Colorado Trail: Day 2

STATS: 19.9 miles; 3,087/-3,051 feet

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My phone alarm, set to the less abrasive sound of crickets chirping, woke me at 4:45 a.m. I sprang into action, knowing I’d need every second of the hour and fifteen minutes I’d given myself to get ready, especially since I was used to giving myself 1-1/2 hours. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why it takes me so long to get out of camp when everything I’m carrying amounts to the size of a toddler.

My morning ritual, if you’re curious, is as follows (skip ahead if you don’t care…some of the people I teach “Backpacking 101” to like to know this kinda stuff, although they may want their money back after reading it):

• Sit upright as soon as the alarm sounds so I don’t accidentally drift off to sleep again.
• Turn my headlamp on and into red light mode, get out of the tent, pee, and collect my Ursack.
• Get back in my tent and start heating water on my stove, which is positioned arm’s length away from my tent (not recommended, but if the area feels safe enough with wild animals, I sometimes take my chances and am very careful both cooking and eating).
• Pull out my breakfast and an instant coffee from the day’s Ziploc of food (which I’ve hopefully remembered to store at the top of the Ursack the night before).
• Put my hiking clothes under my quilt to warm them up (assuming I wasn’t too lazy to change out of them the night before).
• Put my glasses away and my contacts in my eyes (this almost always takes longer than it should because I inevitably drop one and can’t find it quickly since I can only see with one eye and my glasses are already packed up).
• Pull the now warm clothes out from under my quilt and change into them.
• Pack up all the loose gear and clothes strewn about my tent which I was determined to keep organized overnight but somehow didn’t.
• Sip coffee and take bites of whatever I’m having for breakfast while completing the other tasks–both are usually cold by the time I finish because I take too long.

The worst part of the process is finally forcing myself out of my cozy quilt and packing it along with my sleeping pad. It’s way too early to tap into any mental toughness, and it’s why I wait to do it last. If it’s not raining, all of my now contained gear and clothing is placed just outside my tent (these Hillsound Packstack Pros, recommended by Heather “Anish” Anderson, were a game changer in keeping my clothing and gear organized–worth the small weight penalty, IMO).

I then get out of the tent and break it down before adding everything to my backpack in the appropriate order (tent on top, just in case it’s raining when we get to camp that evening–great hack I learned from Chris). If I’m lucky, I’ve remembered to put my hiking shoes on before now. If not, my campmates will probably hear me muttering, “Oh shit, my damn shoes!” while watching me drop to the ground to replace my camp sandals with them.

I brush my teeth as I’m packing my backpack, because I forget every morning until an hour and thirteen minutes have passed. My toothbrush often hangs out of my mouth like a cigarette while I chew on it instead of brushing with it. I’m in full-on multitask mode by now, and still determined to beat the clock.

Clearly, none of this should take an hour and half, right? Or even an hour and 15 minutes! But it does…..every. single. time. For comparison, I can get ready at home for a special occasion, complete with a shower, makeup, and several wardrobe changes (because I despise shopping for clothes and never have anything stylish to wear) in less than an hour.

So if you think people who have been backpacking for decades have it all figured it out, consider this confession proof that not all of us do. And yes, Chris should clearly be teaching Backpacking 101 instead of me. 🙂

START READING AGAIN HERE IF YOU SKIPPED OVER THE MORNING ROUTINE

I glanced at my watch–5:59 a.m. with 10 seconds to spare before turning over to 6:00–whew! Chris was quietly standing by, patiently waiting for me (and had only been awake for 40 minutes–#showoff).

The air was still cool when we started hiking, and I was eager to cover as many miles as possible before the heat of the day. Chris is part camel and handles the heat and thinly spaced water sources well—me, not so much. 

We passed a few more tired looking, solo mountain bikers as we rolled along the gentle climbs and descents. One woman’s legs bared a couple of wounds covered in band aids, and the ground in dirt on her legs made me suspicious she’d been on trail longer than a few hours. But why?

After refilling our water bottles at the South Platte River and sampling a few tart choke cherries from a tree close to the riverbank, we began climbing, leaving the cool shade of the forest to start hiking through the exposed burn scar from the 1996 Buffalo Creek fire.

