Estes Park

Today my journey led me to Estes Park Colorado. Pulling into town I am a lost and wandering traveler. I must look like all the rest of those around me. Eyes wide, infatuated with the stunning beauty of the mountains. I notice nothing about the town. And I, a known people watcher, barely recognize those around me. All I can think as I drive, is “I want to get closer, I want to feel them”. I skip finding a place to stay for the night and drive straight for the National Park. I spend 15 minutes finding a route that fits. And I begin feeling my way through the winding roads. Stopping more often than not to take a picture, look at the map or stand outside and soak it all in. I even cry a little. I get to the trailhead and pull on my boots. I fill my bag with rain gear, granola and water to ready me for the day- and I hit the trail. Its beautiful and I have a hard time watching the rocks at my feet as I gaze at the peaks looming before me. I trip often, getting caught on the rocks. The beginning of the trail is heavily populated with families and couples holding hands as they hike. A mile in, the crowd drops off and I am alone with the occasional hiker passing by. I nod to them, mostly men. Few words are exchanged. It’s beautiful. There is no way to describe it. I think it’s prettier since I am alone. My brain rests, and that is beauty in itself.  I make it to my destination, a lake surrounded by mountains on every side. I sit and enjoy some water and snacks. Trying to make a memory. And there by the side of the lake, I feel total peace. I find that I am completely worthy. That I am alone but don’t have to be lonely. That I can love and give, that I must. I let go, there by the side of the lake. I let go. And then it rains. With a crack of thunder that echo’s off the mountains, the sky opens and water pours. I pull out my jacket and look around me to find the lake edge deserted. Apparently the few other hikers I had passed took the huge dark clouds as a sign to get out. I am three and a half miles away from my car, so there is no point in hurrying. I decide instead to enjoy this rain, the feeling of being washed, cleansed, healed. I look back at the mountain covered in snow, and I have a sense- this is just the fringes. And I congratulate God on a job well done. “Good work my friend, its really stunning out here, I know you did this with your own hands.” I turn around to begin the descent down the mountain side, and I glance back one last time to the waters edge where I left my fears behind. Back at the car I am soaked through to my underwear. So much for these waterproof shorts helping me out.  I strip there in the parking lot, like everyone else, and pull on something dry. I drive to Estes Park Hostel, which I now highly recommend to anyone passing through. It’s the pink adobe place with the blue door hidden in the back alleys of this tourist filled town. If you choose to room there you will find a soft bed on the screened in porch, sheets and towel included for 30 dollars with your name on it. But be warned, you must participate in household chores which just might include scraping bear shit off the front stoop. You will also find Terri, a kind, warm, plump, eccentric woman who will greet you with stories and snacks. If you have time to listen, you will likely hear of her past lovers, her near death encounters, and her fears of Tsunamis in Canada. You might also find four very friendly French men offering red wine to the house, two grey haired women in their 60s who have traveled the world, two young sisters from New York on their first trip away, a man with hair down his back who doesn’t say a word, and a newly married couple showering together in our shared bathroom. You will likely sit on the porch in the evening curled around your hot tea sharing travel stories with the group. “Niagara Falls is… how do you say… anti-climactic” says one Frenchmen in his heavy accent as we laugh and agree. And things get quieter as one girl shares the real struggles between marriage and travel and what her future holds “everyone takes the trip that they need to take” says the quiet woman with gray hair down her back. And I get a feeling she has been through it all.  This place is homey and quaint, filled with total strangers, and I wish I could stay.