Out of Days

I’ve run out of days. The countdown has officially hit zero. The time of planning and research has evaporated, leaving behind the immediate reality of departure. It is time to load the final, delicate items–the tangle of electronics, my precious journals and Hugo–into the truck cab.

The morning is warm and crisp–perfect camping weather. The sun has yet to crest the hills surrounding my little hamlet nestled in the Wyoming sage. The mountain steppes bathed in a cool, predawn light, the choir of chirping birds cheering me into motion. There are near four hundred miles between us and our final destination of Difficult Campground on the banks the Roaring Fork south of Aspen, Colorado.

For me, the first trip of the season is always the hardest to begin, and I am amused by the irony of our destination’s name. Difficult is certainly an apt destination. Right now, I’m finding that getting out the door is difficult. The transition from the comfortable, predictable rhythm of the house to the wild unpredictability of the road always comes with a heavy dose of inertia. My mind resists the shift.

As I open the tailgate, so many questions loom in the breaking light. Chief among them: How am I going to fit the last remaining items into a truck that is already bulging? Every inch of the bed seems spoken for by coolers, kitchen gear, and one gigantic tent; leaving me to play a high-stakes, pre-dawn game of gear Tetris.

My thoughts are also racing miles down the highway, calculating travel time and daylight. If we leave now, will I have time to pull off at Red Fleet to hike out and see the Dilophosaurus tracks, or will the inevitable delays of packing mean the sun will be too high to get a decent photo of the ancient footprints?

These questions will be answered in only one way: by hitting the road and embracing the unknown. The ancient tracks, the long miles and the high mountains of Colorado call.

But first, just one more cup of coffee…