“Getting Off This Damn Mountain, Before It Is Too Late”: Episode 9 of The Rocky Mountain Rubber Tramp
Let’s zip through some journal entries, and get away from the approaching storm…
“Alright, I’m sitting in the shed — still hasn’t been wired for electricity — but I’ve got the cell phone signal-booster going, so I have 4G and a connection to the net with my tablet and phone, although I still haven’t gotten the mobile hotspot to bring it to my laptop and desktop.
I watched the Monday Night Football game on the tablet the other night — it was great! I’m finally CONNECTED! It feels fantastic. It was quite the digital drought, though, I must say…
I also received the next assignment from On Common Ground, so I have work and time to do it. The article is due the same day I have to be off the property by orders of the damn HOA — October 12th. Yeeehaw!
Then, I’ll pull the camper off this property and set up at Dowdy Lake Campground down near the Village for a few days to collect myself and prepare for the journey south. Now that I have a net connection, I can entertain myself. It gets way too dark way too early these days. Winter is coming fast, though this has been the best fall foliage I’ve seen in a long, long time.”
— Journal entry: Thursday; September, 20th, 2018; 11:59 am. In the Shtudiop. (shed/studio/shop)
“Huge! I went out to the shed to work at the desk this morning and it was 38 degrees inside. When I came back into the camper and turned on the computer to play a CD it connected to the internet! The jetpack hotspot reaches from the shed! I can work out of the camper, as I do now. NO EXCUSES!”
— Journal entry: Tuesday; September, 25th, 2018; 11:28 am. In my camper, Cochise.
“The weather has been changing up here in the High and Lonesome, and it’s becoming the latter. More snow is predicted for the next few days and it rained and howled from about 3 am ’til sunup — when it continued to just howl and buffet the trailer until just now. Peace.
I need to focus on this article and little else but keep the wolves at bay. I had to go down to the flats yesterday to breathe thick air, for I have found myself wanting of late for full, deep breaths. Even in Red Feather, 1,000’ feet lower, I find the air more filling.”
— Journal entry: Wednesday; October, 3rd, 2018; 11:58 am. In my camper, Cochise.
“What a glorious morning greets me through my work-nook window, the shadows of invisible branches made visible by the sun! Warm. No snow.
I was afraid last evening that the wind — at times ferocious — was going to topple Gus, the 80’ tall, lone sentinel lodgepole pine tree elder who leans downhill from the top of my driveway escarpment. At times the wind pushed him toward the camper. A few seconds later he would be hurled back the opposite way with equal fury. Smaller trees simply bowed, their crowns bending down the descending slope. But always they sprang back, waving defiantly at the firmament above, shouting ‘Is that all you’ve got!?’, like Lt. Dan on top of the mast, shrimp fishing with Gump. Forest Gump.
Now, I must ready myself for a day of writing — the article for the only outfit that pays me so far, which is due in less than a week, and the weather is supposed to turn sour, cold and snow. Please, no… I should be rolling south…”
— Journal entry: Friday; October, 5th, 2018; 9:08 am. In my camper, Cochise.
“Winter is here, but hopefully not for long. The last three days have had snow — several inches — and it’s been damn cold! Highs in the upper 20s and lows in the teens. My little camper is living up to the task, though. The furnace is running about as much as it rests, and a small, electric ceramic heater (oscillating, even) sits at my feet and keeps it warm under the worktable. Rambeaux huddles there now. These wind and water-resistant insulated summit pants are supreme. Gotta love having the right gear.
I have to finish my article for OCG and submit it. I think I’ll go down to the library in the Village to work on it. I’ll be pulling out of here soon. Hard to believe. This summer has gone by faster than any other I can recall. It’s the beginning of something big, like this mountain I live on, in what has become the High and Lonesome. Next year I hope to be out by this time. We’ll see how that goes…”
— Journal entry: Tuesday; October, 9th, 2018; 9:36 am. In my cozy camper, Cochise.
“Damn! More snow. More cold. Supposed to be like this for the next few days, getting down to the low teens at night. Our beautiful Indian Summer is gone, lost forever in memory only now.
