Reading books, obsession, poets and the star

I’m currently in book reading mode. This happens to me every 5 or 9 years. I suddenly want to read everything, go back to school and watch every movie or documentary on the subject I’m suddenly obsessed with. It’s pretty fun to spend every free moment reading and thinking about reading, and listening to books in the car and on my phone. I’m obsessed.

This time it is Western American Literature and Western American History.

I should say, this time and last time I got obsessed with every writer writing in the late 19th and early 20th Century. I read master theises, I read research and subscribed to journals. I go down associated subjects’ rabbit holes. It’s so fun.

Warning: this is not really related to the outdoors but I do have a triathlon analogy coming up. Read on, please.

I’m reading and buying books from DeVoto, american history scholars, railroads, authors writing about this time period and text books about these subjects. What is interesting to me as I follow link to link, reading about writers and historians and the transcontinental railroad, I see a book about a man writing about the Sonoran Desert. And I remember his name. I read his book when I was living in Tucson and the Sonoran Desert. I remember on my blogspot blog I wrote about the book, and about him.

The irony in the story below is about obsessions and getting so into a subject that it generates a book, a story or a movie – or changes your life.

I dream of being a scholar, professional athlete, world traveler. The closest I can come to realizing a dream is to: read everything, do the work, talk to people. The key to success in any enterprise.

But I digress. Here is the story I wrote January 2014 about a book I loved.

The Fallen Sky and Obsessions

I am reading The Fallen Sky An Intimate History of Shooting Stars. And while, I am no scientist and I know nothing about meteors and meteorites, it is a really interesting book. What hooks me is how the author personalizes a story about the people who are obsessed with meteorites. The author, Christopher Cokinos, is searching for those who are searching for meteors; he is hunting the obsessive types.

I know that type well.

For I am obsessed with triathlon.

I am endlessly fascinated by fellow-obsessed triathletes. I want to know what drives them, what makes them get up in the morning and train, then go to work, and train again. But I’m also obsessed with the west and western writers and people who chose to live in the west.

Maybe my next book needs to be about obsessed nature writers who are triathletes and live in the west.

I am reading five books right now and The Fallen Sky is my number one. I can’t seem to put it down. This is my favorite passage so far. As you read it think of what you are searching for, the journeys you have been on and what you found, and the people you met:

“Whether someone wishes to possess a meteorite to sell it or to crack one open in a laboratory for discovery, the meteorite must first be found or hunted. Which often means you have to be willing to go where the meteorites are ….such journeys have impressed on me that wonder-whether from discovering a geological rarity or tracking down a hidden history or finding a lover – is not as pristine a feeling as some would think. I found that mine was a journey into wonder and its costs. Along the way, I bore changes in my life and realized that I was hunting the lives of the meteorite hunters – not just the stones themselves-and I began to understand these strangers’ lives better when I accepted my own. Quests, after all, can come at a very high price….As to the meteorite clan, they’re a complicated, colorful lot.” (4)

Yes, quests come at a cost and triathletes sure are a colorful bunch.

It’s like the osprey folks. They are obsessed about finding osprey. The obsessed are everywhere.

I’m going to keep reading The Fallen Sky and learn about shooting stars and crazy people who are endlessly fascinated by them, to understand my own obsessions.

Colorado trip: Keystone, Leadville, Granby, Steamboat

First stop in Colorado after arriving in Denver was to drive through Rocky Mountain National Park. I followed the rules and bought a timed entry. Based on flight arrival and drive time I purchased 12-2 entry time. Little did I know that after 2:00 you don’t need a timed entry and we got to the entrance at 1:50pm. Cars were waiting on the side of the road for 2:00.

We began the beautiful drive on a perfect blue bird sky day.

I was reading Following Isabella Travels in Colorado Then and Now on the plane and how she climbed Longs Peak. All the years I’ve lived in Colorado I never hiked the big mountains. After reading about Isabella and seeing the peak from the road, the next time I come back I want to climb it. The picture above features Longs Peak in the distance.

We drove through Grand Lake and Granby to arrive at Winter Park for dinner with George and Shawn. We ate at Randy’s which happens to have the best Shepards Pie. It was great catching up with them and seeing pictures of their grandchildren.

The next morning I drove back to Granby to revisit a place I lived for five years. The above picture was my view from the house – looking west to the sunset and these sage covered hills. I was a bit sentimental and sad, and missed living here. I saw the places where I hiked, mountain biked, trail ran, skied, cross country skied, and walked. I missed doing all of this.

Then, as I was driving back to Winter Park, I thought: I’ve mountain biked and hiked so much in this county. I lived my best life here. I did everything. I didn’t get the guy but I did everything – I lived my live out loud. I tried everything.  I gave it my best shot. It was a good life living in Colorado and I chose to leave for other opportunities.

This thinking made me instantly feel better. I didn’t waste any time here. I learned so much that has brought me to this exact moment right now. I don’t have to be sad about it anymore. 

