headed to Chautauqua Park for a more strenuous afternoon hike.
Per a local’s suggestion, we did the Flatiron trail. It was another two-and-a-half-mile hike, but this one had an elevation of over 1,400 feet. The trail took us straight up the side of the mountain with no place to rest. Breathing heavily, we managed to keep conversation going as we scaled the rocky landscape.
“Is it worth it,” Joseph jokingly asked some hikers on their way down the trail.
“Oh, yes,” one woman said. “The view is always worth it.”
She was not wrong. Joseph and I sat at the top, feeling accomplished and satisfied. The flatirons resembled rockslides caught at a single, picturesque moment and left that way for eternity. The rocks formations slanted against the mountainside, creating three, nearly identical plates. In the distance, we could see the mountain we hiked yesterday against the backdrop of taller, snowier peaks.
The trip down was long and tiring. My legs were shaking from the amount of exertion I have placed on them over the last few days. I was definitely ready for a good night’s rest.
We ate a quick picnic lunch in the park, and then we began the drive to Denver. On the way, we stopped at a Starbucks to purchase lattes and the souvenir I have been most excited about. Last year during 4K for Cancer, one of my teammates, Illona, told me about the mugs she buys at Starbucks everywhere she visits. Each mug is designed for the particular city, state or country the Starbucks is located at, with the name of the place and images reminiscent of different landmarks located there. As a world traveler, she had mugs from many different countries. She told me how, when she had guests, she coyly would ask them from where they would like to drink their coffee: Paris? California? And then she would serve them coffee in the corresponding mug.
I thought it was such a cute idea at the time. Then, as Joseph and I grew more serious in our relationship, I thought it was the perfect souvenir for us to get on all of our travels together. We are avid coffee drinkers, and Starbucks stores are everywhere. We were bound to dip into one on all of our future travels at some point, so why not get a corresponding mug from each place to make a collection?
The Colorado mug is the first of our collection. I can’t wait to see how many other mugs we will add to the shelf in our future home.
Our Airbnb was tall, blue house in a nice neighborhood just twenty minutes outside of Denver. The first and most important thing on both of our agendas was taking a shower. Joseph went first, and he came back looking refreshed, his shin a couple shades lighter now that the dirt was scrubbed from it.
“I feel like a new man,” he told me. “I feel like we are a different species now.”
I jumped up eagerly, grabbed my toiletries, and went into the bathroom. I turned the water the temperature up as hot as I could stand, and then I let it cascade down me, watching dirt run off my skin and into the drain. I massaged my head with shampoo until my fingers were numb, and then I scrubbed my skin until it felt raw. Even after all that, I’m not sure I was entirely clean, but I finally felt human again. I can’t even express how revitalizing that shower was. After ten days without one, it felt like a luxury.
Joseph and I relaxed in the room in our sweats until it was time to get ready for dinner. I had searched for the best places to eat in Denver and then carefully scanned the menus of each place for something I could eat on my new, restrictive diet. I found two places, and yesterday, Joseph and I made reservations at Roxy on Broadway.
We dressed up in fancy clothes, he in khakis and a button-down red and black plaid shirt, and I in my classic little black dress. Feeling as if we were first-class citizens, not two young adults who had just spent the last week camping and sleeping in their car, we exited the house and approached our car. It seemed odd that we no longer matched our ride; while we had transformed our appearance in the matter of two hours, this car was a stark reminder of where we had actually come from, with its cracked windshield, duct-taped rooftop carrier, and dirt streaks. But this car had carried us all the way from Maryland to the last stop of this adventure; no other mode of transportation would be fitting to carry us to our celebratory dinner.
Roxy on Broadway was hidden away from the bustle of downtown Denver. With its garage-style door and simple, brick appearance, it could easily be overlooked. But inside, it was a 1920s era dream. Candle-lit chandeliers hung from the ceiling in front of the bar stacked with local liquors. Tables and chairs had been set up for customers to sit theatre-style in front of a small stage, where two musicians played. The menu featured classic prohibition-era cocktails, while the food was modern and diverse.
