Founding mothers and Bolam Pass Tales

We will stand for E.R.A. and for the recognition at long last that our nation was made up of founding mothers as well as founding fathers. - Ted Kennedy, "The dream will never die" speech, 1980.

Because of Ted Kennedy's public fights for women's rights, as well as for the rights of other disadvantaged groups, my mother admired him and I did too. I paused in memory of Ted Kennedy and my mother yesterday. I'm glad that he lived to see that our people overcame our history to elect President Obama. My mother didn't see that day but she's cheering from the heavens. In my dreams, the heavens look like the mountains.In our mountains, today was glorious. Warm and sunny with a breeze - the kind of late summer day that I can't stand to waste. And, I had the honor of two canine escorts on my mountain bike ride. Over this summer, I've been falling more in love with R, our black lab youngster, day by day. His spirit is irrepressible. In his view, life is to be embraced to the fullest - including random sprinting, jumping, slobbering, chasing, and snoring. I'm striving to achieve his level of panache. His rambunctious playfulness is helping keep K's head above water while she waits for her new thyroid meds to do their good work.He loves being scratched and patted as is obvious in this video taken at Bolam Pass during our vacation. Be sure to listen to his sounds - they're the best part.




As a final aside before I continue my vacation tales, my fellow blogger, Carol, over at the TheWritersPorch, passed along a Bingo Beautiful Blog award to me. Thank you Carol! I think that my world is beautiful, and I'm glad that view shines through in my blog! I'm supposed to "Pass it on" but that will have to wait until I think about it a bit.

Vacation Tales continued from yesterday

We awakened our first morning at Bolam Pass, in Southwest Colorado, to the sound of rain on the van's roof, quashing our enthusiasm for an early start. By the time I finally truly woke up, sun bathed the world with lingering clouds on the horizon.K and I headed out to mountain bike the Colorado Trail toward Blackhawk Pass. I immediately loved the trail, buttery smooth and narrow, snaking through the trees up toward the pass. After climbing through a wet forest, the trail aimed directly at Hermosa Peak.
But, before the climbing became steep, our path veered around the flanks of the rocky mountain's expansive scree slopes. These fields of rocks blew my mind. So many rocks and boulders, layer upon layer, spreading as far as my eye could see. Pikas, small cousins of rabbits, chirped from the slopes but, to my surprise, no marmots whistled.
Leaving Hermosa Peak behind, we navigated a narrow rocky ridge where the sun warmed my shoulders and soul.
Near this point, we met a pair of through-hikers, a mother-daughter team from Vermont, who had emptied their packs and were drying their gear in the sun. Their spirits seemed low, especially the 13 year-old daughter's. They said that they'd had two cold and wet nights in their tent, and although Durango was drawing near, they felt like an entire continent stood in the way. I struggled to cheer them up but K was amazing. She lay on her back soaking up their pats and love, while sneaking in a snuzzle whenever she could. They thanked me for "letting them play with K", saying that it had made their day.

We continued on our way toward Blackhawk Pass but I kept searching my mind for some small gift or gesture to give them when we passed them again later in the day. I became distracted when our destination, Blackhawk Mountain, appeared towering over a field of yellowing Skunk Cabbage.
This perfect-gradient trail wove its way toward the pass, never becoming too steep for me to spin my pedals up it.
The final approach to the pass, a thin thread paralleling the ridge, seared my lungs but was worth the work.
Just like I did, K curiously peered over to the other side of the pass once we stopped. I always feel like a secret world will be unveiled at the top of a pass, and that's a big motivator when the climbing gets steep.
The wind whipped through this low point on the ridge, pinning one of K's ears straight up toward the sky!The view back toward our campsite awed me with the multilayered rockface in the foreground, reflecting eons of geological events, and the distant mountains.
To my delight, columbines raised their faces to soak up the sun near the pass.After lingering at the pass, we swooshed and swooped back down toward camp. As we approached the mother-daughter hiking team, I suddenly realized what small token I could give them - my chemical hand and toe warmers that I always carry on mountain rides. The daughter's eyes lit up as she took them. She said that her fingers and toes had gone numb during the last hail storm. I wished them well, and I've thought of them a number of times since then. What an amazing gift for a mother to give her daughter - while teaching her the important lesson that we 'girls' can do anything that we put our minds to.

