Field Notes #3: The Rocky Mountain Way

Written by: Megan Madill (human)

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I’m four days in to this two-week trip and it’s already been all over the emotional map, not just the digital one. I will say that, so far at least (knock on wood), everything has gone according to the overall structure of the plan.

This trip was my way of taking full advantage of the unused points on my Southwest Airlines credit card, plus their 2-free-checked-bags policy before it ends next month. Boo! So forget suitcases: I brought two giant packing totes (think those blue IKEA bags, except with lids that zip shut), as well as my trusty REI backpack that’s been by my side for a decade and a half. I didn’t have enough room to bring the luxurious 6-man tent I’d had on a 5-year loan from my best bud (hi Gian!), but besides that, I brought everything but the kitchen sink. Quite literally: I even found myself throwing in a colander “just in case”. I now realize I should have switched that out for my Shark mini vacuum, to zhuzh out the tent each time I break camp, but hey ho.

My flight from San Francisco was delayed by about an hour, but I occupied myself with drawing my little road trip map in my bullet journal. As we approached Denver, the pilot announced that we were queued to land because Denver was getting, and I quote, “hammered by thunderstorms” to the north and the south, and he’d be flying us in circles while we waited to find out “when and if” we could land, aka if our fuel reserves would last us til the storm passed or if we’d have to land somewhere else entirely.

I closed my eyes to hide how hard I was rolling them. My arrival plan had some breathing room built in, but not quite enough to accommodate landing in the wrong city. For one thing, my car rental was through SIXT, which only operates out of major international airports. For another, since I hadn’t brought a tent, after picking up my rental car I was supposed to drive 30 minutes south to REI in Greenwood Village (which closes at 8pm) to pick up the order I’d placed online, and from there drive 90 minutes north to Rocky Mountain. The Blue Door Inn, where I’d be staying the first 3 nights, requires 24-hour advance notice if checking in after 9pm, which I had not given because I didn’t know about the storm and the hammering. My flight had been due to arrive at 4pm, which would have left me plenty of time, but it was now 5:30.

Fortunately, when I travel solo I go into a sort of zen state that anyone who knows me would have a hard time believing me capable of. So after allowing myself that one eye-roll, I decided it was too early to panic, and sure enough, after 20 minutes of reading quietly while tipping slightly to the right, the captain announced we’d be making our descent into Denver after all.

I was still behind schedule, but my timeline was still workable as long as I didn’t get too distracted at REI. (Narrator: she did). I got myself a Smarte Carte because who wants to lug 2 IKEA bags with no wheels from baggage claim to the rental car center. Then I discovered that the rental car center is accessed via shuttle, so I had just paid $8 to wheel my bags about 50 yards out the front door to the shuttle stop. Thank goodness for that zen state, right?

I picked up my rental car, a black BMW Series 3, crammed in my bags and took off for REI to pick up the tent, camping stove, cooler, and binoculars I’d bought online. Ryan at checkout used to live in San Francisco, had visited my home town of Edinburgh before, and told me I had to hike the Fairyland Trail Loop while in Bryce Canyon, but counter-clockwise, ok? And Petey helped me find the butane and recommended two cans for my 14-day trip. Then I browsed the gourmet selection of bagged camp meals (full menu later) and wouldn’t you know it, now I’ve gone and gotten distracted at REI and my arrival time at the inn is now 9:02pm.

I called from the road and they said it was no big deal, plus I made up 3 minutes on the drive anyway. See, this is why we don’t panic about problems that haven’t happened yet!

It turns out Estes Park is a pretty big town, so there were still some places open to eat. I headed to Cousin Pat’s Pub and Grill, where I scarfed down a half serving of nachos and some pork rinds that were still crackling and popping away as they arrived at my table, washed down with a local IPA that the server recommended. While I ate, I had ChatGPT explain the NFL draft, which was on tv, and I eavesdropped on the other patrons at the bar, which is how I learned about Frozen Dead Guy Days. You’re welcome.