Saturday, June 14th- Biker Dick and Pretty Flowers

Day one has been a reminder of how I take so many things for granted. For example: running water. Right now, I have 12 ounces of water to pull me through tomorrow's breakfast and the first half of tomorrow's hike. According to my maps, the nearest water is a questionable creek about 8 miles away. My original plan was to stay the night down by the South Platte River so I could have access to plenty of water, but by the time I reached it at the 16 mile mark, my legs still felt fresh, and I had plenty of daylight left. I hiked another five miles, and found a nice piece of flat ground about 10 yards off of the trail where there was a thick bed of comfortable pine needles.


Today I saw my first ever Colorado Columbine. I counted over 10 different wild-flowers today, most of which I have seen before, and a few that I haven't. Before today, I have never understood the satisfaction that comes from walking among wild flowers. It is incredible how something so gorgeous is able to sustain itself. No pre-nourished soil from a plastic bag. No garden hose. No human intervention, no manufactured beauty. Just the sky above and the earth below.

I wasn't very far into the hike when I realized that mountain bikers are the bacteria of the Colorado Trail. They're everywhere. And it doesn't help that it's a Saturday. I was hiking the first six miles of the trail with Mom this morning when one of the motherfuckers yelled and told us to get to the right side of the trail. If any of you have ever been to Waterton Canyon, then you would know that this section of the 'trail' is more like a dirt highway than it is anything else. I hope Biker Dick eats shit on some loose gravel.

Saying goodbye to Mom this morning was hard. I hate to see her cry. After watching her hike back down the trail, I turned to the woods, and with the exception of about 10-billion cyclists, I was alone. But by 5:00 P.M. the trail was silent; I imagine all the biker guys go home to iron their slacks, catch the latest episode of whatever the hell is popular on T.V., send Jimmy to bed and hit the sack with their soccer-mom wives. ANYWAYS, the trail was alot more quiet than I thought it would be. I saw about one face every two hours, and a cute granola couple who are at a camp site about 100 yards away from mine. I stopped for a quick little 'chit-chat' as I passed, but the couple obviously wanted me gone. Not that they were being rude or anything--if I were isolated in a forest with a significant other, I'd want the intruding hiker to keep hiking his ass down the the trail so I could have wild, unashamed forest-sex, too.