The staff was pleasant and accommodating. When we had made a reservation, Joseph had written in the notes that I was on a low-FODMAP diet, something most people don’t and probably will never have to know about. While the menu featured multiple gluten-free and vegan options, it was difficult to be absolutely sure which selections would not aggravate my stomach. The chef, however, had already taken this into consideration. I was assured by our hostess upon arrival that he was fully aware of my needs. I ordered a kale salad, and the chef whipped up a homemade oil and vinegar dressing so that I could enjoy it without any adverse side effects. Meanwhile, Joseph enjoyed a pulled pork sandwich with a side of the best french fries I have ever tasted. They were substantial, crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside, and seasoned to perfection.
Joseph and I toasted all that we have accomplished and experienced together over these last few months in quarantine – his graduation, his birthday, and our engagement. It was our first drink together in a restaurant, and I am so glad we waited. It felt good to toast to life in a city a mile high in the sky.
The musical entertainment for the night featured Erik Fellenstein, a Colorado local. He started his show with a guitar accompaniment, but the second half he performed by himself. Joseph and I stayed longer than expected to catch his full performance. We thoroughly enjoyed his jazzy, folksy style, and many times we caught ourselves laughing at his jokes. His songs were entertaining, both lyrically and instrumentally, and I was struck constantly by the breadth of his talent. He sang with soul, and he played the violin with a richness that is often lacking by musicians.
At the end of his performance, Joseph and I clapped with the rest of the crowd, sipped the last of our drinks, and then left to visit Larimer Square. To our disappointment, the lights strung across the street were still lit, but the shops were closed. Vowing to return tomorrow, we returned to our AirBnb for a much-needed night’s rest in a luxuriously warm and soft bed.
Be courageous. It was the message on the shirt given to me after I had completed the most courageous adventure I have ever been on, and it is the message I still try to remind myself of every day. While 4K is still probably the most amazing feat I have ever accomplished, I have the opportunity every day to do something courageous. It took courage to go on this road trip, especially when I had just started such a strict and limiting diet for my health, which has been declining steadily for the past year. It took courage to have the tough conversations I have had with Joseph during our long car rides, and to explore deeper into my own psyche during those trying moments. It took courage to place my trust in another person, to be vulnerable with him, and to promise to spend the rest of my life with him, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.
These moments that take courage can be daunting at their best and absolutely petrifying at their worst, but as Joseph and I were reminded by that Boulder local during our hike today, the mountain is always worth the climb. The courage it takes is always worth the adventure it takes me on.
Follow your dreams. Explore life outside of your comfort zone. Be courageous. You never know what amazing adventures life will have waiting for you when you do.
Today, I finally woke up to the quintessential Colorado morning I have been waiting for. Shivering, I sat up in my sleeping bag, surrounded by pine trees and mountains adorned with snow. The air was clean and crisp in my lungs, leaving my body feeling refreshed and renewed.
Joseph made us some coffee and we started driving. Our first stop today was Frisco. Originally, we had just planned on walking the main street, but last night, I found a short hike for us to do. Or, at least, I thought it would be a short hike. It was only four miles round trip. What I did not consider was that it was a hike up a mountain, and the reason the mileage was so short was because the trail went straight up with no place to rest or catch our breath.
Mount Royal was one of the toughest but most rewarding hikes Joseph and I have done. Breathing heavily, we climbed the two miles upward, the equivalent of 140 floors on my FitBit watch. To put that into perspective, the empire state building is 102 floors.
The view was more than worth it. On top of the summit, looking down on the world, we both felt accomplished and in awe of the beauty around us. From that height, the town of Frisco looked like a model village with little toy boats floating in the harbor.
The trip down the mountain took us just as long as the hike up. It was not difficult, but the steep grade and loose rocks and dirt made it difficult to find our footing. Taking baby steps, we slipped and slid down the side of the mountain. About halfway down, Joseph was able to find some sticks that he fashioned into walking sticks, so the second half of the trek was much easier than the first.
On the way down, we met up with another couple from Maryland. Joseph excitedly announced to them that we are engaged, and they congratulated us. After we parted ways, Joseph turned to me.
