Pike's Peak

Johnny Jones, August 1993

It seems we have a talent for doing things the hard way. Take seeing the Grand Canyon. Our friends from Connecticut took the helicopter ride, then took pictures from the rim. Whirr, whirr, snap, snap, then it was off to Death Valley. It only took an afternoon.

I've told you how we saw it. We walked down to the bottom and back out. So you shouldn't be too surprised how we saw Pike's Peak. Our 4-cylinder VW Van protested at Colorado Springs' altitude; we weren't about to take it up to the top. But Yuri, a fellow camper, told us about Barr Trail, a hiking path that goes all the way to the Peak. That peak was above 14,000 feet, one of several "14er's" loved by hikers in Colorado.

We brought full canteens and a lunch, but we had no definite goal. The trail started out with warnings: Only experienced hikers shuld attempt this path. Other warnings stated the effects of altitude sickness, common to lowlanders who hike the high country.

Right away we saw the reason for the warnings. We have never hiked a more difficult trail. This trail was steeper and more treacherous than the one we took down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The first mile or so was lined with rails to help us cope with the tiny gravel that rolled like ball bearings on the hard packed dirt. Right away the steep ascent paid off in glorious views. We got overlooks of Colorado Springs within the first couple of miles that paralleled those from the top of Mte. LeConte in the Smokies. These, after all, were the Rockies - our nation's most serious mountains. The mountains lived up to their name. There were boulders to sit on to take a drink from the canteen, or let the runners by. Yes, runners. We felt hale and hearty for our ability to cope with this trail until we saw the number of runners padding up and down the path. They were practicing for a race the following weekend. On Saturday they would race the 12.6 miles up; on Sunday they would run up and back down. Later we learned that runners from all over the world come for this race. Still, stepping to the side continually for people, many of whom were our age and older, was a lesson in humility.

We soon learned about Barr Camp, 7 miles up the trail. The old camp where Barr had sold refreshments to the mule riders who went up the trail became our goal. Its drawing points were the promise of refreshments and outhouses. Unlike the Grand Canyon, there seemed to be no frivolous hikers on this trail. It started steep, and only after several miles leveled off a little. There we found the forested region, full of wildflowers and views of the peak. We ate lunch on a couple of felled trees.

One of the features that made this trail unique was the number of dogs. It seemed every other hiker had a black Lab at his side. One lady had a pack on her dog. A girl lost her wolf-like animal, who looked perfectly natural loping along the rocks and brush.

We leapfrogged with a couple of guys from the area who kept warning us to take it easy because of the altitude. They had sleeping bags and were planning to stay overnight at Barr Camp. We did go slowly. It took us from 8:45 to 1:30 to get to Barr Camp. They took our picture there - after we visited the outhouse. The women's was freshly painted, so it fortunately smelled of brown paint rather than outhouse. Barr Camp was one of those places that seems as remote from the rush of the modern world as Tibet or the Galapagos Island.

People there rocked, read papers, and talked little. Had we known about the bunks we would have stayed the night there and tried to reach the top the next day. As it was, we refilled our canteens and headed down again.

I have trouble going downhill. I made it clear what I want for Christmas this year: Hiking boots. I was sure they would help me with the slippery slopes. But my trouble was small next to a lady about 1/4 mile from the end of the trail. Her overweight dog was exhausted and refused to budge. She tried carrying him, but fell herself. We offered her water for the dog, which helped for a few feet. Then Bryan and Chip took turns carrying him the rest of the way down.

Next time we want to spend the night and Barr Camp and hike all the way to the top. But we have never been so sore from hiking. Then why did we do it?

When you're on the trail a long time, you get silly and enjoy one another. We laughed so hard that Chip strained the rib that was healing from our rafting trip a couple of days earlier.

We hiked for the pleasure of seeing Amy curled up with a book at Barr Camp, perfectly at peace. For the society of the people on the trail, from the Dad with his little boy who skinned his knee to the lawyer from Dallas. For the pure enjoyment of a meal in the most spectacular scenery you can imagine. For the satisfaction of the accomplishment.

So I suppose we're incurable. We'll keep doing things the hard way. Because we have something in addition to pictures for our scrapbook. When I picture the beauty, I also see a Dad tenderly placing a Band-Aid on his teary-eyed son, Bryan carrying a furry dog down a tan trail rimmed with rails, a guessing game at Barr Camp. I remember the social and the spiritual side of our adventure.

Was it worth the cost? You bet!