As we approached camp, K enthusiastically dove into Celebration Lake. The lake was still deserted so she could play with abandon.
Then, she and her brother baked in the sun at our campsite with an awesome view behind them.
We relaxed in camp, watching the mountains morph as the sun sunk toward the western horizon.
Finally, just before dusk, a nearby mountain glowed orange - a gorgeous ending to our day.

Thyroid storms and stormy days on vacation

Before I launch into tales of my vacation adventures, I thought that I'd give you a picture of the extreme behavioral effects of thyroid imbalances. Yesterday afternoon, K and I started an agility run - we usually spend about 10 minutes a day 'playing' agility on our homemade course. She usually gets so excited to play that she shakes.

Yesterday was different. She didn't sprint out of the blocks. She did the first few obstacles and then slowed down like a wind-up toy who was running out of oomph. Her body language screamed terror - pure fear seemed to course through her veins. She dug in her heels about the 'pause table', a table on which she usually does a brief down during a run. It's the least scary obstacle on the course. For K, the 'pause table' seemed to be the last straw, and she refused to try any more of her beloved agility course.

I've seen almost exactly this sequence of events in the past when her thyroid has gone askew. Previously, I've made the mistake of trying to counteract her fear with treats and other techniques. My attempts have never worked so we simply walked away yesterday. To try to prevent her from dwelling on her fear, we did a few non-agility tricks on our way inside.

Then, after darkness fell, K kept getting 'stuck' in various rooms because she was afraid of the doorways and hallways. She'd move through them if a human accompanied her but not by herself. I talked with K's vet today, and we're immediately changing her thyroid meds even though the blood work won't be back until next week. We might call in a specialist if things don't even out soon.

The point in this story is that if your dog suddenly becomes fearful, always consider that the cause might be medical. And, a lot of vets don't know about the behavior-thyroid link so be sure to mention it.

Fortunately, K has never been afraid of natural obstacles, like the log blocking the trail today!

Vacation Tales

After our fun and epic days on the Colorado Trail between Carson and Stony Passes, we headed into Silverton, and enjoyed hot showers and pizza! We walked the dogs around the quaint and tourist-oriented town. At some flowers outside a shop, a hummingbird-like form caught my eye but I rapidly realized that it wasn't a bird - it was a Hawkmoth. I don't know the species but if anyone else recognizes it, please tell me!

At a glance, these moths mimic hummingbirds in body shape and flying style. This striped moth zeroed in on a red columbine. First, he stuck his long and lithe tongue out to sample the nectar. If you click on the photo, you enlarge it, making it easier to see the details. Sorry about the blurriness - it was a gloomy evening and the moth moved fast! But, I think that you can see the thread-like red tongue going from the moth's 'beak' to the flower.
After hovering briefly, he moved in closer.
And finally, the flower almost engulfed him as he drank the nectar.
I had to laugh - even as we'd been trying to be 'civilized' in a town for a brief time, we'd ended up engrossed in a wonder of nature. I don't think that cities were made for us or vice versa!

We headed a short way out of town, onto a road that climbed next to Mineral Creek. After the road turned rough, keeping traffic to a minimum, we found a campsite with a view of the creek, mountains, and mist that floated up towards us.
Exhausted, we went straight to sleep. One of things that I love about our van (aka 'The Labmobile' or more officially, a 'Sportsmobile') is how easy it is to set up camp and how comfortable the bed is. On this trip, my back fell in love with our 4WD van. No camping mattress compares.

When we finally awakened the next morning, the clouds were oozing up the valley toward us.
We decided that we all needed to take it easy for the day. In our high-energy world, 'taking it easy' meant that K joined the boys for a short run, and I headed out alone for a short mountain bike ride. I rode up, and I do mean 'up', the Rico-Silverton Trail which eventually would have intersected my favorite trail, The Colorado Trail.

The trail meandered next to creek that cut through what felt like an old growth conifer forest, replete with massive Engleman Spruce, Blue Spruce, and Subalpine Fir trees. We'd read that this area might be home for some reintroduced lynx, and it felt like perfect habitat for the shy cats.