I need to finish the feature article today and knock out the sidebar update for a previous article. The camper is warm and tight, since I covered the windows (except for the work-table portal I gaze through now) and vents with a thick, insulating cover called Reflectix. Dark, quiet — but warm. I worry about my water system freezing up, since we’ve been well below freezing for days now. I run the water pump to keep things moving in the storage tank and lines. I have plenty of propane and the electricity is solid. Hell, I even have the internet, so I’m in good shape. It’s just that this is the weather I’m trying to avoid. I must admit — it’s quite pretty, though. I’ll think back to this when I’m kicking it in a hot spring in New Mexico. I hope to tote my trailer down to Dowdy [Lake Campground] next Tuesday, when it warms up a bit and gets sunny. Still don’t have all of my next steps figured out, but I’ll have time to do that when I get off the mountain. I’ll shuttle back up here to close everything up.
I wonder what of ice-fishing this winter, but I can’t think of that now…”
— Journal entry: Wednesday; October, 10th, 2018; 11:15 am. In my little-bitty camper, Cochise.
“Here I am at the library, trying to finish my article for On Common Ground. My editor gave me time to get more interviews. They really like quotes from industry experts. I just wish these experts were more expert at returning my calls. I’m having difficulty focusing and being productive this time around. I’ve been feeling a lot of anxiety lately regarding my upcoming move and going on the road, lugging a camper over unknown ground — and living at this altitude, always short of breath. I had my wellness exam, and everything is fine with my health. That’s good. I just need to punch through. I’ve got the rest of the week, so it shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll see…
The weather finally broke out of record cold temperatures and snow, which is nice. It dropped down to single-digit temps and snowed all week. Several days never got out of the 20s. Not what I had hoped would happen, but it did. I’m surprised how comfortable the camper is, after insulating the windows and getting a space heater, but it’s still not ideal. I should have gone down to Dowdy Lake [campground] today, but I decided to tough it out.
Now, the weather is warming, so I’ll take the trailer down later this week when it’s supposed to get up into the 60s and 70s. Then, I go south…”
— Journal entry: Tuesday; October, 16th, 2018; 12:35 pm. At the Red Feather Lakes Village library.
“Well…been a couple days since I’ve logged in this journal. Apprehensive of putting the truth on paper, I guess. I’ve yanked the camper down from the property and have been here at Dowdy for the last two nights. Hopped off the mountain before the cold and snow would have made it more treacherous than necessary.”
— Journal entry: Thursday; October, 18th, 2018; 12:35 pm. Finally at Dowdy Lake Campground, on the edge of the Village of Red Feather Lakes.
“Hard to believe, but I’m still at Dowdy. I’ve spent the last four or five nights at ****’s, which has been a great comfort after being cooped up in the camper. Showers, fireplace, fun. She’s a good person, and I’ll worry about her this winter, being back on her isolated property in the boonies.
I’m getting ready to hook-up and haul down the hill. It’s feeling secluded and foreboding up here. I came back to the camper yesterday and the propane had run out. It was 20 degrees inside, and the water system froze up, but I thawed it out with the little electric heater. Luckily, the water pump didn’t pop. I’ll shoot for Pawnee National Grasslands down on lower elevation. They have a campground at Crow Valley that’s a good place to view birds. I wonder if any will be there. It would be nice to see some feathered friends. I’ve always liked observing birds. It runs in our family.”
— Journal entry: Friday; November, 9th, 2018; 10:59 am. At Dowdy Lake Campground, and off the damn mountain.
“SHAZAAM! I’m out of the elevation and back on the flats! Crow Valley Campground (run by the USDA) is in the Pawnee National Grassland just outside of Briggsdale in unincorporated Weld County. Big oil country. Big-ass freaking sky! More stars than I’ve seen in a long time! Quiet. No wind. A few other campers are here, so I’m not alone. Met the host when I tried to camp at their spot. Hey, it was dark!
I almost ran out of gas on the barren prairie roads built up off the plain — in the dark. One last dose of hyper-anxiety before the unspeakable relief of this great unletting of the moment. Thank you, Lord!”
— Journal entry: Friday; November, 9th, 2018; 8:26 pm. Somewhere in the dark at Crow Valley Campground, on flat land at last.
