skied out
We hit the ground running on Thursday morning (Day #7). We wanted to get an afternoon of skiing in at Steamboat on our way back into Colorado, so we were prepared to tear up the pavement. Every morning during our trip we had woken up between 5:00am and 5:30am, imprisoned behind windows of ice and frost, to begin our morning ritual. This morning, waking up to -9 degrees, was no different.
Morning ritual is as follows:
"LADIES! LADIES! GET OVER HERE! GIIIIRLS!" The woman hollered as two other women came scurrying over in their slippers, the floorboards creaking so loudly that it reminded me of the scene in Titanic where the ship was filling with water and the walls were groaning just before they burst. Now, three sets of wrinkled, sparkling eyes stared at me. "Tell them what you just told me. Go on now, tell them." The first woman instructed me in a rush. I shrugged as I repeated the short description of our trek and was met with an ear-jarring, "EXCCCCUUSEEE ME?!" All at once the three older women spat out a symphony of questions, trying to wrap their brains around our adventure. Finally, I heard one of them let out a frustrated sigh and in an unnaturally squeaky voice ask, "And your boyfriend let you do this? Where is he, we should talk to him." I excused myself at this point, just as they were trying to throw in an extra donut saying that I really deserved it and to tell my boyfriend to take good care of me. I practically rolled down the stairs, trying not to pee my pants, as I laughed my way to the truck. Andre was waiting for me with an expectant expression on his face, knowing that a juicy story was to come (the man has become very accustomed to my random wanderings leading me toward bizarre interactions with strangers). I told him he was in trouble with some old ladies. "Of course," was his unsurprised, matter-of-fact reply as we pulled away, sugary frosting flying out of his open window.
Not long after meeting my new friends, we landed ourselves somewhere near Pinedale, WY (yes, still the middle of nowhere) and saw a sign that warned us to watch for deer and moose. We both read the sign but didn't let it interrupt our front seat karaoke concert. That is until about 3.25 minutes later when Andre yelled, "LOOK!" and shot his pointed finger straight across my face toward the window, practically giving me road burn on my nose. And there she stood. A beautiful, huge female moose. Wandering lazily through a bunch of Wyoming brush, stopping occasionally to nibble on the crunchy, dried grasses. I instantly became so excited that my physical body didn't know what to do. My hands shot up in the air and flailed wildly about, while my head almost slammed into the window as I squinted toward Mama Moose. We then both cheered wildly for ourselves, obviously needing congratulations for our completely coincidental sighting.
Let me give you some background so that you'll understand our absurd reactions toward seeing this moose. I'll begin by saying that for 28 of my 29 years on this planet, I was looking for a moose (I assume I was in search mode as a toddler too, even though my parents just stare at me and sigh each time I suggest this). Long ago, I decided that the moose was my Spirit Animal. A clumsy yet graceful, strange yet beautiful creature, I felt a kindred connection with it. I was close many times over the years to seeing a moose, but somehow, they always seemed to escape my eager, straining eyes. That is until I met Andre.
Shortly after Andre and I started dating last year we went on a hike to Holy Cross City outside of Minturn, CO. The trail up to the ghost town is actually one of the hardest 4x4 roads in the state, but it makes for a beautiful and fun hike (especially when with your new love interest). It dumped rain on us and thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance as we hopped, skipped and jumped over rocks. We were in that beautiful stage of a new relationship where every topic of conversation was new and exciting and full of discovery. Filled with the kind of moments that leave your body bursting with bubbling feelings of pure joy and surprise.
The hike was perfect. The day was perfect. This man was perfect. I could feel myself fighting the reality of falling in love too quickly. I remember standing on the edge of a pond at the end of our hike, drenched from the rain, staring out at a small cascading waterfall and thinking, this is my person. Just after that moment we were back in my truck and beginning to bump our way back down the rest of the 4x4 road toward home. We hadn't driven more than 10 or 20ft before a young, male moose appeared out of the trees. He stopped just in front of us on the road and calmly stared our way, completely unnerved. This was my first moose. Andre's hand shot out to grab my arm as I stared, wide-eyed and unblinking, at this creature I had waited so many years to see. The beauty and the grace and the pure strangeness of this moose was enchanting. I ripped my eyes away for a moment to look at my co-pilot who was excitedly whispering "Woohoo!" and "Kiki! Your moose!" I stared at him as he sat there, almost exploding out of his seat, celebrating this moment with me. A moose was no big deal to him, but he knew what it meant to me. And in that moment, I knew completely and undoubtedly that I loved him. All of a sudden, it felt like the moose symbolized something bigger, something more powerful. Like finding that moose corresponded with finding this amazing person.
Since that day, Andre and I have seen a total of four moose together within just one year of dating. Every time we see one, it feels like some sort of divine reassurance that things are right around us and between us. If that isn't a good omen, I don't know what is.
Back in Wyoming, we seemed to float on clouds as we continued to make our way toward Steamboat, CO, relishing the good feelings that our moose sightings always bring to us. When we arrived at the resort, the skiing conditions were abominable (so much for returning to dependable weather), but we didn't care. We did a few runs, got pelted by huge gusts of wind and icy daggers of blasting snow, but smiled the entire time, feeling satisfied and in love. Life always seemed good, no matter what was happening around us.
That night we ended up at Andre's parent's house on Lake Granby, where we enjoyed a soak in the hot tub, some salty margaritas and a real mattress! The next morning we would try to leave early in order to ski a few hours at Winter Park on our way back down to Denver. We were eager to get home though, because the most amazing end to our trip would be waiting for us at Denver International Airport that evening. My new puppy!