Purple and towering subalpine Larkspur lined the trail, and I heard the buzz of hummingbirds among them.
Without too much effort, I emerged onto an expansive meadow, still vibrating with summer energy despite the damp and chilly day. Talus slopes formed walls for the meadow. Marmots whistled and pikas chirped as I passed by.

Grass, diminutive subalpine flowers, and leafy willows covered the plateau.
And, my favorite flower on Earth, the Colorado Columbine, still bloomed.
I could see my dream destination ahead of me - an exposed ridge and the trail that I knew snaked along its apex. However, the clouds threatened to engulf me and I'd promised to take it easy, so I turned back toward the warmth of camp.

Down close to camp, I noticed brilliant purple-blue flower, flourishing in a moist and sunny spot, that was new to me. Its shape and skunky smell reminded me of a Sky Pilot or Jacob's Ladder, both of which were ubiquitous during our early summer mountain excursions. However, it was much taller, and its flowers subtly differed from its cousins' flowers. It was a "Leafy Jacob's Ladder" (Polemonium foliosissimum), a much taller and more sun-loving species than the "Showy Jacob's Ladder" that I often see in shady and moist mountain areas.
Apparently, the skunk-like smell of this group of flowers deters ants and other "nectar-stealing insects". My books don't say why deterring ants is important but I'd guess that they don't often carry pollen from one plant to another so they're less desirable visitors than flying insects or birds.

Shortly after I finished my ride, the clouds marched directly at us and the rain pelted out of the sky. I was glad that I'd kept my ride short!

For our final San Juan campsite, we drove up to Bolam Pass, another Colorado Trail access point, on yet another 4WD road. This one was mellow compared to the terrifying ride up Wager Gulch to Carson Pass. Just before the Pass, a magical lake, "Celebration Lake", emerged from the mist.
We found a campsite with a spectacular view - although an aerial bombardment of hail was underway when we arrived. We waited out nature's fury, listening to the pounding of hail, in the Labmobile. We talked about the tough 'through-hikers' who we'd seen in recent days, traveling all the way from Denver to Durango on the Colorado Trail. We guessed that they were huddled in tents to survive this onslaught - we felt like wimps by comparison.

When the storm's fury was spent, my husband ventured out, clad in arctic gear, to start dinner. Although the van has a stove, we both prefer being outdoors whenever we can. He's the cook in our family - thank goodness - or we'd be malnourished!
The arctic clothing fit the ambiance - fresh snow dusted a nearby peak!While my husband cooked, I walked and fed the dogs, enjoying our solitude in this glorious spot.And, for the umpteenth time on this vacation, I felt grateful to be in the thin air of our awesome mountains - up so high that I looked down on the clouds.

Late summer creeps up

Today, I'm taking a break from my vacation stories and will resume them tomorrow.

K and I have been reacquainting ourselves with our stomping grounds on our morning bike rides. Her chocolate fur glowed in the sun on a recent morning. She looks incredibly healthy in this photo but I've been seeing signs of fearfulness that concern me about her thyroid status. So, we visited the vet, again, today.Some flowers still shine here. Goldenrod tints the ground yellow. As I rode past a Goldenrod flower the other day, red and black beetles crawled all over it.When got off my bike to look more closely, I saw that they were taking advantage of the waning days of summer. Time to make progeny!My favorite aster has been brilliantly blooming over the past week. It's a bittersweet flower for me. I love its colors but it's always one of the last wildflowers of the year.

Aftermath of our epic day

After our epic adventure high on the Colorado Trail, I collapsed into a semi-comatose state at our default campsite. I say 'default' because the only reason why we camped there was that I couldn't move another inch. I ate and drank and ate and drank... you get the idea. I'd accumulated a tremendous caloric and fluid deficit.

My husband kept mumbling things about "at least you didn't get hurt...". He'd spent the day worried and out running the trails trying to find me. I wish I hadn't worried him so much.

I woke up the next morning feeling about halfway recovered but still excited to explore. We decided to do a pack (my husband, me, and the two dogs) excursion. I rode my mountain bike up the West fork of Pole Creek toward Stony Pass.

