Lest you think I neglect automotive safety, let's back up a couple of weeks. When Lisa and I planned our trip, I noticed that our route included Interstate 90 through Indiana, and specifically through South Bend! You can bet that got my attention. After all, South Bend is the home of THE Studebaker National Museum, a man-made whitewater rafting course right downtown, and... a distribution and installation center for Tire Rack!!! What luck, Lucille could get new shoes at a discount price. Unfortunately, Tire Rack does not take reservations. So a few hours away from the store, I called to ask about wait times. An installation scheduler informed me that they were too busy because of Good Friday. All these years and I didn't know about buying new tires on Good Friday? Whatever. I resolved to replace Lucille's tires on my way home. Which explains why I still had slippery tires on a perilous trailhead road...
Feathering the brake pedal, I gingerly maneuver Lucille down the mountainside on the surface of slick mud when suddenly... I was back on blacktop cruising toward the town of Salida. No traction issues, (until later).
I decide to spring for a motel room to dry out my clothes and gear, take a hot shower, and bask in the therapeutic effects of WiFi.
Salida, Colorado must be an awesome place to live. They have a bouldering wall in the public park
A river runs right through the city (no man-made rapids however)
There's a restaurant with al fresco dining instead of parking spaces.
International travel hint: do not brag about your al fresco experience in Italy! Here's why
And it must be the city with the highest density of 4x4 vehicles in the US.
While in the motel room, I make use of wifi to download a GPS navigation app onto my phone. The software is named Gaia after the ancient Greek Goddess of Earth. Hopefully the Goddess will save me the next time the Angel gets mad at me.
Only slightly daunted by my experience on Mt. Shavano, and with the reassurance provided by the GPS app, I set out for a group of 14ers near Leadville. Mountains in the so called Decalibron loop include Mt. Democrat, Mt Cameron, Mt Lincoln, and Mt. Bross. With a round trip distance of only 7.5 miles and total elevation gain of just 3,700 feet, (about the same elevation you ascend to climb Panther Peak or Tabletop Mountain in the Adirondacks) this loop has a very high peak to effort ratio and can be completed in a day. At least on a nice day during the summer. I've heard the trails are quite busy during the summer, but on this day in May there were only a few of us.
I drive up to the trailhead the afternoon before my climb. The trailhead is located about six miles northwest of the town of Alma.
At an elevation of 10,361 feet above sea level, Alma claims to be the highest incorporated Town in the United States. Alma's higher than Quito, Ecuador! And with a population of 270.00, Alma's population is approximately 1.619 million less than the population of Quito, at 1.619 million.
Alma is home to the AOB (Alma's Only Bar), a Carhartt Superstore, and as far as I can tell, not a single paved street except for Colorado State Highway 9 that also serves as Main Street. Eventually I learn that it is also home to what must be one of the friendliest Town Hall/Sheriff's offices anywhere, despite a tragedy in 1998 when the Town water turned a man into a murderer! Unfortunately true.
Alma may not have the high density of four wheel drive vehicles that Salida has, but I saw one of the biggest all wheel drive RVs ever
And also one of the most unusual vehicles for sale parked by the side of a highway ever. I imagine you could clear your driveway pretty quickly with this beast, but your neighbor would be mad if you threw the snow over into their driveway.
While we're talking about 4x4's, I forgot to mention in my last post that Saguache has some kind of Willy's museum including jeeps, pickups, and a bunch of "Forward Control" trucks.
Perhaps my sudden infatuation with high clearance 4x4's and snow removal machines is because of what happens next.
The road from Alma to the trailhead is unpaved and includes a couple of very steep segments. Taking our time, Lucille and I make it up to the 'winter' trailhead parking area. This lower segment of road is kept plowed to maintain access to the Sweet Home Mine . The mine never yielded as much silver as hoped, but now provides some of the most desired specimens of rhodochrosite in the world.
In this second week of May, the road beyond the mine is not yet plowed. So I'll have a couple of extra miles of hiking just to get to the start of the climb. After parking Lucille I start getting ready for the night. Then it starts snowing. Big, wet, slushy spring flakes.
I wait for a while pondering my options and hoping the snow will stop or slow down. It wouldn't take much to render the road dangerous for Lucille's worn out tires, so as the snow accumulates at an impressive rate, I eventually decide to drive back down to Alma. For all I know, this might be the start of a storm that will bury Lucille. If you think that's exaggeration...
Here we are excavating our car (a Volkswagen Squareback) in Wyoming, in 1978. Yup, I'm that old.
