Primate and I pulled away from home at 10:15AM. Scattered clouds didn’t prevent the sun from heating the interior of the car immediately.
We conserved fuel, drove without air conditioning.
We knew we had a long way to go, didn’t look forward to the drive, but spurred by the goal of reaching the summit of Mt. Elbert in Colorado, which we missed this last May due to avalanche conditions, we steeled ourselves.
Traffic moved at the speed limit though moderate to heavy along I-15 to Las Vegas. Windows-down provided air circulation, but didn’t help relieve the heat.
“How hot?” Primate wondered.
A glance at the car’s thermometer reading, “One hundred seven degrees,” I said, somewhere near Las Vegas. “We’ll turn on the air conditioner a while.”
Utah’s high green valleys provided a relief from the monotony of bare rock and parched scrub of southern Nevada and Arizona’s northwest corner.
We arrived in Joseph, UT approximately 7PM, local time, to camp at Flying U Country Store.
“Drive, drive, drive,” Primate complained.
“Yes, today we came 600 miles. Tomorrow will be shorter, about 435 miles.”
Our sleeping bag and bug cover laid out for the night, we hoped for good weather. Hunger sated by a can of chili, washed down with cold beer, we sat in a slight breeze and marveled over the absence of bugs.
“Drink whiskey in Leadville?” Primate asked.
“Yes, if Two Guns Distillery is open,” I said. “I’m looking forward to that, anyway.”
A quick rinse in the shower washed off our sweat and cooled us.
Except when interrupted by dog barks and the whine of truck tires on the paved highway, I imagined the green-leafed trees whispering to us, their leaves still and edged with golden light from a nearby street lamp.
“No bugs, that’s nice,” I said.
7/15/13
We conserved fuel, drove without air conditioning.
We knew we had a long way to go, didn’t look forward to the drive, but spurred by the goal of reaching the summit of Mt. Elbert in Colorado, which we missed this last May due to avalanche conditions, we steeled ourselves.
Traffic moved at the speed limit though moderate to heavy along I-15 to Las Vegas. Windows-down provided air circulation, but didn’t help relieve the heat.
“How hot?” Primate wondered.
A glance at the car’s thermometer reading, “One hundred seven degrees,” I said, somewhere near Las Vegas. “We’ll turn on the air conditioner a while.”
Utah’s high green valleys provided a relief from the monotony of bare rock and parched scrub of southern Nevada and Arizona’s northwest corner.
We arrived in Joseph, UT approximately 7PM, local time, to camp at Flying U Country Store.
“Drive, drive, drive,” Primate complained.
“Yes, today we came 600 miles. Tomorrow will be shorter, about 435 miles.”
Our sleeping bag and bug cover laid out for the night, we hoped for good weather. Hunger sated by a can of chili, washed down with cold beer, we sat in a slight breeze and marveled over the absence of bugs.
“Drink whiskey in Leadville?” Primate asked.
“Yes, if Two Guns Distillery is open,” I said. “I’m looking forward to that, anyway.”
A quick rinse in the shower washed off our sweat and cooled us.
Except when interrupted by dog barks and the whine of truck tires on the paved highway, I imagined the green-leafed trees whispering to us, their leaves still and edged with golden light from a nearby street lamp.
“No bugs, that’s nice,” I said.
7/15/13
More clouds shaded us from the sun as we entered Colorado, passed Rifle, Silt, then No Name and the highway threaded through Glenwood Canyon.
“Pretty,” Primate said.
“Yeah, hard to put into words.”
We turned off I-70 towards Leadville, the two-lane road climbed through canyons and high lush valleys to Tennessee Pass at 10,424 feet, then descended into Leadville, where we arrived at noon.
A pull on Two Guns Distillery’s door told us the place wasn’t open and the posted sign indicated the door would remain locked until 5PM.
“Let’s wait in town for Two Guns to open. We don’t need to be at the trailhead early,” I told Primate.
The ranger at the forest station answered several questions. “Weather forecast iffy, thunderstorms possible off and on. Rain always possible, likely today in Leadville, likely on Elbert tomorrow afternoon.”
Would a weather window develop to allow us to summit?
We knew we shouldn’t be on the mountain during any storms, the risk of lightening strike would be too great. But twenty percent chance tomorrow morning sounded like good odds to us.
“How are the mosquitoes?” I asked.