“It’s so much fun to tell people,” he said. “It’s like I totally forgot that we were engaged, but then, telling other people gets me so excited again.”
By the time we reached the bottom of the mountain, we were both starving. We grabbed our portable grill from the car and sat at a nearby picnic table, where we made chicken melt sandwiches. It was a satisfying meal after such a strenuous hike.
We then headed into town, where we bought lattes and walked main street. Joseph bought me a snow globe to commemorate our experience, and I bought a sticker for our scrapbook. We listened to a live band playing and strolled along the sidewalks painted with the word “love” in rainbow letters in multiple languages.
By the time we had finished exploring, it was already three in the afternoon. We decided to head to Red Rock Canyon and save Boulder, our original next stop, until we headed back north. We drove, listening to music, both exhausted after the long day we had already experienced.
I don’t remember what Joseph said. I know my feelings were a bit hurt when he said it, but that the comment was so inconsequential, I brushed it aside nearly instantly. I let it go, but he didn’t.
The next thing I knew, Joseph was broken down beside me, upset because he felt he kept hurting me on this trip.
“Is it going to be like this for the rest of our lives,” he asked me. “Am I just going to keep hurting you? And what if I become someone that you don’t like – what are we going to do then? Is this really what you want?”
I was stunned. I didn’t know how to prove to this man any more than I already had how much I love him. He expressed that he was still feeling rejected; he still felt like there was something off between us, even though I had done everything I could think of in the last few days, and for all of our relationship, to make him feel loved.
We parked at Red Rock Canyon, both a wreck, our tired eyes staring out of the windshield, not even seeing the landscape before us.
“I just don’t understand,” I said. “I don’t know what changed. We just got engaged, and we are on this trip that we have both dreamed of, and you just seem so unhappy.” I looked to him, my eyes posing the question that neither of us wanted to actually speak into existence: Do you even want to be engaged to me?
Joseph’s proposal – Photo creds go to Jon Mauler. If you want to see more of his amazing photography, visit https://www.jonmauler.com/
“Alright, let’s do what we did the other day,” Joseph said after what felt like minutes of silence. “Let’s get out of the car and try to step out of this situation, and then maybe we will be able to see more clearly what’s going on.” We exited the car. Joseph grabbed cereal for a snack while I walked across the parking lot to the restrooms.
I am so glad I walked away. I needed a few moments alone to think. I sat for a moment, took a few deep breaths, and tried to clear my mind. Why wasn’t Joseph happy? Was it me? Was it something I did? Did he not want to be engaged? He didn’t seem to be excited to be engaged, which just baffled me because from almost the very beginning of our relationship, we have both been dreaming of this moment.
And then it hit me. Just a week ago, sitting alone at home, just days after Joseph and I had gotten engaged, I remember not feeling so well either. I didn’t understand it at the time. My mother would ask me why I seemed upset, why I wasn’t more thrilled to share all the details of the proposal, why I didn’t seem like myself at all. And the answer I didn’t want to admit was because I was upset, because the proposal was something I didn’t want to talk about, and because I no longer felt like myself.
I was thrilled to be engaged, but once the excitement of the proposal had gone away, it hit me just how big of a decision I had made. Before the proposal, Joseph and I had talked extensively about our future, engagement, marriage, kids…just about everything. We even read through a book, “101 Questions to Ask Before You Get Engaged,” and not even one red flag had appeared as we worked through it. I knew the proposal was coming, and up until the day of, I had always said that I was absolutely positive that it was what I wanted. And it is still exactly what I want.
But when Joseph bent down on one knee, I had the length of two seconds to answer him. Of course, it was like a reflex – how could I not marry this man who had changed my entire life for the better? But after a few days, when the excitement wore off, I started to realize everything I was giving up. I knew it wasn’t a mistake, but I had to grieve for the life that I thought I was going to have for the first 21 years of my life, before I met Joseph. I would never become a travel writer, adventuring solo around the world and sharing my journey through my craft. I would never live the single life in an apartment in New York City, working as a waitress and trying to “make it big” like everyone else there. I was now looking at a very different future, one that I very much wanted, but that was entirely different from what I had imagined for most of my life.