I pay a visit to the Town Hall to ask about places to camp, and the clerk and one of the law enforcement officers suggest their parking lot! Water is available at a spigot around the corner (25¢ or some such pittance for 25 gallons!) they offer me books from their free lending/trade library, and there's an outhouse in a structure associated with the adjacent park. Mighty fine hospitality.
Alma Town Hall and Police parking lot where I spend the night
After a restful night I wake early and am pleased to find inches rather than feet of snow. I drive back up towards the trailhead cutting the first tracks through deeper and deeper snow as I gain elevation. Then I reach a really steep part. Despite a few attempts and running starts, I am unable to make it to the crest, so I back down and find a place to park. Oh well, I'm here to climb, right? What's another mile or two? At least the road is easy to follow by the light of my headlamp.
Eventually I trudge my way up to the summer parking area, where I pass a big SUV that must have driven up the evening or night before. I stop to put on snowshoes. Alma and the road are so high that I'm pretty much at the tree line. The temperature and wind feel more like winter than summer, so despite my internal furnace chugging away with the effort of breaking trail through new snow, I'm wearing an extra fleece layer under my wind anorak. This is more than I wear to climb an Adirondack High Peak in winter!, (when there's no wind).
About the same time I see the first evidence of the trailhead above, I spy another solo climber coming up from below.
The Decalibron trailhead starts at the Kite Lake campground, operated by the USDA Forest Service and Town of Alma. There are five spaces with fire rings, picnic tables, and a sturdy outhouse structure. It is a magnificent setting, and to think that you can drive to this place once the roads are clear of snow. I wonder if the cirque will overflow with wildflowers in a couple of months. Now however, the wind reminds me that it is definitely not summer.
The Kite Lake Campground
I'm looking forward to ducking into the outhouse for a reprieve from the wind. Unfortunately, at some point during the winter the door must have blown open, and the interior is now filled with drifted snow. I take shelter on the lee side of the shed to eat a snack and wait for the other climber.
When he arrives, he thanks me for breaking trail. I'm surprised to see that has no snowshoes. I'm more surprised to see that he is wearing cotton blue jeans. I'm most surprised to hear that he has climbed several other of the Colorado 14ers. It seems like he would be better prepared by now. He tells me that he drove from Denver during the night, was planning to climb one or more of these mountains, then drive tonight. Because of the wind however, he decides to turn back so we wish each other a safe trip and he heads down and I head up.
I climb up a broad valley as the sun ascends the far side of a ridge.
Eventually the sun and I reunite and I am thankful for the warmth.
Once again I am humbled by the beauty surrounding and coursing through me. I am so lucky.
The grades for these first miles are very gentle, less steep than the road that stopped Lucile! Just a hike. Yeah right. Just a hike through stunningly gorgeous alpine majesty. Every moment is a gift.
The slope does increase, but I don't push hard enough to feel seriously out of breath. My feet perform over and over and over, my back doesn't cry for attention, and my legs and lungs and heart are up to the task (thanks mom & dad), I am so lucky.
Looking back at my tracks
Without realizing it, the climbing orchestrates into the harmony of lifting legs, planting pole, breathing, and monitoring my heart. I am gladdened to see a well defined peak and look forward to a rest stop with the reward of rest, views, water, snack, and peeing, not necessarily listed in order of importance. Alas, as I pull over the rounded point, it turns out to be a false summit and the true summit remains a significant effort above. Arrrghhh. Decision time, do I indulge in the reward I was so looking forward to now? or press on?
Climbing often requires playing psychological games in your mind to coax yourself upward and beyond your body's desire to stop or turn around. You set achievable intermediate goals and promise yourself little rewards. Like handing out cookies for good behavior.
When I get to that slope break, I'll give myself a piece of chocolate.
When I get to that cleft, I'll pause for an extra few breaths.
Sometimes you threaten yourself with the stick (perhaps a withheld reward) instead of enticing with the dangled carrot: If I take a rest before I reach that rock band, then I can't have an extra piece of cheese for lunch. Luckily, I usually forget what I've threatened, and have the piece of cheese no matter if I've earned it or not.
The wind helps me decide to press on, and I reach the true summit.
Ridges and peaks fall away in all directions. The snow, rock, and sky are my temple and this experience is my religion. This is the greatest reward of all, though a snack, drink, and pee are good too.
The wind reduces my commune with nature to a brief thank you instead of the deep union a much desired nap would provide.
Briefly I consider descending to the col and then climbing Mt. Cameron. The wind, breaking trail, and extra miles have taken a toll. And standing here, I feel fulfilled, sated, Blissful.
I've had the honor and pleasure to witness splendor from atop Crestone Peak, Mt. Shavano, and now Mt. Democtrat on this trip. Each experience is life affirming. I am so lucky.
