I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Michael and I were gettin’ weird in the Rockies. Driving onto Glenwood Springs, switchbacks through the mountains with no radio/CD player/cassette. Just a Bluetooth speaker from our phones when it cared to work. Found ourselves greeting the landscapes and its residents.

“Hello mountain goat…. Oh hello again spiteful blue van still driving 20 under the speed limit? Hello dog, where’s your human gone off to?”

Must’ve been the thin air and high elevation addling our marbles… or perhaps we’d simply gone mad amongst the winding mountain passes lost in a five hour daze…or some other kind of daze.

Barrel through Eisenhower tunnel, my God the innovation of man. Ever stop and think about how to blast your way through the second largest mountain range in the world?? Eisenhower did.

We’ve seen so much but here we are taking in yet another wonder of nature and creation.

Just in time for autumn foliage to be creeping across waning summer greens. Bright yellows and burning oranges at first. Giving way to fiery reds that paint a Rastafarian shaded color-scape within the gorges between the rock faces and along the ridges of towering peaks.

Giant’s country indeed – they’d have found an Eden here in these expanses, and what tiny little ants we humans be in their shadow.

We seek Glenwood Springs for a glimpse of a true mountain town and short pit stop. Arrive in a secluded community hidden in these heights. There is a certain stillness here, like emerging from a trance of a dream. Becalmed.

Fix up a hearty lunch – sandwiches, potato salad and cold orange sodas in a sunny park by the river, hundreds of miles away from home.

Begin to think how my life might change, if I were to inhabit somewhere near these wonderlands. Each infinitely different and more interesting than the last. Then reason, my life had already transformed.

I know not who I am in this moment, only that I am not who I’d been at any other moment preceding this very second. Whether I find myself improved or merely changed is yet to be determined.

We’ve got the lengthy span to Salt Lake next, so we charge on through the mountains. The king of free camping in the passenger seat finds us a spot a little outside of Salt Lake City. Deep Creek, six simple campsites set into the hills on publicly managed land.

We chance upon site # two – what lucky fools we are – as we step into the most breathtaking campsite we’ve seen yet. Simply because tis’ fall and the colors are singing. And a thousand other little things and smells, carried in upon the wind.

Gotta love going off the grid. No “tweeting, texting, twatting,” (copyright Hank Moody)  #Ijustateacheeseburgerthoughteveryoneshouldknow. Just humans, nature, fire and music – spirituality seeking journeys to self-discovery and self-reliance.

The fire pit was tucked in next to the rushing creek, the quick water more melodious than Carnegie Hall’s finest symphony. We set up our two person tent, snug between a looming pine and the creek. Both giddy at the thought of falling asleep beside the currents.

I play my guitar right against the flow of the creek. It’s surreal, actually gauging my sound to the turn and flow and little noises of the flowing water against slick logs and stones smoothed over an eternity. Some melodies of mine seem to drift along happily with the water, while others meet a certain note of discord amongst the powerful winds and force of sheer nature around us. As if to challenge our joining so closely with the mountainside and synchronizing with the powers that be.

Running a little low on wood so I go on a gathering expedition. Like a youngster I get side-tracked by a gigantic, whitewashed tree that had fallen across the creek.

Naturally, I balance beam-esque-teeter myself across it. Success. No wet clothes and the light, chalky bark is my treasure – peeled off the middle and far end. The perfect kindling, torn into pieces and catching like brush in a summer dry spell.

Read a little, write a little. Michael does God-like things with diced boiled potatoes, bacon and a little Colby-jack. Getting very used to this whole “camp cooking” thing, especially since normally I don’t have to participate. 😉

Michael enjoys the methodic process of preparing our food and tending the flames to cook yet not scorch our dinners. Meanwhile I set up camp and play music. What non-traditionalists we are becoming.

