wait five minute days (part 1)

prelude (through =--=--=--=)

I stopped at the T in the trail first and whipped out my map as quickly

as I could, the three other 14 year-old racers were not far off my tail - within a minute they frantically skidded to a stop around me, blowing clouds of dust into the dry thin Colorado air. Muddy legs desperate for rest yet eager to speed away held thrashed bike frames between them. Empty water bottles somehow eked out another slurp down parched throats, overflowing off dripping chins.

"Which way is it Alden, which way?!" they cried.

"Hold on sec' I am still trying to figure it out" came my response through billowing lungs, eyebrows sternly creased in concentration. No else else cared to study the map, relying on me for the direction of the finish line which now, after hours of peddling Colorado's toughest mountain bike terrain, was only a few of miles away. It was the last stage of a multi-day, multi-sport adventure race. We had hiked, bushwhacking through the backwoods and over tall peaks with no trail - just a packs, map and compass.

We had slept next to a reflective mountain lake glittering under a blanket of luminous stars and awoken with dawn's light glistening in a layer of frost that coated everything including our resting bodies warm in mummy bags. And finally this, everything on the line as one chosen representative from each team gave their all in the race's final leg.

"That way!" I said, pointing down the trail already in the motions of folding away the map. Before I could get my pack squared away, everyone had already started off the trail, eagerly widening the space between us.

I took my time and then headed off in the opposite direction, pacing myself for the win of that day's race - heads on the horizon behind me strained to look behind them at the shocking sight of deception.

Trust is a tricky thing - we can each find truth only for ourselves. Others may tell us where to go and how to get there, but true assurance can come only from one's self. Deception and trickery have their place, as does looking at your own map, finding your own way in the world. grin.

Towler blood biking in the Tarryals, cousin and OWA guide Ryan Sullivan. Me currently being without a camera = although site specific, all photos in this post courtesy of google :(

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Through summer camp at Outpost Wilderness Adventure (OWA), the Tarryall Mountains of South Park County, Colorado are one of the places I became comfortable in the outdoors as a boy. It felt great to go back ten years later just this past week.

After being manually ejected from the Denver metropolis in my sister's Volvo (thanks Hetta!) I made my way along CO-285, a breathtaking scenic drive with the sun setting behind magnificent peaks glowing with freshly dumped snow. I pulled into the OWA driveway at about 9:30 Friday night, May 13th. After deciding it was too late to knock on new ownership's door I turned around and spent a night of numb feet in the same valley under the same blanket of stars, somehow just a little less forgiving compared to so many years later.

I had come here hoping to spend some time at Tarryal Mountain Farm, where former OWA owner-director and family friend David Appleton now spends his summers growing quinoa, beets and greens. It was a shot in the dark heading up there with no replies to my calls or emails but I certainly had nothing to lose besides the city lights. Saturday morning Debbie at the Ute Trail River Ranch (where we used to buy ice cream and granola bars as kids) told me that Dave had left to go back to the Texas Hill Country Friday morning and that the farm wasn't really going yet this early in the season.

"Well then I guess I'll just be doing some backpacking the next few days" I said.

"Yea, we do live in a donut of dryness up here, but it looks like even our pocket is gonna get filled with some weather, this weekend they're calling for snow. If I were you I might think twice about heading out today." Debbie said with a voice filled with compassion and yet a knowing that weather never held back the expeditions at OWA. "And you know what they say, 'If you don't like the weather in Colorado, wait five minutes" she finished.

'Or five days!' I thought to myself remembering relentless days of painful weather."

Even though she was very well right about an ominous pounding of wet and cold, I bought a block of cheese and made my way back to the trailhead where I had spent the night before; eager to to get out, out, anywhere but here, out and away.