The creek has gouged a precipitous canyon through the valley. Although the waters trickled softly on that August day, they must roil and stampede in early summer to create such a groove in the rocky earth.I rode slowly, nursing tired legs from my previous day's adventure, and two bald eagles soared over my head and then along the creek's canyon that the trail paralleled. Their long and elegant wings reached far to each side while their white heads and tails glowed compared to their black bodies. Watching them, however briefly, was magical.As I climbed, the trail repeatedly disappeared into a labyrinth of elk and cattle trails but the prominent creek kept me on track. I came upon three locals resting under a tree, one of whom carried a gun in a holster. My past traumatic experience with a gun and dog led me to grab K's hind end, almost violently, to clip on her leash. I surprised K with my emphatic tackle, and she turned and grabbed my hand in her mouth! Not hard - no broken skin or even any injury - but it's the first time since puppyhood that she's touched her teeth to anyone's skin. The trio of locals turned out to be gentle and friendly cowboys who'd awakened at 4AM to watch the local elk herd, 350-strong, before the elk bedded down for their day-long nap in a dense forest of spruce and firs.

At the creek's highest point, we reached the new Colorado Trail, the same one that I'd traveled the day before, a couple of miles east of Stony Pass. The view awed me, again, although the skies threatened gloomy rain for the first time in days.We looked back down the drainage that we'd just climbed. Even if I get lost every single day in the mountains, I'll still love being high in the thin air and gazing at views like this one.The alpine landscape looked completely novel to me despite having seen it the day before. I think that I had tunnel vision by this point in my epic ride. With fresh eyes, I noticed the gigantic scree slopes created by rocks tumbling down from Canby Mountain. Creeks joined the tumble, and created wildflower wonderlands at their moist bases.One riotous patch contained reds, pinks, purples, blues, and yellows, all within a few yards.Elephantella flowers (Pedicularis groenlandica) proudly reached their trunks toward the sky. I adore the unique shape of these blossoms.Rosy Paintbrushes accentuated the pink in the Elephant flowers.I almost overlooked the Queen's Crown (Sedum rhodanthum) within the riot. They're closely related to Yellow Stonecrop, a flower that I've seen everywhere from the montane to the alpine regions of our mountains.
And, ubiquitous round patches of yellow star-like flowers littered this area. They'd lined every trail I'd traveled so far on our vacation. I think that these one's were Fremont's Senecio (Senecio fremontii) - the species that dominated all of the moist rocky areas I'd traversed.After a relaxing and relatively easy outing, we drove toward Silverton to stock up on supplies and take hot showers. As we drove, I contemplated the previous day's misadventure. I thought about the things that I'd done right and wrong, trying to figure out whether I could've avoided the drama. I came up with a mental list.

Things I did right:
1) I was physically fit. Riding a bike that distance and over those mountains was within my capabilities.
2) I was acclimated to high altitude. Because I live at 8200', exercising at high altitude (12-13,000') all day didn't bother me.
3) I had a detailed topo map and had read 2 guide books about the route. The only problem was that I'd read about the wrong route.
4) I had a Spot Messenger with me so if the situation had become dire, I could've hit the 911 button - which would have sent a 911 message and my GPS coordinates via satellite to the authorities. All of Spot's other functions were useless because my husband didn't have cell phone reception.
5) I had warm cloths in my backpack for an emergency.

Things I did wrong:
1) I didn't bring enough water or water purification tablets. As the Watcher suggested, always carrying a purification tablet in my backpack is hardly going to break my back.
2) I didn't have up-to-date information about the Colorado Trail. I actually checked the publication date on my Colorado Trail Guidebook (2002) and on my National Geographic Topo Map (updated in 2004) - neither seemed too ancient to me. Today, I learned by talking with the managing director of the Colorado Trail Foundation that the trail is constantly being rerouted and improved. I should've checked their website before setting out. By the way, I thought that it was a very nice gesture for this gentleman to contact me after reading my blog account.
3) I didn't have a decent GPS unit.
4) My husband wasn't looking at the same map as I was. When doing point-to-point rides where we need to meet a specific location, we should each have a copy of the same map.