“It’s six minutes past the official moment that World War I ended, in 1918 — one hundred years ago today. I don’t know how I noticed that, but I can’t help but take a few minutes to imagine what that war was like, in those muddy, bloody God-forsaken trenches. Sometimes you just have to put things in historical perspective, lest we forget…
Here I am at a real campsite in Crow Valley Campground. The first night I squatted in a parking lot, and left the trailer hooked up to BroBo so I could just crawl inside Cochise and decompress on the bed, Rambeaux at my side, both of us happy as flatland clams can be. This spot’s a beauty! Two picnic tables, a grill and firepit, all next to the trash dumpster (not even bear-proof!) and pit [vault] toilet. A veritable paradise — except the water and electricity have been shut off for the season. Life as a rubber tramp has its interesting turns. Deal with it!
I need to go for a drive to charge my phone and tablet so I can communicate and watch some football. I hope I can get the Packer game on the internet, if I can figure out how to do that. That damn trey-dub still consternates all heck out of me. That’s life as a Baby Boomer, I guess.
Yesterday was beautiful — temperatures in the low 60s! I haven’t pulled air that warm and thick and welcome for a long, long time. I feel as though I could run a marathon, or at least get started. Rambeaux and I hiked around this place, which has lots of birding trails and educational exhibits with antique farm equipment that you’re not supposed to climb on. I’ll bet a lot of people do, though, especially kids. I almost did, but didn’t.
But today, I woke to snow. More freaking snow! I thought I was going to avoid this stuff, but NNNOOO!!! At least I’m on the flats…”
— Journal entry: Sunday; November 11th, 2018; 11:17 am. At an official campsite in Crow Valley Campground, Pawnee National Grasslands on the Colorado prairie. In my camper, Cochise.
“Strange. I haven’t had AC electricity for the last few days and my furnace kicked out when the 12 volt, marine-grade battery died in the middle of last night. That was interesting. It was less than 40 degrees when I crawled out of bed. I plugged in BroBo, let the engine run and recharged the battery — put everything back on an even keel. Then, I drove the forty-some miles into Fort Collins and soaked in a jacuzzi hot tub at a rec-center for as long as I could, before heading to the library in Old Town (love that place!) to recharge all my batteries and walk among the mass of humanity. Yes! Civilization!
Now, I’m watching Monday Night Football by LED light from a headlamp. Life is good!”
— Journal entry: Monday; November, 12th, 2018; 8:05 pm. Crow Valley Campground. As always — in my camper, Cochise.
“Woke this morning to — hopefully — the end of sub-freezing temperatures. It’s warming up now, and is supposed to get up to 50 and above for the next few days.
I’m heading to St. Vrain State Park just outside of Longmont tomorrow to see [my son], CJ, say good-bye for the winter and tie up some loose ends. This’ll be the longest period of time I’ve ever spent away from him, and I don’t look forward to it any more than when my daughter moved to Southern California. But, that’s parenthood, I guess. The kids fly the nest — or you do.
Gotta hook up now, and haul Cochise into the little farm town of Ault to get the tail-lights fixed. I thought I had done that before leaving Dowdy, but I guess not. Luckily there wasn’t much traffic coming off the mountain, but there will be from here on. Getting damn close to heading south…gotta get outta this cold weather… My thoughts turn to New Mexico at this moment, and what things will come, in the self-proclaimed Land of Enchantment, over Raton Pass and into new country (but not a new country, because it is part of the United States. I guess some people don’t realize that, according to the innernets, anyway).
New Mexico, here we come! But first a long tumble down wicked prairie roads and far-between, tiny farm towns unknown to me. May we Vaya con Dios! And I will let you know how that goes…”
— Journal entry: Tuesday; November, 13th, 2018; 11:11 am. Crow Valley Campground. Safe, sound and wondering what the next few days will be — snug in my camper, Cochise.
But now, dear reader, I must bid you adios! At 2,478 words this is a longer blog post than most people’s attention span can handle, and I apologize for my verbosity. I simply could not stop. I guess I was drawn into my own reminiscence, and it was déjà vu all over again. So far, so good. I wonder how it ends… But first, I need to eat something. I’m getting a bit dizzy, and feeling a little giddy. Hell, I’m just glad to finally be off that damn mountain!
I’ll get right on to the next episode after posting this one on that web thingy, because I’m interested to see how it all turns out. I hope you are too! Until then, I want to thank you for indulging me. I wouldn’t do it without you!
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