Next stop: up and over Berthoud Pass. Here’s a picture of me and Mark at the top of the pass. I used to love hiking from this trailhead when I lived here. We walked around and took in the views, then on to Leadville.

I opted to stay in Keystone to switch it up from Copper Ski Resort the last time I attempted Leadville 100. I like to be away from the fray, to relax before a race. Plus, I haven’t spent much time in Keystone so it was fun to discover.

On race morning we woke up at 2am and then out the door to get to the race start by 4am. The energy at the start was so fun. I knew I wasn’t going to make it very far but I wanted to start. Leadville is an iconic race and I want to finish it. But alas, I dropped at the first aid station. The above pictures is Turquoise Lake as the sun rose. I took the shuttle back to Leadville and Mark picked me up. We headed back to Keystone.

I love this race so much because it’s so hard and I want to do hard things. I sometimes think I am super woman and can do anything I set my mind on. But the last few years I have menopause brain; and my brain is not working well. I still have big mountain dreams and goals; I want to finish a 100 mile trail run. But maybe I will attempt a 100 mile race at sea level.

The next day, Sunday, I drove to Steamboat. I’ve been wanting to go back and revisit the place I lived for three years and hike some of the places I hiked with my first dog, Abbey. First stop was Fish Creek Falls.

I hiked in the area almost every morning with Abbey. The falls are so pretty and the trails have spectacular views.

This is the view from the Uranium Mine trail. This trail is just before you arrive at the Fish Creek Falls parking lot. I have great memories of snowshoeing this trail with Abbey.

I later met up with a friend from Granby who now lives in Steamboat. Betsy and I caught up on our lives. I would love to live back here and hope some day to. I’d have to win the lottery to afford it, but the Yampa Valley is special. On the drive back to Keystone I remember all the spots along the way from the hundred of times I’ve been on Route 40: moving to Granby, driving to the airport, driving to Silverthorne. From Rabbit Ears Pass and the rocky mountains in view, to the winding roads and a hope to spot an antelope.

On Monday, the last day Mark and I drove from Keystone to Canon City to visit the Royal Gorge. Since I work at an attraction with a bridge I was excited to do a little competitive research.

The bridge was very fun to walk on. I loved the view of the Arkansas River. We timed it perfectly to see rafters, kayakers and the Amtrak train.

Then we headed to the airport. Vacation over. I can’t wait to go back.

Mountain Time

Devil's Thumb, Continental Divide

I’ve been thinking of the mountains and 4,000 footers. After spending the weekend in a resort town I’m missing my Colorado mountains. Not missing them in the sense I want to live there, just missing being surrounded by them and the wilderness.

The cure of the longing is to just head north this weekend and do a hike. I’ve been planning and to-do’ing forever and just haven’t done it. I think the Flume is calling me for a hike tomorrow.

As I piece together all my life’s journals I see notes and thoughts about mountains. Here’s a note and quote from my 2010 journal when I was living in Colorado and working on my book:

Annie Dillard – Pulitzer Prize winning author

I’m reading Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. I’ve never been able to get very far reading this book. I’ve owned it for over 10 years. But for some reason, unknown at the moment, the first three pages brought me into the story. Maybe it’s the changes in my life that brought me to it at this moment.

 

I live by a creek, Tinker Creek, in a valley in Virginia’s Blue Ridge. I think of this house clamped to the side of Tinker Creek as an anchor-hold. It holds me at anchor to the rock bottom of the creek itself and it keeps me steadied in the current, as a sea anchor does. It’s a good place to live; there’s a lot to think about. You can heave your spirit into a mountain and the mountain will keep it, folded, and not throw it back as some creeks will. The creeks are the world with all its stimulus and beauty; I live there. But the mountains are home.

This is how I feel about living here, in my tiny condo on the hill. It’s a good place to live and there’s time to think. The mountains are home, my chosen home. And it is good.

Mountain Towns

“I leave Park City grateful for my years there, for the comfort I found in a place where every nook and cranny became as familiar to me as drawing a breath. … but I did learn something anyway about what’s important in life: a stand of aspen trees, still green but just about to go golden, and first turns on a bright, blue morning after the high desert and angels have been making powder all day.” Pam Houston (83)

Substitute Park City with every mountain town (east and west) that I’ve lived in.  I miss that life. I like where I live now but living in rural towns in the east and west seem like a simpler more beautiful life. I remember driving up Killington’s access road to the ah ha moment you see the peak. I loved driving south on Route 40 in Grand County and see the Continental Divide in the distance; colors always changing. I remember the rocky summits that surrounded Tucson and how surprised I was that the hiking and mountain biking were so good.

I remember dogs running off and getting into trouble,  making list of trails to hike, hiking above treeline for miles above Winter Park.

And road trips with dogs, now both gone to dog heaven. I miss it all.