When I exited the bathroom, I sat on the back of the car with Joseph by my side, eating my bowl of cereal, still contemplating my latest realization.
“I think I know what’s wrong,” I said.
“You do,” he asked.
“Yes, because what you’re going through right now, I went through last week,” I said, “And I just didn’t tell you about it.” Joseph stared at me. “If I’m wrong,” I continued, “it might be really bad. But if I’m right, it could really help us.”
“What is it,” Joseph asked. I gestured to his bowl my spoon.
“Eat your cereal first,” I said. Joseph laughed.
“That sounds good,” he said. We finished our snack, and then we started our hike up the barren red path winding through the cacti and underbrush.
I told him everything I had thought about in the bathroom. I told him I had realized that the reason we couldn’t figure out why anything was wrong may just be what was wrong: We couldn’t understand why we were unhappy right after we got engaged, but maybe it was because we got engaged. That’s not to say that we both aren’t so incredibly happy to be engaged, that we would ever change our minds and not choose to spend the rest of our lives with one another. However, we just went through a huge life change and we need time to adjust and grieve for what we gave up. We are no longer our own person; we just agreed to soon become one flesh in holy matrimony.
“Tyler, I think that might be it,” Joseph said. “And I think it’s also that I just don’t feel like we’re engaged. We made this huge decision, and then nothing really changed. I mean, you’re not even wearing your ring!” My ring is currently being resized at Zales in Maryland. No longer wanting to have a bare finger, I am wearing a cheap Aeropostale ring that’s turning my finger green.
“So, it’s normal to feel this way,” Joseph asked.
“I think so,” I said. “It’s a huge decision. I had these feelings before, but I don’t anymore, because I know whatever other future I could have had, it doesn’t even compare to the future I am going to have with you. I want to marry you. So, there were three things that helped me. One, I admitted what I was feeling. Then, I had a sit down conversation with myself, where I actually thought through what would have happened if I had said, ‘no.’ And I didn’t get far into that conversation before I started crying because it was terrible. And then, I think the last thing that you have to do to deal with a big life change is to start moving with it. I think big life changes are always intimidating until you start living it out, and then you realize it’s not so bad. I think right now we are intimidated by being engaged, but if we start actually planning the wedding, doing pre-marriage counseling, looking for places to live, I think we will realize that it’s actually something we can handle.”
Joseph took this in, and it was clear that his spirits were much more lifted than before. There was the old spring in his step that I had been missing this entire trip.
“I am so glad we’re talking about this,” he said. “This is what actually makes me feel confident in our relationship. I feel so validated and seen by you. I remember seeing guys get cold feet right before their weddings, and I didn’t understand why, and I didn’t think that I would be that. But I think that’s what’s happening. And I don’t want that to happen anymore.” He paused. “So, I guess I am going to have that sit-down conversation with myself.” I took a nervous, deep breath and nodded.
“I think you have to,” I said.
“I love you,” Joseph told me.
“I love you, too.”
The sun began to set, bathing the canyons in red light. We hurried back to our car in the dark and made dinner on a nearby rock. It was late by the time we got on the road, headed to a Walmart parking lot to sleep. To our dismay, when we arrived, we saw a sign that said “No overnight parking.” Physically and emotionally exhausted, we drove another half hour to a Bass Pro Shop parking lot, where we emptied the back seat for me to sleep and set up Joseph’s hammock outside.
Alone in the car, I am both an emotional wreck and the most calm I have been in days. I am confident in our relationship, but there is, of course, that sliver of doubt that wonders if Joseph’s conversation with himself won’t go as I mine went with me. There’s that little bit of me that worries we won’t be climbing any more mountains together in the future. I am worried about losing both my fiancé and my best friend.
But the thing is, I know this has been hanging over us the whole trip, and now it’s finally being laid to rest. From here on, we are once again on the same page of our story.