“Heavy in some places,” the ranger said, “moderate in others.” He mentioned several place names I didn’t recognize, but I didn’t care to press him for clarification.
“We’ll go for it tomorrow if the weather looks good when we wake up, Primate.” I said.
A search through the car trunk yielded no repellent. “Let’s see if we can buy some,” I suggested.
We drove around town, took a walk, looked for mosquito repellent. Found a few items barely passable, but we didn’t want to risk a confrontation with a hungry mob of bloodsuckers.
Rain started at 2:15PM, along with thunder and lightening.
“No problem in the car here in town,” I reassured Primate. “Let it pour and hope it passes soon.”
The rain poured off and on. I made a lunch sandwich for us.
Near 5PM the rain slacked again. Perhaps over? The clouds threatened to dump more water. We ducked inside Two Guns.
“A shot of Wild West Whiskey, please,” I said to the young female bartender.
Primate whispered, "Shot of whiskey, Barkeep."
“We don’t have any to serve today,” she said.
Although a printed list offered numerous mixed drinks with whiskey or moonshine, I opted for a straight drink of the only other hard stuff available.
“Then, let me have a shot of shine,” I said.
“Good,” Primate said.
“Yeah,” I said. Acquired taste I mused.
We spied a cabinet display of Wild West Whiskey, so I asked, “Are you selling those bottles?”
“No,” the bartender said. She conferred with a male colleague.
Moments later, he said, “I can make up a bottle for you.”
“We’ll take it home,” I told Primate.
Threat of rain, maybe heavy, maybe thunder and lightening, I decided to try sleeping in the car.
We took a short walk before nightfall. Along the stream nearby we met Craig, near his camp, talked about hiking Elbert.
“I may get up early to hike it,” he said.
“Why not start early?” I said. “I may do that, too.” The more I thought about that, the better that idea sounded.
7/16/13
“Pretty,” Primate said.
“Yeah, hard to put into words.”
We turned off I-70 towards Leadville, the two-lane road climbed through canyons and high lush valleys to Tennessee Pass at 10,424 feet, then descended into Leadville, where we arrived at noon.
“Let’s wait in town for Two Guns to open. We don’t need to be at the trailhead early,” I told Primate.
The ranger at the forest station answered several questions. “Weather forecast iffy, thunderstorms possible off and on. Rain always possible, likely today in Leadville, likely on Elbert tomorrow afternoon.”
Would a weather window develop to allow us to summit?
We knew we shouldn’t be on the mountain during any storms, the risk of lightening strike would be too great. But twenty percent chance tomorrow morning sounded like good odds to us.
“How are the mosquitoes?” I asked.
“Heavy in some places,” the ranger said, “moderate in others.” He mentioned several place names I didn’t recognize, but I didn’t care to press him for clarification.
“We’ll go for it tomorrow if the weather looks good when we wake up, Primate.” I said.
A search through the car trunk yielded no repellent. “Let’s see if we can buy some,” I suggested.
We drove around town, took a walk, looked for mosquito repellent. Found a few items barely passable, but we didn’t want to risk a confrontation with a hungry mob of bloodsuckers.
Rain started at 2:15PM, along with thunder and lightening.
“No problem in the car here in town,” I reassured Primate. “Let it pour and hope it passes soon.”
The rain poured off and on. I made a lunch sandwich for us.
Near 5PM the rain slacked again. Perhaps over? The clouds threatened to dump more water. We ducked inside Two Guns.
“A shot of Wild West Whiskey, please,” I said to the young female bartender.
Primate whispered, "Shot of whiskey, Barkeep."
“We don’t have any to serve today,” she said.
Although a printed list offered numerous mixed drinks with whiskey or moonshine, I opted for a straight drink of the only other hard stuff available.
“Then, let me have a shot of shine,” I said.
“Good,” Primate said.
“Yeah,” I said. Acquired taste I mused.
We spied a cabinet display of Wild West Whiskey, so I asked, “Are you selling those bottles?”
“No,” the bartender said. She conferred with a male colleague.
Moments later, he said, “I can make up a bottle for you.”
“We’ll take it home,” I told Primate.
Threat of rain, maybe heavy, maybe thunder and lightening, I decided to try sleeping in the car.
We took a short walk before nightfall. Along the stream nearby we met Craig, near his camp, talked about hiking Elbert.
