One of the joys of Denver is the number of the trails close in to the city. Oh sure, there is great hiking all throughout the state, but Denver’s trails are special because they are both spectacular and within an hour or so of the city. It’s also possible never to hike the exact same one twice—a change of season means the trails can be vastly different—and there are plenty of them: a Forest Service map shows just how many.
We’ve done a lot around Golden and Evergreen, but yesterday we found a gem: Chief Mountain. Even though we were told it is well-loved, we’d never heard of it before, nor of the ski area, Echo Mountain, just across the road from the trailhead. But before I get to that, a little background.
A few weeks ago, finding myself grown a little tubby, I proposed to Sid that we start climbing again rather than just walking. He was happy to agree. He’d taken me up to the top of Loveland Pass on our second date (the first one was snow shoeing at Jones Pass—you can’t say I wasn’t warned), which was nearly our last date. But I survived and realized that Colorado is best seen from the top of things—high things like mountains.
The apex of my climbing career was getting to the top of Gray’s Peak and Mount Bierstadt, but then I encountered a snowboarder at Copper and hurt my knees, which promptly swelled up like little melons. I suggested that for a time at least we hike around the Denver foothills instead of sleeping in the truck and trying to bag fourteeners. That’s when we started hiking the Denver trails and I realized how differently Sid and I look at things.
Sid will do the same trail repeatedly if he likes the degree of challenge and if it fits into his training routine (be that what it may at the time). I, on the other hand, am fickle. I want new trails and new scenery. The challenge for us is to find a trail with enough pitch to keep him happy and his heart rate up and with enough scenery to keep me not thinking about my knees. The Chief Mountain trail is all uphill although it’s never to the point of bouldering (except at the very top and you don’t have to do that unless your pride demands it), so Sid had a nice workout and once we cleared timber line, I had all the scenery I could ever want. Sid is not given to superlatives. His “not bad” means “very good” (I think). He proclaimed the Chief Mountain trail, “very nice,” which is excellent, again I think.
I find it interesting that even after eight years together I still have to guess what Sid is feeling. I know he enjoyed the mountain as much as I did, but I also know that if I try to press him further to explain, he will look at me with exasperation and say something like “I just told you.”
We’ve done a lot around Golden and Evergreen, but yesterday we found a gem: Chief Mountain. Even though we were told it is well-loved, we’d never heard of it before, nor of the ski area, Echo Mountain, just across the road from the trailhead. But before I get to that, a little background.
A few weeks ago, finding myself grown a little tubby, I proposed to Sid that we start climbing again rather than just walking. He was happy to agree. He’d taken me up to the top of Loveland Pass on our second date (the first one was snow shoeing at Jones Pass—you can’t say I wasn’t warned), which was nearly our last date. But I survived and realized that Colorado is best seen from the top of things—high things like mountains.
The apex of my climbing career was getting to the top of Gray’s Peak and Mount Bierstadt, but then I encountered a snowboarder at Copper and hurt my knees, which promptly swelled up like little melons. I suggested that for a time at least we hike around the Denver foothills instead of sleeping in the truck and trying to bag fourteeners. That’s when we started hiking the Denver trails and I realized how differently Sid and I look at things.
Sid will do the same trail repeatedly if he likes the degree of challenge and if it fits into his training routine (be that what it may at the time). I, on the other hand, am fickle. I want new trails and new scenery. The challenge for us is to find a trail with enough pitch to keep him happy and his heart rate up and with enough scenery to keep me not thinking about my knees. The Chief Mountain trail is all uphill although it’s never to the point of bouldering (except at the very top and you don’t have to do that unless your pride demands it), so Sid had a nice workout and once we cleared timber line, I had all the scenery I could ever want. Sid is not given to superlatives. His “not bad” means “very good” (I think). He proclaimed the Chief Mountain trail, “very nice,” which is excellent, again I think.
I find it interesting that even after eight years together I still have to guess what Sid is feeling. I know he enjoyed the mountain as much as I did, but I also know that if I try to press him further to explain, he will look at me with exasperation and say something like “I just told you.”
I suspect this has to be a guy and maybe a generational thing. The men I've been around seem to have a shorthand that they intuitively understand when they talk with one another, and if they don’t understand one another completely—well, they seem able to live with it. Women on the other hand, speaking for myself, seem to have the need to communicate something purposeful, even if it is just gossip. Men gossip too—oh lord can they—but not for the same reason. They don't seem to be bonding or trying to see if everyone is on board or trying to find some hidden motive for why people behave as they do (as if anyone can ever know).
I wonder if there is a new proposition here: that men not only think vertically but also communicate that way (if this doesn’t make sense to you, check out my previous blog on vertical and horizontal). Abraham Lincoln once said something like it's better to be thought a fool than open your mouth and prove it. I look back on the number of times that I have done just that. But I gave other people the chance to shine and I learned something in the process. I guess I would rewrite the president a little: sometimes it is generous to open your mouth even if you do look foolish--but I wouldn't make a practice of it.
When we got back, I had delusions of grandeur since I’d done so well on the trail and suggested that we try for another fourteener. We slept on it. Today I am gloriously stiff and even Sid admitted that he took an advil. Mais, ou sont les neiges d’antan?
When we got back, I had delusions of grandeur since I’d done so well on the trail and suggested that we try for another fourteener. We slept on it. Today I am gloriously stiff and even Sid admitted that he took an advil. Mais, ou sont les neiges d’antan?
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