The sunshine filtered through the car windows, gentle caressing my eyes open. I sat in my sleeping bag in the car at the same time Joseph sat in his hammock outside. We looked at each other, smiled, and then simultaneously began to pack our belongings.
We packed up the car and drove to a nearby gas station to get ready for the day. It was the nicest gas station restroom I have ever been in, with flowers and artwork to look at while I went to the bathroom.
We drove next to the auto shop just before it opened. While we waited for the car to be fixed, we decided to walk around town. There wasn’t much to look at or shops to visit; it definitely was not a tourist destination, but we had fun anyway. We turned off the road when we saw greenery, assuming it would lead us to a park. Instead, we found ourselves in a sculpture garden behind a church. The path led us in a circle around the garden. The statues adorning the path told the story of Jesus’ death. At the end, three wooden crosses sat on top of pile of boulders, and in front of this, three rocks had been used to form the empty tomb.
While walking, Joseph and I began to talk about the validity of Christianity, what we believe and what others we know believe. Is the Bible truth, or just stories designed to teach morals? The Bible was inspired by God but written by man, so how do we know what was truly ordained by God and what were the musings of man?
“Even if I can’t prove the Bible is true, I know the change that has happened inside me,” Joseph said. “Do you think any other religion has that kind of transformation?” I thought about this for a second. So often, Joseph and I have spiritual conversations like this, where we attempt to tackle concepts far too complex for the human brain to ever comprehend. Despite the fact that we will never truly know the answers our questions, we still enjoy sharing our thoughts and coming to places of respect and understanding for each other’s beliefs.
Personally, I believe there is validity in other world religions. The idea of Christianity is that Jesus is the only way to be saved, and that is the thought I have always grown up with. But I don’t want to place human limits on my greater-than-human God. The idea that God would send some of his beloved children to hell, especially those who never have the chance to get to know Jesus, is something I have always wrestled with. Deep inside me, I know there must be much more to this story of creation, the universe, and God’s relationship with us than I will ever know. And that’s okay, because my only responsibility is to love others as best I can, not to solve the existential questions of life.
“Every religion and deeply held belief creates transformation inside us,” I said to answer Joseph’s question. “It’s not just Christianity. I mean, we want answers to existential questions, so anything that fills that hole, we cling to. That’s how cults happen. We can become so attached to an idea that we’re willing to go through terrible things and endure mental trauma. It’s the whole ‘drink the kool aid’ situation where people are willing to take their own lives because of how much they believe something and because they think it will give them salvation. But, I think the difference of Christianity is that it requires nothing of you. A lot of religions and beliefs have stipulations and rules about how to reach salvation, but in Christianity, it’s already been done for you. You don’t need to do anything. And that makes a difference, because if you’re required to love others, it’s not really love. Love has to be a choice. But in Christianity, because God loves you so much, you want to love others, and I think that is what is so transformational.”
“This is a pretty radical idea, but, what if we are all already saved, and we are just supposed to spread the message of peace and loving yourself,” Joseph asked. “Because, that’s what Christianity does. It shows you that you are loved and you don’t have to do anything to achieve that. You already have it. What if Jesus did the work to save all of us, whether we know him or not? But life is better if you do know him because then you have that message of rest and love in your life. And that’s all anyone wants – to be loved and accepted as they are and to be told they don’t have to try so hard.”
One of the first things that made me sure that Joseph was the person I was going to marry was that our beliefs were so similar. We both define ourselves as more spiritual than religious, which, on our third date, Joseph gave the perfect definition for: Religion is how much you know about God; spirituality is how much you know God. We both were raised Christian, but we like to explore the possibilities of other beliefs, because without knowing what other thoughts exist, how can you know what you truly believe? But what I love most about what Joseph believes is that his priority, like mine, is just loving other people and accepting them as they are. And the way we both know how to do that best is to accept and remember God’s love for us. We do that in tradition of Christianity because that’s what we know, but when other people have other ways of knowing God, we embrace that, too. As deep as our conversations may go, we always come back to that: To be loved and to love others is why we are here and what we are meant to do in this life.