Full bellies and heady minds. My soul content in this sanctuary, though acknowledgment of contentment usually makes me run the opposite direction, I find no need to vacate this place so soon…

Nearing dusk, light fading, the roaring-est of fires I’ve seen Michael create blazes red hot and adds its crackle to the background rush of the creek. I’d found a dried tree trunk and root system, round-abouts a foot in diameter, now caught in the flames entirely. Fire eats its way up the length of the trunk, blues and yellows dancing a tango reflected in Michael’s eyes. What a pyro.

And then, as if a trance broken-

“Hey, do you think we should move our tent off the river a little? In case this is like an animal’s path to the creek?” Michael frets.

“Don’t be silly, people recently camped here. We’re fine.” I shrugged.

Twenty minutes later.

So not fine. We are much deeper into uncharted Rockies than we’d yet been and I started to feel what Michael had been feeling first (him ever the more practical of the two of us…) As the light died on the horizon and true dark settled upon us like a shroud. I shiver a little.

I’ve known fear before but this was different. This was more, raw…wild.

Michael asks again, firmer, and this time I don’t hesitate. We remove stakes calmly, but the previously melodious creek turns menacing, as it is the only thing we can hear besides my own heavy heartbeat against my ears.

“There’s no earthly way of knowing. Which direction they are going. There’s no knowing where they’re rowing…..And they’re certainly not showing, any sign that they are slowing!”

“Don’t just stand there, do something!”

“Help. Police, murder.”

Okay fine, Gene Wilder wasn’t really overdubbing our panicked musical campsites.

If cougar or bear were to attack our humble camp, we’d not have the luxury to see or hear them coming, as if that would much help our plight if they were good and hungry and hankering for some human flesh.

Tent moved off the river though, hop in immediately. Why the thin layer of canvas and mesh feels protective against tooth and claw I know not, yet relief floods through me and eases the anxious air. Lions and Bigfoot and bears oh my indeed, but no joke this time.

Welcome to the jungle baby, you gonna die…Alright, Michael probably isn’t half as scared as me but he is definitely spooked. Sleep at last, Michael with an ax near his side and me with my machete. How rustic…My kingdom for a damn shotgun.

Sleep at last. Wake, rise and shine. With zero trace of the shadow driven panic from the night before. Another beautiful day in paradise, literally.  But for real… no more back country camping, yeesh.

What an experience. We’re even further west bound but just stop. Process, appreciate, we are here. Ask and you shall receive and we’ve been gifted in spades. Self- discovery, joy, hope, faith, adventure, love. We must want for nothing more yet crave everything.

What a plight, the flaw and fortunes of humanity. Dare we venture on?

An hour off from our destination, Strawberry Reservoir, another free camp. The western sky decides to close the day, a slow set over an ever approaching horizon.

An atom bomb of molten gold. I don’t even know how to describe it. Never have I ever seen the yellow sun set with such grace and power, as if boasting its worth and grandeur. A brilliant glow over the climax of a day, settling heavy on the horizon to fill full my blood with warmth and my head with wonder. Take not for granted this beauty.

As the actual globe of the sun sinks below the tree line, a pinnacle of colors proceeds it. Like a bruise – a purple smudge exists in the sun’s place. Light grays and yellows follow, transcending the dusk. The bruise deepening, healing itself then giving into the actual darks of the evening – thick blues and charcoal blacks.

Children of the west must be spoiled of these daily rituals, yet I am beholden by them all. Majestic simplicity. Mayhap I belong here.

Dark falls finally and we reach Strawberry Reservoir. We’d counted the magpies, black and white and looming above plains set within hidden flats of the mountain. Distinct in their call and easy to spot. The absence and essence of color against sandstone browns and flinty grays.

We’ve grown so used to the pervasion of wildlife on this venture. Mountain goats, bison, prairie dogs, odd birds, mountain deer, elk and fortunately only the background fear and whispers of mountain lions, Bigfoot and bears, oh my! We are truly in the animal kingdom’s playground, but on top of the food chain no longer.

Reach the gravel road entrance, a couple of late night campers send us down the way, speaking of meadows and free camping. Our favorite kind. Find a spot. Ready for our second night in the van, no set up just jammies and lock the doors.

