Last fall, when the aspens were at their peak golden color in Rocky Mountain National Park, soon-to-be-Mr-X and I drove up to take pictures and take a last trip along Trail Ridge Road for the season. Ever since the plows went to work this May clearing that highest of paved roads (in this country, anyway), I have been saying I wanted to take one last trip up there before he leaves forever. Today was our day. I thought that traffic wouldn't be too bad, it being a random Wednesday during tourist season, but I was wrong. It might not have been as bad as it would have been on a weekend, but it was still a mess of slow-moving flatlanders, with every parking area full of picture-taking tourists and the cacophony of voices speaking dozens of languages. Okay, the hearing of all the different languages and trying to pick out what each one was might have been cool. But the fight for parking and tables at the cafe at the top of Trail Ridge was less fun.
Last year I had only been living at altitude for a few months when I attempted to climb to the top of the mountain above the gift shop at the top of Trail Ridge Road. It took me about 45 minutes to make it up there, to between 12 and 13 thousand feet (I'm sure I could look it up, but the exact number is not important right now). I was light-headed and tired when I arrived, but I was so proud of myself for completing the climb. At the time, I swore to Mr SP/X that we were going to go again in a year, so I could compare how well I did once my lungs had adjusted, and feel a sense of accomplishment again. Obviously circumstances have changed, and what with the man moving out in a week, we had to move up that re-test. Or so I thought. We saw from the parking lot that the trail to the top was clear of snow, but when we arrived to climb it, there was a closed gate and a big red sign shooing us away from the still-melting trail. I tried taking some selfies of the two of us in front of the sign, to prove "an attempt was made" (as the kids say), but the light reflecting off of the snow was so bright, it just washed us out and made for a crappy picture. So I'll be keeping that one private.
Even if I didn't get to re-establish my dominance over a mountain trail that thousands of people in poorer health than I climb every year, I did have a fabulous drive up into the Park, had the opportunity to take lots of photos, and got to stop and visit with our dear friends who live just down the street from that amazing national treasure. We saw mountain vistas that looked like paint-by-numbers pictures, we were stopped for twenty minutes waiting for bighorn sheep to cross the road, we had a tiny chipmunk run up to our hands and sniff them for treats (sorry, kid, no joy), and we learned how shallow the south side of Lake Estes is, by pulling over to watch a couple elk wade through the middle of it to cool off (Mr X did the same, just not as far).
I am planning to go again later this year to try that climb, either with our friends up there, or with a friend or two from down here, or maybe both. If I make it up to the top, I'll post a picture, and maybe my time for the climb, for comparison's sake. Might even tag the X, so he can see my improvement if he wants.
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