We continued our walk, and we found a sign about a yard sale. Since we still had not heard from the auto shop, we went to check it out and found a great deal on a French press. Our morning coffee is about to get so much better.
Since it had been nearly two hours at this point, we headed back to the auto shop to see how things were going. Unfortunately, we found out that the shop did not have the right size break pads, so they had to get them from somewhere else. It was another hour before the car was ready, during which we waited in the shop, zoning out on our phones.
We still hadn’t eaten a real breakfast, so we ate some cereal at the car and then stopped by a Dunkin’ for coffee because, as Joseph said, “We deserve it after that wait.” At the early hour of noon, we finally got started on our driving for the day.
Our first stop was the Colorado National Monument. Both of us are growing tired of seeing canyons (we both enjoy the mountains more), but I’m glad we decided to go to the monument. Instead of just standing above looking down, there were different levels to the canyon, so there were points where we could gaze up at the red rock and actually admire all the details that we would normally miss. We picnicked at one of the scenic points, and then drove through the rest of the monument, stopping along the way to take pictures and admire the scenery. One of my favorite points was when we were able to see where water normally flows through the canyon because it was the only spot where green trees were growing. They wound alongside the snake-like path where the water sometimes flows, soaking up the nutrients from the ground. As I stepped closer to the edge to admire this, I looked down, and my stomach dropped. It was a straight fall down hundreds of feet into the canyon.
“If you fell, you would for sure die,” I told Joseph, who was just behind me.
“Yeah, please don’t say that,” Joseph said, grabbing onto the back of my shirt and pulling me away from the edge as if he had me on a leash. “Let’s back up a bit.”
After the monument, we drove to Aspen. It was stunning how fast the scenery changed. From red and brown rock, the landscape faded in almost an instant to tall, pine-covered mountains and clear, blue lakes. Both of us were excited for our first true hike in the mountains, something we had been looking forward to for all of this trip. We wound so far into the trees on the way to Maroon Bells, the signals were lost on our phones, but we enjoyed the moment just to be present in the beauty surrounding us.
We arrived at the entrance to the park, where the woman asked us if we had a reservation. We did not. Because of COVID-19, everyone needed a reservation to enter the park. The woman directed us to a website we could try to find a slot of time on, but when we finally drove to where we had service again to check, we found that all the slots were taken until ten o’clock tonight, which was much too late to hike.
“I thought you checked on all the places to see if we needed reservations,” Joseph said, confused.
“I did,” I said. “This was one of the places you added last minute, after I checked all the parks.”
“Yeah, and I asked you to check on the park to make sure we could get in,” Joseph said.
“You did,” I asked. “I thought you were going to that.”
“No, I asked you to do it,” Joseph repeated.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” I said. “I really thought you had checked it.”
“It’s okay,” Joseph said, but I could tell he was disappointed. We both were. “I should have checked in with you,” Joseph continued, but I couldn’t help but feel mad at myself. We started our drive back, silent and upset, when Joseph spotted a different trail head. He proposed doing a different hike, so we parked close by and approached the trail. When Joseph looked it up on his phone, we discovered it was a seven-mile round-trip hike – a bit ambitious for five o’clock in the afternoon. But fueled by our disappointment about the last hike, we packed our bag with snacks and started the trail.
Near the beginning, we met up with some locals, who informed us that the trail was not the one we originally thought it was. It was a much shorter hike, but still with some nice views of the lake. Now doubly disappointed about our two failed hikes, we were pretty quiet while walking. It seemed Joseph was blaming himself just as much as I was, because after minutes of hiking in silence, he asked if I was upset with him.
“No, I just…we’ve been to a lot of canyons, and we have a lot more planned for this trip, and I am kind of over canyons,” I said.
“Well, Tyler, you want to know something funny,” Joseph asked. “I am kind of over canyons, too. I want to be in the mountains. So, why don’t we just change our plan a bit?”
The idea of changing the plan mid-trip was pretty anxiety inducing for me, but after some more talk, we decided to just add in some time at the mountains in Frisco and Boulder, two places we were already planning on stopping, and then possibly doing some more activities around Denver. We have an extra day planned into our trip because we couldn’t get reservations for Rocky Mountain National Park, a place we had planned on visiting, so we have the time to add in some extra activities at our planned stops.