“I may get up early to hike it,” he said.
“Why not start early?” I said. “I may do that, too.” The more I thought about that, the better that idea sounded.
7/16/13
Sleeping in the car?
Pathetic. My first attempt, I discovered it wasn’t comfortable. Tossed, turned, felt the hard back of the rear seat I’d put down. Legs into the trunk worked well as long I lay flat on my back, but I couldn’t turn. Cramped and contorted, I remained anxious about rain.
Awake at 2:30AM. No sign of rain.
“May as well get dressed and go for it,” I said.
By 4AM we pulled into the parking lot at the North Trail for Mount Elbert, joined three other vehicles. All quiet.
With a slight overcast we started up the dark trail. Stopped at the sign of the first trail junction.
“Which way?” I said.
“No guess,” Primate responded.
From the sound we knew another vehicle parked in the lot. The beam of a flashlight poked through the dark, quiet, and hazy air, moved up, down, side to side, someone searched their way up the trail.
“Someone’s coming. Let’s wait for them. Make sure we go the right way,” I said.
“Good morning,” I said as the stranger drew near. “Which way?” I asked.
He seemed pretty sure of the correct direction, so I said, “Mind if we tag along?” Primate and I followed him, used his light to conserve our batteries.
Fog grew thick as we gained elevation. A trail junction with a sign to Mount Elbert pointed us the right way.
The forest engulfed in thick fog, our flashlight beam as a searchlight to keep us on the trail.
“I’ve gotten lost in fog before,” our hiker friend said.
The quiet stillness reminded me, “You know, I haven’t heard any birds since I got here yesterday evening.”
“They’re around,” my hiking companion said.
With several stops to rest, remove a layer of clothing or drink water, we moved upward and through the forest.
Within minutes of turning off his light, “I’m going to rest here. Don’t let me slow you down,” my companion said.
“That’s okay, it doesn’t hurt for me to slow down a little.” Primate and I proceeded.
“We shouldn’t squander any time in good weather,” I told Primate.
The trees thinned near a ridge. The fog dissipated. The sun appeared.
Within three hundred yards we passed tree line. Vistas opened to us of green grass-covered slopes towards the summit somewhere ahead and fog-filled valleys below.
“No clouds above,” I said. “That’s good news.”
The trail turned and worked its way up to the highest point within sight.
“The summit?” Primate said.
“Probably not. Don’t get your hopes up,” I answered. “I’ve been fooled too many times before by ‘false summits.’”
One step, two steps, followed by a short break.
“Keep going, steady but as fast as you can do this,” I said. “Each step gets us closer. As long as the weather holds several more hours, we’ll make the summit.
Plod, plod. The trail grew steeper, through larger rock, then leveled slightly up grassier slope, to another bump on the ridge line.
“Get to the next one. Each one closer.”
Two hikers passed us, separated by several minutes.
The second hiker, older than the first, said when he passed me, “Damn, that kid is good.”
“Yeah, he’s like the Everyready battery bunny, he just keeps on going,” I said.
Sweat soaked my hat, dripped from the hair on the back of my head, required me to wipe my forehead to keep my eyes clear. My t-shirt remained soaked where my day pack prevented air circulation to my back.
The two hikers ahead drew away, disappeared over the hill.
“You can do this, Primate.”
Although tired, legs weak, ankles and knees saying stop, we plodded on.
A curved ridge came into view. The slope dropped steeply on the west.
“Can’t be much farther, now.”
Clouds formed, moved over distant peaks, dissipated. Fog sat in the valleys.
I felt relieved to see a hiker holding a flag. Several wind breaks, large enough to pitch tents, lay grouped around.
“Must be the summit, 14,433 feet,” I told Primate.
“Good morning,” I said to the lone occupant of the summit as Primate and I walked up.
We chatted a while, I discovered he’d hiked the south trail and that the two hikers ahead of Primate and I had continued down the south trail. I checked my cell phone for the time, 8:45AM, left messages for my wife.
No official sign, just a piece of paper in plastic sheath.
“I’m surprised there’s no summit marker,” I said.
“Somebody probably stole it,” the other hiker said.
“I don’t see a summit register either.”
“I haven’t seen one.”
Primate and I took several photos to record my forty-ninth state highpoint.
Three young male hikers arrived, joked.