Ways that I was lucky:
1) The weather was good. A lightning storm on that ridge would have been terrifying and perhaps deadly.
2) Very nice people helped me once I arrived at Stony Pass.

All in all, I learned some important lessons without getting hurt. And, I traveled through truly amazing terrain that I'll never forget. Not a bad day, I'd say.

An epic and scary journey high in the mountains

K and I set out confident and happy, planning to mountain bike about 12 miles from Carson Saddle, over a pass, and finally down Pole Creek to meet the boys at the Rio Grande Reservoir Road trailhead. According to my two guidebooks and topo map, navigation would be simple because I'd be following the Colorado Trail, a well-marked route in my previous experience.

We didn't rush at the beginning because I figured that we could ride those easy 12 miles faster than the boys could drive a much further distance on rough roads to meet us.

I spotted a totally novel flower to me, Prairie Smoke (Geum triflorum). To my surprise, it's a member of the Rose Family. Most Rose species have much simpler round flowerheads like the domesticated rose. These spiky and nodding flowers covered the hillside for our first mile.
We crossed a couple of streams where autumn-heralding Gentians bloomed. The petals of the purple Fringed Gentian (Gentianopsis detonsa) twist to a whorled apex. Patches of them glowed in the grass.
'Mountain' Gentians (Gentiana parryi)chose more solitary lives. Every here and there, I'd spot a blue flower jutting its head above the neighboring plants.Finally, the most secretive of the Gentians, the Siberian Gentian (Gentianella prostrata), showed its tiny head in the grass.
Based on the number of Gentians I saw, autumn will arrive in the blink of an eye.

As expected from our map, we climbed up toward a pass. Rock statues punctuated the hillside, clanging in contrast with the verdant streams we'd just crossed.Despite the desert-like formations, alpine wildflowers shared the hillside with them.As always on uphill slopes, K led the way, exploring every scent while wondering why humans are so slow.We closed in on the pass with a whole new range of mountains appearing like a mirage on the horizon. At that point in our journey, I had no idea that we'd be exploring that range in great detail over the coming hours!
We gazed at lakes, including Cataract Lake, nestled down among the peaks.
At this point, I expected a trail intersection, and I wasn't disappointed. However, the intersection said that Trail 787 went one way and the Colorado Trail (CT) went another. Everything about this intersection confused me. First, my National Geographic map said that I should be seeing Trail 717 going in the same general direction as 787 was headed and the map showed *no* trail 787. Moreover, according to my map, the CT was supposed to be the same as 717. I later learned that the "717" on my map was a typo - it should've read "787". That typo was a huge part of why our easy trailride turned into an epic journey.

My head spun even more when I noted that a wood sign pointed toward the CT but an adjacent sign said that the land in that direction was closed. I spent a good bit of time at this intersection mulling over my options.Finally, I defaulted to the Colorado Trail. I reasoned that I *knew* for a fact that I needed to follow the CT all day long, and the other trails didn't seem to jibe with my map. So, K and I bounded down the CT toward the lake, where she swam and played like a puppy.

Shortly after the lake, I began to wonder why I was climbing *again* given that the profile of the CT segment showed one big climb to the pass that we'd already crossed and then a downhill ride to the trailhead. I reassured myself that I couldn't go wrong by sticking with the CT - a humorous perspective in retrospect. The terrain beyond the lakes was simultaneously stark and beautiful. But, I spotted my trail actually climbing some of these mountains in the distance, a scary sight.
After the first steep wall we scaled, K waited patiently for me. The trail rose precipitously on loose rocks, causing me to dismount and push my bike up the cliff.
As we crossed a gentle rolling plateau between mountains, the trail disappeared at times, with only cairns to lead the way. It looked like almost no one else on Earth had ever tread on this tundra - another detail that flummoxed me because the CT has been a popular trail for years.
In this section, I ran into a group of four backpackers. The first three assured me that I was on the right track because we were definitely on the CT trail. But I should've listened to the fourth backpacker more seriously. He said that, although massive rock piles made following the trail super easy, it didn't seem to even remotely follow the trail drawn on his map. He said that, to be perfectly honest, he had no idea whether he was following the same CT trail as his map showed.

