The Colorado Trail ~ Day 2

South Platte Canyon to Forest Service Road 550
Distance: 10.8 miles
Elevation Gain: 2200 ft

Welcome to the House of Pain

Remember I was talking about the challenges of packing light? Well, it was apparent very early on in Day 2 that I’d failed miserably. It was true, I probably didn’t need the entire set of encyclopedias, and I could probably have left the outboard motor at home but everything else had seemed necessary when I was cramming it all in last night. Not very much of it seemed necessary now as I crawled my way up the cliff side which began at the trail-head.

It didn’t help that the weather was unseasonably warm, even for June and that on this stretch of the Colorado Trail there’s no shade following the Buffalo Creek fire of 1996. The grasses of the burn area are recovering, but the remains of the trees still stand like so many blackened statues and offered no respite from the blazing sun. In addition, this segment of the trail has no water, which means it all has to be carried. Not just enough for today, but for tonight’s camp and a good portion of tomorrow morning’s hiking too. And water’s bloody heavy.

It was soon clear that I was in trouble. Not just tired, but staggeringly, crying out in pain, how the hell am I going to get out of this trouble. The trail stretched onwards and upwards, with no drop in elevation on today’s schedule yet each step was physically painful. The hotspots on my feet which had concerned me yesterday, had now developed into full blown blisters (I’ve never had blisters from hiking) and the straps of my pack were cutting into my shoulders unmercifully.

It wasn’t long before my plan of “taking a break every hour”, went to “taking a break every thirty minutes” to “taking a break every few hundred yards”, bending double to ease the pain in my back and suck in the small amount of oxygen available at 8,000 feet above sea level.

I tried giving myself inspirational speeches about winners versus quitters; I tried admiring the scenery (which was spectacular, with views of Chair Rocks in the west, down to Pikes Peak in the south – one of the unintentional benefits of being in a forest decimated by fire) and counting my steps to make the journey pass. But it was no good; I couldn’t do this. Before I'd reached the halfway point, I could barely put one foot in front of the other, my feet and shoulders were on fire and my back was beginning to spasm.

But as far as the Colorado Trail is concerned, I haven’t even begun to gain altitude and 90+ degree heat is forecast to last all week. Things are only going to get worse. What finally finished me off was when I passed two athletic looking college-aged guys lying prostrate on the trail, almost asleep. “This sucks man” one of them said, “I don’t think we can do this.” If these two young studs were suffering, what chance did I have? Day 2, only 20 miles into the trail and I was already beaten. How thoroughly depressing.

Have I ever extolled the virtues of cell phones? Oh sure, they’re annoying enough when some yuppie is bawling into one while you’re trying to read the books for free at Barnes and Noble, or when he’s riding your butt on the highway, obliviously nattering into his electronic pacifier. But when you’re out on the trail and in need of rescue, they’re a life-saver, let me tell you. Assuming you can get service that is. I couldn’t, all though by doG did I try. Each time I stopped, which was by now every couple of minutes I would check once more. Still nada, but the thing was, at last now I had a plan.

You see the end of today’s segment, is really quite close to my house. Only about thirty minutes drive away. And at the house was a wife. And a car with an almost full tank of gas. And if I could just get hold of her, I could demand she come and get me, and whisk me off to a shower, and a soft bed, and some beer. But most importantly, the chance to re-pack this damn bag and get rid of half the stuff inside. Then I could start the trail anew. Beaten? Me? Naah.

It was late in the day by the time I finally got through. So late, I was close enough to the end to see the cars on the road I’d have to cross to get to the trail head. But I knew I could make it that far.

And I did. Staggering and wobbling, and so stiff and sore I could hardly lift my arms, and with blisters like throw cushions, and stars in front of my eyes and not even sure if I wanted to puke or to cry, or both. But I made it to the end of the trail. And knocked off the second segment. Only three more to go and tomorrow is another day.

This is going to be a piece of cake.