Like a good Girl Scout, I was prepared for any hardship that might come my way. In fact, my extensive planning for the excursion to the summit of Grays Peak would be the envy of any Sherpa. Out of Colorado's 54 fourteeners, Grays had the reputation of being one of the easiest, so I decided to make it my first.
Early one Sunday morning in August, I took the Bakerville exit and drove my Subaru up the rugged jeep road to the Stevens Gulch trailhead, grimacing each time my car bottomed out. The designated parking lot was as full as a ski resort's on a powder day.
I stood, studying my detailed topo map, dressed in long sleeves and pants, wool socks, sturdy hiking boots and a ball cap. Inside my backpack was a 100-ounce CamelBak, Powerbars, granola mix, dried apples and a PB&J. It also held a fleece, waterproof jacket, sunscreen, mosquito repellant, space blanket, first aid kit, Swiss army knife, rope and a pup tent, just in case.
A gentleman strolled by. He wore shorts, a Bolder Boulder t-shirt, socks and tennis shoes. In his right hand he carried a tiny Evian bottle.
What was up? Didn't he get the memo? Unsuspected thunderstorms could roll in at any second and lightning could strike us dead. Or we might experience a sudden bout of altitude sickness. What about the possibility of a sudden misstep that could trigger a tumble into the great abyss below? Surely he was doomed without any survival gear.
But today the sun shone down on us, suspended in a bluebird-blue sky. Toddlers skipped past, as if on their way to preschool. Elderly folks walked the well-worn path with sure and steady steps. It was bumper-to-bumper bodies along the highway to the top.
I began to feel sheepish with my oversized load, as I realized I had exaggerated the adventure. Finally, after a short scramble up a rocky section, I reached the summit, only to encounter four dozen other weekend warriors. One open seat remained, so I took it and gobbled some granola.
Behind me came the rasping sounds of something desperately gasping for air. As I turned, I came face to face with a black pug that was recovering in a lady's lap.
"Cyrus walked the entire way," the pug's owner proudly proclaimed. I laughed, trying not to let Cyrus' accomplishment diminish mine, and then asked her to take my photo.
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