The land was largely barren and dry, punctuated by enormous boulders and an old mining site. One such formation in the distance was named Chair Rocks, and it resembled thrones made for giants. I later discovered the rocks of this area are comprised of Pikes Peak Granite which is 1.1 billion years old! I can’t even fathom that number and how different the earth looked then. 

Soon after we got a visual on the North Fork Volunteer Fire Station near the trail, which many CT hikers count on as a reliable water source, we encountered a woman sitting trail side. She asked us our names, and when I responded, “Nancy,” she replied, “No, silly, I want your trail name!” Guess it was time to assume my alternate moniker for the next few weeks. “Ah, right, Seal Mom!” I corrected myself, laughing.

She introduced herself as “Little Redwood” and told us she was taking a break from her career as an attorney to thru hike the trail. As we chatted, we recalled meeting her husband the day prior near the Waterton Canyon trailhead. He and their dog children were supporting her in their RV. I was slightly jealous of her smaller day pack as I felt the weight of my Mariposa resting on my already sore hips.

After leaving her company, we welcomed the shaded relief of the fire station and its magical outdoor spigot which delivered cool, clean water to our heat soaked bodies.

We both layed out our Gossamer Gear Thinlight Sleeping Pads (one of my most used and treasured pieces of gear–it’s so nice to stretch out on it during breaks) and ate our lunch. We were in no hurry to leave since we only had a handful of miles left before camp. Hikers and cyclists came and went as we continued to linger and take a short siesta. 

It was at the fire station that the mystery of the lone cyclists was finally solved. We were told they were participants of the Colorado Trail Race—an annual event that draws less than 100 people to cycle the Colorado Trail. Only half of the cyclists finish, typically. Even without knowing the tremendously challenging terrain ahead in the Collegiate and San Juan mountain ranges, it was hard to even wrap my head around this feat of endurance.

I later learned that the race has no entry fee, support, registration or prize money. Participants self time their attempt, but they wear trackers so they can occasionally see where they stand in relation to other riders. The winning male completed the race in four days this year (and the female was only about eight hours behind him)! We started the CT too late to see the frontrunners, but they were all winners in my eyes, and I wished I’d known sooner so I could have said an encouraging word.

One of the participants swung in to refill his water as we sat trying to drum up the energy to leave—he was a local from Denver, and he’d finish the CTR that evening. He soaked his sun hoody with water and put it back on before starting a long descent–backcountry air conditioning. 

After about two hours, the longest break Chris and I have ever taken on a hike together, we finally mustered the energy to leave the oasis of shade and potable water and hike the final miles to camp. In two miles, however, we stopped for another short break at the Little Scraggy Trailhead, which had primitive toilets. Nothing excites me more than not having to hide and pee in exposed sections of trail, especially if there’s a trash can to offload a tiny fraction of my pack weight!

A little over three miles later and a tick under twenty miles for the day, we stopped for the night at the CT’s  junction with the Little Scraggy Trail. Flat tent sites were sparse in this less scenic site, unless you were willing to pitch your tent in a low lying drainage area that showed clear evidence of flooding during heavy rains (no thanks!). But we both eventually found a decent spot on either side of the trail to erect our humble abodes.

Squirrels in the trees overhead chattered in protest at our presence, providing amusing dinner entertainment as they noshed on pine cones like ears of corn, chucking the excess onto the ground near us. They were busy getting ready for winter, even if the temps were far from indicating it’s coming.

We tucked into our tents before the sun even set, and I drifted off to sleep easier than expected, considering how long it took the night air to cool. The heat had undoubtedly taken its toll on my body through the day, but I was grateful for the gift of rest it gave me in return. 

Colorado Trail Planning Tips

Be proactive about mapping out water sources on the CT in late summer/early fall when many start drying up. I usually do this as part of my nightly routine the day before.

Electrolyte replacement is especially helpful through these hot sections. I like Skratch Labs best, but LMNT is a newer brand I’m enjoying too (but I will often only use half a pack in a liter since it contains a good bit more sodium and tastes too salty sometimes).

Bring a few bucks to put in the donation box at the fire station, in exchange for the clean water and shade they provide.