Hello again. How has everyone been? Goood? Spectacular? Excellent us too. By the time we had finally found the elusive Poet’s Table, and traversed below Wyoming’s skies of infinity blues and powderpuff clouds, we then arrived in Fort Collins, without any particular plans at all…Not a one.

We have had a solid tent camping streak going since Shangri La, but the college town seemed a good place to try our hand at crashing in the good ol’ Chevy.

Park on the main drag, lock up. Walk down bustling pre-dusk sidewalks of Fort Collins on a Thursday evening.

Skies burn and darken to a deeper blue, a backdrop for one of the grandest full moons this young wolf has ever looked upon.

Her fair lady moon illuminates the lower mountain town. So close, as to pluck it from the inky sky between my thumb and forefinger…mirrors my soul – burning in a lantern for eternity.

As to turn tides to tsunamis and glow almost celestial and luminescent as we wind our way through the base of the Rocky Mountains towards Heaven and the skies.

Wander more. Drink it in. Fret a little about where to park the Chevy to snag some Z’s before making tracks to Boulder.

City ordinance – no sleeping in your vehicle…

Bummer mannn….’

Ask locals about the overnight scene and then stumble upon the oldest bar in town. The Town Pump. Standing strong and slinging moonshine for nigh on 107 years.

Legend has it there were underground bootlegging’ tunnels neath’ the joint for hustlin’ moonshine in the prime years of the prohibition. Wicked.

Obviously we indulge – throwback house spirits, a special with our beers.

I sampled the “Apple Pie” while Michael procured the “White Lightning” – original swilling moonshine.

Couple of locals likewise tossin’ a few back pointed us towards an overlook in the foothills of the Rockies – outside city limits where the berries and cherries wouldn’t bother us. Much obliged, cheers and thanks and drive out to the rendezvous spot. We weren’t really rendezvousing with anyone besides the rock giants, the deer and the stars, but what a word….. Rendezvous.  

Mild key misplacement fiasco and sleeping arrangements in the van prove a bit tedious in the black of night. Overcome. Finally settled, snoring in minutes. Long, arduous, adventurous  day.

Wake and rise on a bluff of the Rocky Mountains. Sunshine and blue skies, parked beneath true behemoth stone walls- near 14,000 feet. Put the Black Hills in their place, at 6,900 feet above sea level. We have become one with the Rockies and the mountain goats.

First night crashing in reliable ol’ Delilah, a beautiful success.

Onwards to Estes Park, further up and further in.

Never been in a mountain town before. Breathing thin air should press on my lungs and rhythms more but we’ve been hiking so often since we left from the festival I hardly feel it. In fact it feels as if I’ve breathed this air all my life.

Burning bright and inhaling deeply of pure freedom. On nobody’s time but the mighty earth’s peaks. Noting simply the sun and moon’s unwavering guidance from dawn to dusk and dawn again.

Respect. For this mountain. Respect for the tides and the gravities of our purpose that have drawn us here. Respect for all nature, else we perish on a barren, unloved wasteland.

Find one of the last available campsites at Estes Park East Portal. Setup camp- a reflex, as breathing now, so efficient are we at setup and tear down. Stakes, clips, zips, fire, dinner, float.

Let it soak.

Late afternoon hike. Take our time and process another landscape, heart-pace, racing, knowing, feeling.

Getting Weird in the Rockies,

Climb trail towards some lake, memory drifts can’t quite place. So many feats in so few days. Yet, rewarded again by sheer beauty, quiet and forgiving, not a ripple on a glass surface reflecting nimbus clouds off of icy mountain water.

Losing light. Quick hike back down. Michael makes potato and cheddar dog mash over the fire. Heavenly. He makes camp cooking look like a Anthony Bourbain special. He tends the fire and stares into orange blazing coals while I hit the hay early. It’s almost too much take in, like overstimmm…..

Should be an early night, much needed rest, but the elk have finally come out to play…. By that I mean bang, it’s rutting season and the park rangers warned us thoroughly.

I’ve never heard such an eerie sound. The coyotes yippy bay and barks I know well by now, being a child of the north, but the elk’s sweet, somber song, echoed through a waning full moon twilight. Twas’ like a whistle, from a distance at first, then permeating and haunting the crisp, thin night air near our mountain camp.

Little do I sleep, but drift amidst wild dreams and ambiance.

Wake, pack-up. Ever efficient.

Trek on, Boulder day trip. Happened upon Fall Fest, locals milling, slow stroll, white tents and handcrafted wares.

Street performers abundant. Makes my heart sing. Classic rock guy on standup bass. Washboard and fiddle clad girls, light happy harmonies under a hot Denver sun. Little darlin’ of no more than eight, playing a small pink ukulele. Infinite smiles.

Bookshop and a beer, get a feel for the place, but we’ve bigger fish to fry. Denver awaits. Time to start our little project in full. Busking and campaigning a bit in the major cities to push back against hunger and share our wonderment around.

Til’ now it’s been the Ani and Michael hiking expedition, but it feels good to reemerge for a time into civilization and the rush. Remember our purpose. Take a stab at fighting the good fight.