I turn and point my boots down a more direct route to the trailhead below.
As I descend, I see a couple of other climbers also descending ahead of me.
I catch up and walk with them. They look tired but happy and we talk. They have no snowshoes, so I walk in front and compact the snow for an easier trail. When we arrive at the Kite Lake trailhead, it becomes apparent that they are seriously worn out. One of them admits he has a headache. This is Altitude, or Acute Mountain Sickness. I give him a couple of ibuprofen, urge him to drink extra water and eat a snack. We rest a short while and continue down at a relaxed pace.
I learn that they flew from Philadelphia the day before, drove from Denver to the trailhead last night, "slept" in the rental car for a few hours, and managed to climb almost to the top of the false peak. They're in Colorado for a ski vacation, and decided to try climbing a mountain before skiing. They went from sea level to 12,000 feet in a day! Ahh youth.
By the time we reach their big SUV everyone is feeling better.
I gratefully accept a ride down to Lucille and wish them a fun rest of their trip. As we say good by, I suggest they take the next day off and relax in the hot tub at their hotel.
Maybe they took my advice. Probably they went and shredded the gnar ; )
Notice how the road melted out during the day!
I had previously resolved to start home after this climb. So after lingering in the woods and saying farewell to Colorado, I break away and point Lucille East. Toward home.
The slope does increase, but I don't push hard enough to feel seriously out of breath. My feet perform over and over and over, my back doesn't cry for attention, and my legs and lungs and heart are up to the task (thanks mom & dad), I am so lucky.
Looking back at my tracks
Without realizing it, the climbing orchestrates into the harmony of lifting legs, planting pole, breathing, and monitoring my heart. I am gladdened to see a well defined peak and look forward to a rest stop with the reward of rest, views, water, snack, and peeing, not necessarily listed in order of importance. Alas, as I pull over the rounded point, it turns out to be a false summit and the true summit remains a significant effort above. Arrrghhh. Decision time, do I indulge in the reward I was so looking forward to now? or press on?
Climbing often requires playing psychological games in your mind to coax yourself upward and beyond your body's desire to stop or turn around. You set achievable intermediate goals and promise yourself little rewards. Like handing out cookies for good behavior.
When I get to that slope break, I'll give myself a piece of chocolate.
When I get to that cleft, I'll pause for an extra few breaths.
Sometimes you threaten yourself with the stick (perhaps a withheld reward) instead of enticing with the dangled carrot: If I take a rest before I reach that rock band, then I can't have an extra piece of cheese for lunch. Luckily, I usually forget what I've threatened, and have the piece of cheese no matter if I've earned it or not.
The wind helps me decide to press on, and I reach the true summit.
Ridges and peaks fall away in all directions. The snow, rock, and sky are my temple and this experience is my religion. This is the greatest reward of all, though a snack, drink, and pee are good too.
The wind reduces my commune with nature to a brief thank you instead of the deep union a much desired nap would provide.
Briefly I consider descending to the col and then climbing Mt. Cameron. The wind, breaking trail, and extra miles have taken a toll. And standing here, I feel fulfilled, sated, Blissful.
I've had the honor and pleasure to witness splendor from atop Crestone Peak, Mt. Shavano, and now Mt. Democtrat on this trip. Each experience is life affirming. I am so lucky.
I turn and point my boots down a more direct route to the trailhead below.
As I descend, I see a couple of other climbers also descending ahead of me.
I catch up and walk with them. They look tired but happy and we talk. They have no snowshoes, so I walk in front and compact the snow for an easier trail. When we arrive at the Kite Lake trailhead, it becomes apparent that they are seriously worn out. One of them admits he has a headache. This is Altitude, or Acute Mountain Sickness. I give him a couple of ibuprofen, urge him to drink extra water and eat a snack. We rest a short while and continue down at a relaxed pace.
I learn that they flew from Philadelphia the day before, drove from Denver to the trailhead last night, "slept" in the rental car for a few hours, and managed to climb almost to the top of the false peak. They're in Colorado for a ski vacation, and decided to try climbing a mountain before skiing. They went from sea level to 12,000 feet in a day! Ahh youth.
By the time we reach their big SUV everyone is feeling better.
I gratefully accept a ride down to Lucille and wish them a fun rest of their trip. As we say good by, I suggest they take the next day off and relax in the hot tub at their hotel.
Maybe they took my advice. Probably they went and shredded the gnar ; )
Notice how the road melted out during the day!
I had previously resolved to start home after this climb. So after lingering in the woods and saying farewell to Colorado, I break away and point Lucille East. Toward home.
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