Pull the last door closed, shut ourselves in and lock tight against spooks and creepers when-

“Uh Michael, there’s a light coming towards us.”

I don’t know why we jump out of the van, half frightened, when we could see it was clearly just a man with a flashlight checking the woods around him. His camper lights just visible in the background.

Not even the star soaked inky sky against the Milky Way could alleviate our fears. For no good reason at all, except the irrational haunt of a pitch dark night – jump out of van bed, feet touch cool gravel, hit the road a couple miles further up.

Ten bucks says flashlight guy was freaked as we were. What with us tromping around nearby in the forest just out of sight in the middle of the night. We weren’t really tromping, but still, branches cracking underfoot in the darkness echo like gunfire.

Rationality kicked back in shortly after realizing we appeared to be in hunting country and how unpleasant it would be to be picking buckshot out of our arses or even pushing late September daisies.

Find a turnoff where anyone can clearly see our van. Nerves eased. Finally to rest. Chilly night, bundle in every blanket beneath our metal box we call home alongside the wilderness. We also call her Delilah, the van I mean… If you missed her christening at the beginning of this tale. The Delilah Express.

Wake up, and nothing to pack! Beauty of sleeping in the van. Smiles for the little things.

It’s been a little while but sorry folks, it is tangent time. Just because, looking down at the page while I’m writing this (in green ink today I can’t find my lucky purple G2) and noticing brown and coal color smudges between the lines.

A testament to this new journey- being so close to the earth each day in and day out. But the dirt never seems to come clean from my bitten nails and leaves traces on every surface – soft, coarse, white, wood, skin and soul. Sometimes you’ve just gotta get down in it. Simple everything I mean. See what I’m sayin’ jellybean?

I love it. Yet sometimes…yearn for hot showers in my subconscious dreams and just can’t seem to shake the stank of the road. Ah well, the compromises of adventuring. Hygiene tangent over, moving on. Makin’ tracks towards Salt Lake and hanging out with a pirate friend of the unicorn variety. See ya soon Jamie.

But really quick, another on the way venture. We will never make it to Cali at this rate, but what fun. Michael says we’ve got to check out Hanging Lake. When have I ever said no?

More winding roads through the mountains. The colors really starting to bleed oranges and reds across the stony, yet thriving terrain.

Several frustrating attempts at catching the correct exit for the dang place, all these exits only go one stinking direction on the highway. Mountain navigating, GPS track and backtrack.

Then gotcha. Welcome to Hanging Lake.

Denver had been a nice little break from our almost daily hikes, but we are back at it again and this one was a doozy. Not the highest incline we have tackled, but the steepest and most treacherous to be sure, loose rocks abundant.

We’d not seen the beautiful, shimmering quartz and red-rosy polished stones as we had in South Dakota. The Rockies are burnt charcoal and shades of gray, with dust like you wouldn’t believe. As if sterner than the Black Hills – no nonsense and more imposing. The Black Hills who are known for the color of the trees at a distance, not the actual surface rock.

Make it to the top. Wow. It really does look like the lake just fell into the earth, a hundred yards down or so at the edge of a cliff. Tectonic plates or something. Nature is rad.

Aqua blue of the water looks almost tropical. La-di-daaing about and enjoying the scenery when – oh shit! Just occurred to me that I couldn’t see the water that clearly because my glasses weren’t on my face as per usual…they were in fact halfway down the trail on a log bench inside a log hut where I took them off and set them down to take a picture. Seven Hells!

“Meet ya at the bottom Michael!” I yelled and took off down the mountainside. Aching knees and loose stones be damned. If my grandma finds out I lost the glasses she paid for she’ll have my head. This is why I don’t have nice things…..

Sweat dripping off my nose some fifteen minutes later…Whew! They were still there. Put them securely on my nose and wait for Michael. Lovely pit-stop but time to go before my typical luck continues in some other form.

On to Salt Lake City ladies and gents, til’ next time. 😉