After talking more, we also came to the conclusion that it was probably best that we hadn’t known about the reservations at Maroon Bells. If we had, we probably would have missed our time slot because of our car appointment this morning. And if we had decided to not make reservations, we would have missed the beautiful view we experienced on our drive in.
On our way out, we discovered another blessing in disguise caused by missing both hikes in Aspen: our next stop was Independence Pass, which was the scariest road either of us had ever driven on. We were both relieved to be traveling it before the sun went down.
At the beginning of the pass, we took a quick detour to visit the grottos, which were more than worth it. The park featured three attractions: the ice caves, the grottos, and the cascades. At the beginning of the trail, we reached the ice caves, which are exactly what they sound like. We climbed down the rocks to the caves to find blocks of ice as big as boulders dripping into a small stream. Joseph climbed up the ice, his feet slipping and sliding, to get a better view. The cave was cool and quiet, so randomly placed in the middle of the woods, a little winter wonderland hidden away from the summer heat just above.
We accidentally took the wrong trail, so we hit the cascades next. The water pounding down the rocks could be heard far before we actually saw the waterfalls. We sat on the rocks above and gazed down at the powerful water, observing with interest how something so gentle and life-giving could also be so strong and dangerous.
We nearly missed the grottos. We stumbled upon them on the way back. What appeared first to be a pile of rocks blocking our path were actually the entrance into the tunnels formed by fallen boulders haphazardly piled on top of one another. We climbed slowly and carefully over the rocks, hoping we had not taken a wrong turn as the path became more treacherous with every step. To our relief, after about ten minutes of hiking, the rocks dwindled away and the dirt path replaced them once again.
The sun was setting in the distance, so we hurried back to our car and continued our drive along Independence Pass. We drove slowly, letting cars with more experienced Colorado drivers pass us whenever we could. Looking over the cliff edge just inches from our car tires was enough to make my heart rate spike. I cringed as Joseph hugged the tight curves of the road that took us up and down the intimidating mountain path.
The view, however, was incredible. I couldn’t help but look out my window to admire the snow-capped mountains resting beneath the half moon. We were so high in the air that we were looking down on puffy, blue clouds floating beneath the peaks.
It was quickly becoming another late night, so we settled on the first campsite we found. It was a bit crowded and the people just beside us were a tad noisy, but at this point, anywhere where we could set up our sleeping bags and eat a meal was good enough for us. While Joseph set up the tent, I made dinner. The weather had cooled considerably, so we ate inside the tent, huddled in our warmest jackets and sweatpants.
Despite the late hour and chilly weather, Joseph still insisted we take a quick walk to admire the stars. Looking up at the night sky, I was once again struck by just how vast and beautiful this universe is. The amount of detail in the night sky, and honestly everything we saw today, is actually boggling. I could have spent hours at any one of the places we visited today, observing every small feature of the landscape, and I still don’t think I would have noticed everything there is to see. We live in a truly beautiful world, in an incomprehensible magnificent universe.
There are so many questions I cannot answer about life, religion, God, creation, and honestly so many other things. I am normally someone who likes to know as many facts as I can. I fill my head with random information to share at any moment, like the fact that the stars above me tonight are made mostly of hydrogen and helium, or that the Rocky Mountains that stretch from Canada to New Mexico have their highest peak right here in Colorado. But I think my spirituality is the one area I am okay with not knowing everything because that is what faith is truly about. In order to believe something, you have to be willing accept the possibility that you could be wrong, and still jump in with both feet and not look back.
And as for my personal faith, there are two things I know for sure that give me all the comfort in the unknown that I need. First, I know my God is loving, because how could anyone create something so beautiful without doing so lovingly? And second, that my God is so much grander and more complicated than any human brain could ever comprehend. So, I know no matter what happens in my life, and after my life, no matter whether it makes sense to me or not, I know He has it worked out for good.
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.