Primate and I ate part of our lunch sandwich. The chilly wind required extra clothing to stay comfortable.
The fresh crowd took pictures. One posed modestly with a Frisbee, “My calendar photo,” he said.
“July?” I joked. Got a shot of him, too.
“Well, guys, we’re starting the long hike out,” I announced. I knew the distance to be 4.5 miles to the car with about 4,383 feet elevation loss. Figured my legs and knees would raise hell for this hike, even though I wore knee braces. My legs and knees usually bitched and screamed on previous hikes like this. And besides, I faced a long drive home.
Fog in valleys dissipated as I descended to tree line.
As I expected legs and knees complained about the downhill grade. My flat-footed steps plopped onto the trail. We arrived at the car near 10:30AM.
A quick removal of knee braces and change of shoes and we started our long drive home. We would encounter every town, turn in the road, geologic formation in reverse.
I welcomed the sedentary activity of driving, as the sharper ache in my knees and legs settled to a dull throb and then general soreness.
The weather looked problematic for a sleep out at the Flying U Country Store in Joseph, UT.
“What’s the weather forecast here for tonight?” I said to the male attendant in the store.
“You’re in Utah. The weather is unpredictable. It could snow in the next minute. The weather forecast on TV calls for thunderstorms,” he said. “I just saw it.” He changed the TV channel. “There it is.”
The picture didn’t look pretty.
“Thanks,” I said.
Sleeping without a tent, not a good option. Putting up the tent, a pain in the ass. Decided to drive farther and get a motel for a good night’s sleep. Primate and I needed one.
Beaver, the next biggest town, the best bet to find something inexpensive, seemed ideal, so we drove on and got a room there.
7/17/13
Pathetic. My first attempt, I discovered it wasn’t comfortable. Tossed, turned, felt the hard back of the rear seat I’d put down. Legs into the trunk worked well as long I lay flat on my back, but I couldn’t turn. Cramped and contorted, I remained anxious about rain.
Awake at 2:30AM. No sign of rain.
“May as well get dressed and go for it,” I said.
By 4AM we pulled into the parking lot at the North Trail for Mount Elbert, joined three other vehicles. All quiet.
With a slight overcast we started up the dark trail. Stopped at the sign of the first trail junction.
“Which way?” I said.
“No guess,” Primate responded.
From the sound we knew another vehicle parked in the lot. The beam of a flashlight poked through the dark, quiet, and hazy air, moved up, down, side to side, someone searched their way up the trail.
“Someone’s coming. Let’s wait for them. Make sure we go the right way,” I said.
“Good morning,” I said as the stranger drew near. “Which way?” I asked.
He seemed pretty sure of the correct direction, so I said, “Mind if we tag along?” Primate and I followed him, used his light to conserve our batteries.
Fog grew thick as we gained elevation. A trail junction with a sign to Mount Elbert pointed us the right way.
The forest engulfed in thick fog, our flashlight beam as a searchlight to keep us on the trail.
“I’ve gotten lost in fog before,” our hiker friend said.
The quiet stillness reminded me, “You know, I haven’t heard any birds since I got here yesterday evening.”
“They’re around,” my hiking companion said.
With several stops to rest, remove a layer of clothing or drink water, we moved upward and through the forest.
Within minutes of turning off his light, “I’m going to rest here. Don’t let me slow you down,” my companion said.
“That’s okay, it doesn’t hurt for me to slow down a little.” Primate and I proceeded.
“We shouldn’t squander any time in good weather,” I told Primate.
The trees thinned near a ridge. The fog dissipated. The sun appeared.
Within three hundred yards we passed tree line. Vistas opened to us of green grass-covered slopes towards the summit somewhere ahead and fog-filled valleys below.
The trail turned and worked its way up to the highest point within sight.
“The summit?” Primate said.
“Probably not. Don’t get your hopes up,” I answered. “I’ve been fooled too many times before by ‘false summits.’”
One step, two steps, followed by a short break.
“Keep going, steady but as fast as you can do this,” I said. “Each step gets us closer. As long as the weather holds several more hours, we’ll make the summit.
Plod, plod. The trail grew steeper, through larger rock, then leveled slightly up grassier slope, to another bump on the ridge line.
“Get to the next one. Each one closer.”
Two hikers passed us, separated by several minutes.
