Words, Music, & Outdoor Adventures

This is about the new Fraser Valley Recreation Center that is suppose to be built soon:
Black T-shirts appearing around the Fraser Valley declare, on the front:

GRAND PARK WRECK CENTER
Wreck the Meadow, Wreck the Community
Wreck Incomes, Wreck Friendships
Wreck the Wetlands, Wreck Local Businesses
Wreck the Fraser Valley

The shirt backs state:
GRAND PARK WRECK CENTER
“It ain’t over ‘til the kids are peeing in the pool!”

Read full article on Grand County’s Newspaper

I’m on my morning training run, 1 ½ hours according to the plan. During this “run”, I’m walking a lot and feeling frustrated at my lack of mental fortitude. I’m listening to my mp3 player and Kenny Chesney is singing “Sherry’s Living in Paradise”. As he sings the first chorus, “‘Cause Sherry’s living, living in paradise, chasing something or running from something, Had a lot of lovers that were good for nothing, And she’s thought about leaving once or twice, But she’s still in the sun and this laid-back life, Sherry’s living in paradise” I look up and there is a deer and her two babies on the trail in front on me. I stop and wait for them to walk off the trail into the trees as Kenny sings about living in paradise.

I’m here, in paradise; a mountain paradise where there are wild animals and wildflowers and me.

My triathlon article is in the Summer/Fall issue of Steamboat Magazine. Unfortunately it’s not online, you have to buy/find the magazine. See page 52 - Triathlon Training in Steamboat Springs  - “there’s a reason why world-class athletes make Steamboat their home”.

Summer was about 4 weeks this year. Note “was”. The Denver area forecast calls for a foot of snow in the Indian Peaks Wilderness which is about 10 miles from me. My friend Matt posted on his facebook a few days ago that he saw snow. I called him immediately and he saw a dusting of snow near Copper Mountain. Walking the dogs this morning required pants and sweatshirt. It’s only August 14th. It’s going to be a long winter.

I’m disappointed in my time. Slower than 2 years ago. Now I have a ton of things to work on.

At seven years old, my yellow lab, Abbey, is the best dog ever. On hikes she stays close and comes to my general area when called. She no longer takes off. She doesn’t chase after cars. She doesn’t run toward noises she hears in the distance.

I remember when she took off for three days on the Appalachian Trail in Vermont; and I wasn’t hiking the trail. In Maine, she would run off for hours and got hit by a car. In Steamboat she was pretty good. But now in Granby, she is the best dog. Maybe it is because she finally has a home that is hers (a.k.a Mine) and she gets to be on the sofa whenever she wants. Or maybe it’s just her age. She has a good life, Ms. Abbey Dog.

This morning as we are on our usual walk, there are diggers in the distance making noise. She stops, looks up at them, then continues on our walk. I’m used to her hearing noises and immediately running toward them. Then I have to run to catch her and put her back on a leash. Now, Daisy is another matter.

Yesterday, in my car, on the way to work I listened to random CDs as is my daily practice. For some reason, James Taylor was in the pile and the first song is “There’s something in the way she moves” and suddenly I’m in New Hampshire driving in a jeep heading north on Route 16 with my friend Ian; it’s 1988. Ian and I are driving to the White Mountains. We will be backpacking to the Imp Shelter on Imp Trail. We listen to James Taylor’s Greatest Hits the entire ride.

Now, 20 years later every time I hear a James Taylor song I think of that trip. We left a few days before graduation and it was just one overnight. My boyfriend, at the time, didn’t like this idea but I wanted to backpack so bad; I never did an overnight in a shelter until that day.

The hike was horrific. I was uncomfortable most of the time because a black fly bit me next to my left eye and I couldn’t see through it the entire trip. I didn’t want to eat because I didn’t feel like it. I wasn’t in shape for carrying all the gear that I had in my brand new, bright red, North Face backpack.

Ian said the shelter was just around the corner; meaning that beyond each turn in the trail would be another switchback and the hut was still miles away. I didn’t know what a switchback was then or that experienced hikers use this devices to get newbie to where they are suppose to be. I lost ten pounds during those two hellish days and gained it back on the third.

For some reason, perhaps human nature, I remember all of this with a big, fat smile on my face. I remember the phantom mouse that ran across my sleeping bag as I screamed bloody murder. I remember the swarms of black flies and gross oatmeal that I can’t eat to this day. I remember my unusual, unconventional friend, Ian. I remember it all like it was yesterday. 20 years. Yesterday. All rolling into one.

Tomorrow is my 20th high school reunion and I’m not going. I’m in Colorado. Twenty years. And one song from James Taylor brings it all back.