Did I mention the FOMO? Yep, it still rules my life. I tried hard to talk myself out of going to the claim this morning. I had to put out Rotoreadors, the weekly Rotary newsletter. (The problem solving part of my brain said: Carry the laptop up with you. Cell signal is fantastic up there.) I am still recovering from the kidney infection, and there are still effects, of the infection and of the antibiotics. (The reckless side of me said: Carry up pocketfuls of toilet paper and get out there!) I have been diagnosed with a skin cancer and the sunlight at elevation is stronger. (The fatalistic part of me said: The damage was done before you were out of high school. Wear the SPF 55 on your face and LET'S GO!!!) So I went.
It was a beautiful, clear day down here on the flats were we live. We rounded the corner from Main Street and looked west and I went, "Oh, the mountains are.... somewhat white."
When we cleared town, the Mr said, "It's more that view that I'm worried about," and gestured to the wall of clouds building behind the first ridge, in the direction where we were headed.
I happily drank in the scenery of the mountains in Autumn, blissfully unaware of what we were driving towards.
I don't know whether Bump could smell what weather was in store for us, but he certainly tried to smell everything else. I didn't catch him with his mouth open, the wind billowing out his upper lip like sails. Seriously, I love this dog so much.
We spoke of car things, in the silence (discounting the wind and engine noise) that comes with having no car stereo (stolen long ago and not worth replacing). The Mr told me of the kind of engine and transmission that he would love to acquire and drop into the frame of the Doomsmobile. I think he had passed a Toyota Tacoma, and pointed to it as having the right bits and pieces. I said, how about its glove box. Can you get that too? He told me that he still had the original, but he messed up some of the connections in the dash, so he left it out. For months. Maybe years at this point. I looked at my feet and thought, this is it. This is the glamorous side of my life. Riding in the Doomsmobile, heading to the mountain where roads can't reach, knowing that when it was time to give back my cup of coffee, I was going to be peeing into a bucket that used to hold 40 lbs of cat litter, with an old toilet seat set on top. And oddly, I kind of like how un-fussy it is.
It was still a gorgeous day when we parked, but as we unloaded the truck and I struggled to don the backpack with all the water, the drill, my laptop, the dog food, and the Mr's extra jacket, I had my first inkling that it was actually going to snow. It had just started spitting teeny frozen grapple at the time of this photo.
The climb was harder than usual, with me wearing said heavy backpack, and still being a little weak from the antibiotics. The hiking boots I wore made it more uncomfortable also, but they were probably a good idea anyway.
Elsa used her last few minutes in the sun to absorb heat. I wish she could have held on to it longer.
Murray found the bone he has been working on since the first trip up in the spring.
And Bump settled in next to me in the shade, near the fire, where I put together the Rotary newsletter.
Before the newsletter was done, it started to get blustery and cold, but at first it was only ash blowing around. It settled on Bump, who stayed next to mommy like the faithful sweetheart he is.
But all good things come to an end, and the good construction weather ended sooner than we liked. I took this picture after I completed the newsletter, and hid my laptop away from the precipitation. It was time for me to kick in and help with the foundation of the tiny cabin.
I had a picture of me with a wet glove, after I had wiped freshly poured concrete off of a cinderblock, but yeah. My theme may be a lack of glamour, but really, ain't no one want to see that picture. Certainly not me.
By the time we got the first round of joists screwed in to the foundation frame, this is what we faced. The Mr had to make two quick trips down to where he had pre-positioned more lumber to come up, while we waited at the top.
The dogs and I hid in the tepee, where only a little snow got in through the top, and we were out of the wind. It was still super cold, and their fur and my hoodie were wet. Murray's feet started to kick, and I repeated like a mantra, "Please don't poop in the tepee. Please don't poop in the tepee." Thankfully, he did not. Again, glamorous living at its finest.
After scrambling to get all of the concrete poured and eight half-joists screwed into place (I wish I had documented that part), it was finally time to pack up and head down. We were all frozen through, and none of us had had lunch or snack. I stopped to take a picture from the same spot I photographed maybe two weeks ago, when the meadow was as gold as can be.
The Mr's phone died, so he wanted me to take a couple snaps for Murray's Instagram page. I suppose one of these days soon I'll make my own Instagram account.
Murray looking handsome and pensive. This will probably be on Instagram shortly.
I was absolutely frozen through, so it took me a lot longer to walk down the mountain than everyone else. Even as parts of me thawed, it took my thighs a ridiculously long time to warm up, and they were kind of key to me climbing back down to the car. I wasn't worried about getting lost, not this time. I had tracks to follow almost the whole way down. Thanks, Murray.
The older dogs have this thing where they like to run back and check on me, and guide me up and down. Sometimes Bump will go ten or fifteen yards and then stop while I catch up, and then another fifteen yards, over and over. Did I mention how much I love these guys? But then, some days they get a little too excited to wait for slow old mommy. (Next four photos is a series of how this looks on days like that.)
("Hi, mom!")
("You can do it, mom!")
("See ya' at the truck!")
We made it back to the truck, good humor intact even if we were all pretty cold, wet, and tired. The roads were sloppy, and only a few hardy ATV knuckleheads were out on the 4WD tracks. One intrepid Jeep Cherokee came up the hill, where we had to pull way over on a slant to let him past. While there, I asked the Mr to wait while I hopped out for more pictures. Days like this are how I think of aspen fields -- just past peak color, with their bark in high contrast from the damp. I keep thinking I want to get one of those pictures printed directly onto glass to hang in the house (Fracture? Is the company called Fracture?). I am trying to capture just the right shot. Something along Fenceline Road seems appropriate to me. I tried a couple of angles this time.
And that was it. We stopped at the casino for cheap prime rib (which made the dogs less grumpy about being shut in the truck again). It rained almost the whole way down, but dried out once we got into Boulder county. My hair smells like campfire, and my skin smells like chlorine from the hot tub. I look a little ratty, and I'm pretty sure the eye liner is smudged halfway down my face. It might not be the kind of life Grace Kelly would have chosen, but I'm just fine with it.
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