The second hiker, older than the first, said when he passed me, “Damn, that kid is good.”
“Yeah, he’s like the Everyready battery bunny, he just keeps on going,” I said.
Sweat soaked my hat, dripped from the hair on the back of my head, required me to wipe my forehead to keep my eyes clear. My t-shirt remained soaked where my day pack prevented air circulation to my back.
The two hikers ahead drew away, disappeared over the hill.
“You can do this, Primate.”
Although tired, legs weak, ankles and knees saying stop, we plodded on.
A curved ridge came into view. The slope dropped steeply on the west.
Clouds formed, moved over distant peaks, dissipated. Fog sat in the valleys.
I felt relieved to see a hiker holding a flag. Several wind breaks, large enough to pitch tents, lay grouped around.
“Must be the summit, 14,433 feet,” I told Primate.
“Good morning,” I said to the lone occupant of the summit as Primate and I walked up.
We chatted a while, I discovered he’d hiked the south trail and that the two hikers ahead of Primate and I had continued down the south trail. I checked my cell phone for the time, 8:45AM, left messages for my wife.
No official sign, just a piece of paper in plastic sheath.
 |
| Primate Examines Summit Sign. |
“Somebody probably stole it,” the other hiker said.
“I don’t see a summit register either.”
“I haven’t seen one.”
Primate and I took several photos to record my forty-ninth state highpoint.
Three young male hikers arrived, joked.
Primate and I ate part of our lunch sandwich. The chilly wind required extra clothing to stay comfortable.
The fresh crowd took pictures. One posed modestly with a Frisbee, “My calendar photo,” he said.
“July?” I joked. Got a shot of him, too.
 |
| Cory's Calendar Photo |
Fog in valleys dissipated as I descended to tree line.
As I expected legs and knees complained about the downhill grade. My flat-footed steps plopped onto the trail. We arrived at the car near 10:30AM.
A quick removal of knee braces and change of shoes and we started our long drive home. We would encounter every town, turn in the road, geologic formation in reverse.
I welcomed the sedentary activity of driving, as the sharper ache in my knees and legs settled to a dull throb and then general soreness.
The weather looked problematic for a sleep out at the Flying U Country Store in Joseph, UT.
“What’s the weather forecast here for tonight?” I said to the male attendant in the store.
“You’re in Utah. The weather is unpredictable. It could snow in the next minute. The weather forecast on TV calls for thunderstorms,” he said. “I just saw it.” He changed the TV channel. “There it is.”
The picture didn’t look pretty.
“Thanks,” I said.
Sleeping without a tent, not a good option. Putting up the tent, a pain in the ass. Decided to drive farther and get a motel for a good night’s sleep. Primate and I needed one.
Beaver, the next biggest town, the best bet to find something inexpensive, seemed ideal, so we drove on and got a room there.
7/17/13
We felt refreshed and unhurried, although started our drive at an early hour, showered and our success celebrated with a beer the night before.
We passed Browse, UT. The temperature rose as we descended through Arizona and into Nevada. We passed the turn-off for Ute, NV. The temperature continued to rise. Near North Las Vegas the car’s thermometer read 101 degrees. We welcomed the developing cloud cover, which reduced heat from the sun.
We sweltered during the long, boring drive towards Victorville, CA on I-15. Traffic moved along and we contented ourselves with the notion that every mile shortened our remaining journey.
Home at 4PM, not tired, but our body unsteady, shaking like an earthquake, we made our way from the car to the shower and then to a seat for a good rest.
Satisfied, we’d driven 2044 miles, hiked our forty-nine state highpoint and done so in four days with minimal expense.
One highpoint to go.
We passed Browse, UT. The temperature rose as we descended through Arizona and into Nevada. We passed the turn-off for Ute, NV. The temperature continued to rise. Near North Las Vegas the car’s thermometer read 101 degrees. We welcomed the developing cloud cover, which reduced heat from the sun.
We sweltered during the long, boring drive towards Victorville, CA on I-15. Traffic moved along and we contented ourselves with the notion that every mile shortened our remaining journey.
Home at 4PM, not tired, but our body unsteady, shaking like an earthquake, we made our way from the car to the shower and then to a seat for a good rest.
Satisfied, we’d driven 2044 miles, hiked our forty-nine state highpoint and done so in four days with minimal expense.
One highpoint to go.
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