After that conversation, K and I took a break to think over our predicament. I knew that we'd done some serious work because she voluntarily laid down to rest next to me. I sipped from my Camelbak, and I got nothing but air. Out of water. $@#&!
I turned on my 2-way radio to try to call my husband, and we could almost hear each other over the static. I repeatedly said that I was sticking to the CT - but I later learned that he never heard those words. Shortly later, the radio went completely silent - telling me that a major mountain or too much distance separated us. Because cell phones never work in these mountains, I hadn't even brought mine. I was starting to feel a little scared.

Based on my reasoning that no one would ever change the start or end points of a CT segment, I stuck with the CT. It seemed to become more defined and worn. A good sign, I thought.After yet another lung-searing, bike pushing, vertical climb, we came upon a tarn, a seasonal snowmelt pond in the tundra. Although it didn't look like the cleanest water, I let K drink as long as she wanted. I licked my rapidly drying lips and wished that I could drink from it too. K is one of those mountain dogs who seems to have become resistant to giardia - a great thing on that epic day.Shortly after K's respite in the tarn, we met two day-hikers who told us the story of the trail. It had been moved quite recently. In fact, these hikers had seen trail crews putting the finishing touches on it early this spring. The hikers told me that it was exactly 2.3 miles to the trailhead with some seriously steep climbing thrown in. They weren't lying.

Those kind hikers had also said the trailhead was at Stony Pass. I knew that wasn't where my husband had been planning to meet me but I pushed toward it anyway. My brain was muddled by fatigue and high altitude but my reasoning was that he'd heard me say on the radio that I was sticking with the CT and would ask people where the CT emerged from the wilderness.

The trail wound around a mountain toward the trailhead briefly paralleling a lush drainage.
A clear stream trickled down the mountain, and K drank her fill. At least one of us was staying hydrated!
Finally, after covering the never-ending 2.3 miles, I spotted the 4WD road where the trail would emerge. At about the same time, I spotted a columbine. I thought that our unexpectedly taxing adventure was winding down to a happy ending so I took K's photo with the delicate flowers.
We rolled down onto the road, and I started looking for our white van. But, the area was deserted except for the day hikers' pickup truck. I rode up over the pass, thinking that the van might be on the other side. No luck. K and I collapsed next to another tarn to contemplate our situation.

Based on my unreliable map, I guessed that my husband was waiting miles and miles down the steep and rocky road. If I were alone, I would've bombed down the road to look for him. Alas, I wasn't alone and needed to take care of K. I didn't even consider having her run down the road next to me - such a long and rocky downhill run could have badly hurt her joints or paw pads. I decided that we'd wait at the pass until my husband eventually untangled the series of blunders that had led me to the wrong place. I put on every stitch of clothing in my backpack to wait for him on the windswept pass.

But, first, I decided to move to the sunnier side of the pass. As K and I crested the pass, I was surprised to see that three new vehicles had just arrived at an overlook. Much to my chagrin, I decided that it was time to ask for help. What amazingly generous people they turned out to be. They all seemed *eager* to change their plans to try to help me. They watered K and filled my camelbak. Then, they all conferred about where the big white van, my van, was. They all thought that they'd seen it while driving up and finally agreed that it was about 6 miles down the rough road. One SUV had an open spot on its bike rack so those wonderful people reversed their route and drove K, me, and my bike down to the van. I wish I had asked for their address so that I could send them a huge thank you!

We finally arrived at our trusty van *only* 8 hours after our leisurely departure from camp early in the morning. We ended up camping in that spot for the night. An outfitter who was leading a mountain biking group was camped nearby and absolutely couldn't believe that I'd mountain biked the 'new' CT trail segment. Apparently, it rightfully has already developed a reputation as one of the toughest rides anywhere.

The next day, we visited a camping store and saw that a new edition of the Colorado Trail Guide was recently published, and it shows the new route for the segment that I'd just completed. All that I can say is that there should be signs at the trailheads telling people that the CT has been relocated!

Since it ended well, my enduring memories will be of my day high in the sky with K. Although I was scared at times, I can't imagine a more gorgeous place on Earth.