Morning ritual is as follows:
- Pump each other up to slide out from under the warmth of sleeping bags to head outside (a.k.a. push Andre out first while I stay inside)
- Heat coffee and breakfast tacos on the camp stove while trying to maintain feeling in fingers
- Contort ourselves into unheard of positions in cramped truck as we try to get into ski gear and over-dramatize the possibility of frostbite
- Undertake the long half hour process of defrosting the inside walls of our home (also use ice scraper to get things started)
- Once windows drip with melted night-time residue, we are ready to roll
"LADIES! LADIES! GET OVER HERE! GIIIIRLS!" The woman hollered as two other women came scurrying over in their slippers, the floorboards creaking so loudly that it reminded me of the scene in Titanic where the ship was filling with water and the walls were groaning just before they burst. Now, three sets of wrinkled, sparkling eyes stared at me. "Tell them what you just told me. Go on now, tell them." The first woman instructed me in a rush. I shrugged as I repeated the short description of our trek and was met with an ear-jarring, "EXCCCCUUSEEE ME?!" All at once the three older women spat out a symphony of questions, trying to wrap their brains around our adventure. Finally, I heard one of them let out a frustrated sigh and in an unnaturally squeaky voice ask, "And your boyfriend let you do this? Where is he, we should talk to him." I excused myself at this point, just as they were trying to throw in an extra donut saying that I really deserved it and to tell my boyfriend to take good care of me. I practically rolled down the stairs, trying not to pee my pants, as I laughed my way to the truck. Andre was waiting for me with an expectant expression on his face, knowing that a juicy story was to come (the man has become very accustomed to my random wanderings leading me toward bizarre interactions with strangers). I told him he was in trouble with some old ladies. "Of course," was his unsurprised, matter-of-fact reply as we pulled away, sugary frosting flying out of his open window.
Not long after meeting my new friends, we landed ourselves somewhere near Pinedale, WY (yes, still the middle of nowhere) and saw a sign that warned us to watch for deer and moose. We both read the sign but didn't let it interrupt our front seat karaoke concert. That is until about 3.25 minutes later when Andre yelled, "LOOK!" and shot his pointed finger straight across my face toward the window, practically giving me road burn on my nose. And there she stood. A beautiful, huge female moose. Wandering lazily through a bunch of Wyoming brush, stopping occasionally to nibble on the crunchy, dried grasses. I instantly became so excited that my physical body didn't know what to do. My hands shot up in the air and flailed wildly about, while my head almost slammed into the window as I squinted toward Mama Moose. We then both cheered wildly for ourselves, obviously needing congratulations for our completely coincidental sighting.
Let me give you some background so that you'll understand our absurd reactions toward seeing this moose. I'll begin by saying that for 28 of my 29 years on this planet, I was looking for a moose (I assume I was in search mode as a toddler too, even though my parents just stare at me and sigh each time I suggest this). Long ago, I decided that the moose was my Spirit Animal. A clumsy yet graceful, strange yet beautiful creature, I felt a kindred connection with it. I was close many times over the years to seeing a moose, but somehow, they always seemed to escape my eager, straining eyes. That is until I met Andre.
Shortly after Andre and I started dating last year we went on a hike to Holy Cross City outside of Minturn, CO. The trail up to the ghost town is actually one of the hardest 4x4 roads in the state, but it makes for a beautiful and fun hike (especially when with your new love interest). It dumped rain on us and thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance as we hopped, skipped and jumped over rocks. We were in that beautiful stage of a new relationship where every topic of conversation was new and exciting and full of discovery. Filled with the kind of moments that leave your body bursting with bubbling feelings of pure joy and surprise.
The hike was perfect. The day was perfect. This man was perfect. I could feel myself fighting the reality of falling in love too quickly. I remember standing on the edge of a pond at the end of our hike, drenched from the rain, staring out at a small cascading waterfall and thinking, this is my person. Just after that moment we were back in my truck and beginning to bump our way back down the rest of the 4x4 road toward home. We hadn't driven more than 10 or 20ft before a young, male moose appeared out of the trees. He stopped just in front of us on the road and calmly stared our way, completely unnerved. This was my first moose. Andre's hand shot out to grab my arm as I stared, wide-eyed and unblinking, at this creature I had waited so many years to see. The beauty and the grace and the pure strangeness of this moose was enchanting. I ripped my eyes away for a moment to look at my co-pilot who was excitedly whispering "Woohoo!" and "Kiki! Your moose!" I stared at him as he sat there, almost exploding out of his seat, celebrating this moment with me. A moose was no big deal to him, but he knew what it meant to me. And in that moment, I knew completely and undoubtedly that I loved him. All of a sudden, it felt like the moose symbolized something bigger, something more powerful. Like finding that moose corresponded with finding this amazing person.
Since that day, Andre and I have seen a total of four moose together within just one year of dating. Every time we see one, it feels like some sort of divine reassurance that things are right around us and between us. If that isn't a good omen, I don't know what is.
Back in Wyoming, we seemed to float on clouds as we continued to make our way toward Steamboat, CO, relishing the good feelings that our moose sightings always bring to us. When we arrived at the resort, the skiing conditions were abominable (so much for returning to dependable weather), but we didn't care. We did a few runs, got pelted by huge gusts of wind and icy daggers of blasting snow, but smiled the entire time, feeling satisfied and in love. Life always seemed good, no matter what was happening around us.
That night we ended up at Andre's parent's house on Lake Granby, where we enjoyed a soak in the hot tub, some salty margaritas and a real mattress! The next morning we would try to leave early in order to ski a few hours at Winter Park on our way back down to Denver. We were eager to get home though, because the most amazing end to our trip would be waiting for us at Denver International Airport that evening. My new puppy!
Total Miles: 1,650mi
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