We went to Denver without strict plans other than to run the Bolder Boulder 10k race on Memorial Day, and to see friends and family throughout the trip.
Race day was a little maddening. We took the park-and-ride to save time, and then proceeded to sit in traffic, not even picking anyone else up, for about an hour. By the time we got to the start both Mike and I had missed our waves, we hadn’t eaten in quite a while and I had to pee. Thankfully they had portapotties, and we were able to jump into another wave and start the race. But those waves were mostly consisting of walkers, which made it very difficult to try and weave in and out to keep running.
About halfway through, some kind of dehydration hit me, I guess, and my forearms started cramping up really badly. This had never happened to me before so it kind of freaked me out and I ended up walking a lot of the second half, grabbing Gatorade wherever I could. I very nearly thought maybe I shouldn’t continue, but when I got into Folsom Field and the whole place was just going nuts (people were walking on their hands and leap frogging to the finish), and I ran the rest of the way. Mike told me later that someone handed him a beer instead of water early in the race, and he ended up doing a Slip ‘n Slide in someone’s yard. It’s that kind of run, and you should totally do it if you get a chance. Just drink a LOT of water beforehand.
I wasn’t sure how I would feel about going back to Boulder (a place I never wanted to leave in the first place). I guess I thought things would have changed a lot, but they really hadn’t. Vendors were still peddling dream interpretations and Lara bars at the Creek Festival. Houses are still half a million dollars. Coffee shops still sell fair trade coffee and vegan cookies. Everyone still looks fit. I think I lost three pounds just entering the city limits.
All the street performers were out in full force, including the digeridoo players and this guy juggling swords while balancing on a ball.
A lot of people, including some of my friends, hate Boulder. It seems to inspire either a love or hate reaction because it is such a unique place. I still love it, and I think I always will.
We took a side trip to Ft. Collins to check it out since neither of us had ever been there. We both had kind of the same reaction – it was just kind of meh. Feel free to convince me why I should love it, too.
It was nice to have some friends who’d moved to Denver show us around the great neighborhoods there. Apart from some seriously cranky drivers, I did like the area a lot, especially the cutesy brick houses and blocks of yoga studios and knitting boutiques. (See also, my next post about the food).
On our last day, blessedly sunny and gorgeous, Mike wanted to really get into the mountains. So we decided to drive up Mt. Evans, the only fourteener with a paved road all the way to the top. I’d never even heard of it, and none of our friends mentioned it, but I can tell you now YOU MUST GO THERE. It was so cool, and quite an adventure, even in the car. Some of the roads at the top just skim the edges of huge dropoffs with no guard rails. Every once in a while you see a marmot pop up around a corner.
Part way up you pass Echo Lake, which is just gorgeous. And you can hear the Aspen leaves rustling as you drive by with the windows open.
Near the nature center there’s an area full of 1,800-year-old bristlecone pine trees. They look like something out of a fairytale book with knotty branches that lean into the wind. This was also about where we started to see snow, and by the time we got to the top it was full-on winter.
At the summit there is a building that actually used to be a restaurant before it burned down. Mike climbed a slippery ridge to the very top of the summit, where he got to sign his name.
This one bowl was especially beautiful, and if you looked closely you could see that people had been skiing down it. It looked way too avalanche prone to seem safe to me, but people in Colorado are just a lot more hardcore than you can imagine. One guy even biked to the top of the mountain despite the fact that that meant sharing a tee-tiny road with other cars coming around the switchbacks with almost no visibility. Yikes!
I have to say I was pretty proud of my little Yaris for making it to the top (and then all the way down).