Are You Living It?

The thoughts that finally nudged me from my slumber were dimly related to my uncertainty as to when black bears begin emerging from hibernation, if there were any buttoned down near my impromptu campsite, if there were, would they be hungry, if so, could they smell my food, and should all of these things prove to be true, would I want to be caught between the disoriented and famished 350 pound ball of fang and fur, and its potential organic nacho cheese-flavored tortilla chip smorgasbord. The answer was no, and I wasted little time rushing through my morning rituals and heading down the mountain.

A good night’s sleep in a Toyota truck is not hard to come by: simply combine three hours of computer work, a six mile run at 5000 ft, a ten dollar Middle Eastern dinner capable of feeding three people, three hours of late night driving through sideways snow, and an encampment at 9000 feet. Believe me, that four-inch memory foam matress and 10-degree sleeping bag never felt so good! Deferring to snow-cave logic, you can leave the topper door open and due to simple physics retain a 70-degree room temperature while mitigating the condensation that has ruined many a Charlie Brown sleepover.

While slurping down my second cup of coffee (no yerba) at a cozy and surprising coffee shop at the east entrance of Buena Vista (the locals pronounce it Bew-na, “’cause that’s what it’s called.”) I reflected on the people who had graced me with their company recently: there was my Soul-Brotha from Anotha Motha, Esteban, who is gliding his way through nursing school with equal parts charm and the tact of a Golan Heights bulldozer. Then there was Jen, who materialized from mere legend. A rocket payload design engineer by trade (she demurely states “Yeah, but they don’t invite me to the “Classified” meetings.”), a 5.13 trad climber by passion, Jen has managed to travel more than she works and still get good references from past employers due in no small part (I am certain) to her subtle Kentucky drawl and her constant cheer. Oliver was a ski patroller at Crystal Mountain, WA, where I had worked as a lift op in 1992, and Katherine was a former whitewater raft guide-turned-nursing student and Salsa instructor who patiently guided me through the elementary yet elegant dance steps,and occassionaly, to my chagrin, reverted to counting when I lost my rhythm (Quien es el gringo que no puede bailar?).  1-2-3 (I look stupid) 4-5-6 (stop staring at her feet) 1-2-3…

Quick recognition needs to be given to a Durango legend who I passed on my run today, high-fiving me as he patiently herded his flock of young mountain bikers through Horse Gulch.  For several years now he has shared his passion for mountain biking with the son’s and daughters of the Animas Valley. Here’s to you Chad Cheeny , you are living it!