The book Into The Wild had a profound effect on me the first time to read it. Let’s go ahead and get out of the way the unfortunate circumstances that lead to the demise of Christopher “Supertramp” McCandless. He was careless, somewhat ignorant of his surroundings and made some terrible decisions that lead to his death. Every time I post how much I love that book and how it inspired me to get out of my comfort zone and enjoy some adventures someone always has to jump in and say “jUsT dOnT DiE LikE hE dID.” I get it. I just told you I read the fucking book. I have no intention of living in a vacant bus in Alaska.

Yet..

I read Into the Wild front and back twice in one week. I remember looking up from book on my sofa in my little house I rented off of Cary st on White Horse. I looked up at the ceiling and that room became small, really small. I was 25, I had been as south as Disney World and as north as Bethlehem, PA. West? I had moved to Colorado on a whim with my girlfriend when we were 19. Other than a weekend trip to a little lake in Nebraska we never did any outdoor activities. We were just kids. I never stepped foot on the Rockies while we nested in a staged home for sale in Aurora. That little adventure ended about as well as expected. We had fun but jobs were hard to find out there for teens.

Last time I had camped had been for a mountain bike trip in Sumter with borrowed goods from one of my roommates.

That book introduced me to that little hashtag you see on IG, wanderlust.

I had zero camping experience. I was a Boy Scout for about a year. Learned some knots and compass points that I would actually use a few times when I got lost while hiking in my 40s. I was as green as a greenhorn could be.

I would drive to Barnes and Noble and flip through big hardbacks of national parks, scenic highways and road trip destinations and write them down in a little notebook, making notes for an adventure that may never come to life. I was obsessed, something that comes easy for me and I wanted to go see the Rockies again. Not through the window of that tri-level home in the suburbs of Denver either. I wanted to reach the fucking top.

Money, of course was an issue and my beat up Jeep Wrangler was also a concern. I had a stroke of luck and hit a small jackpot on a little poker machine at my old steakhouse job that added a little over $3k in my pocket. 1996 this was a decent amount of money. I was probably taking home $400 a week serving at the steakhouse so this was the equivalent of 2 months pay for me. Was it a sign? Maybe but my mind was made. I intended on taking a month off of work to travel. I had the Rockies and Yellowstone on my mind. I was hell bent on driving there.

The steakhouse was always flexible with my schedule and gave me grace to do a lot of things many other establishments wouldn’t. I’m sure they weren’t happy to be short handed for a month but I would’ve quit if they had turned me down. I had to do this.

I bought every necessity for camping and then some. I cashed in a bundle at Sunrifters back when it was at the old liquor store location and also bought an atlas. We had to use those back in those days. Navigation was a little more literal in those days.

One of my roommates from the Furman football team was getting married in Chadds Ford, PA. My intentions were to drive up there for the wedding and then head west.

Two weeks before my departure I took my jeep to get an oil change at the local Grease Monkey and they found sludgy oil in my air filter and well that wasn’t a good sign. I told my stepfather Tom about my situation so we took my jeep to a garage on Hwy 20 and the mechanic told us my engine had shit the bed and needed to be rebuilt. I was devastated. The cost was half of my winnings and it meant the end of an adventure that had never launched. Tom told me to leave the jeep there and let me borrow his truck while the job sat at the shop for a week. When it was ready we went to get it out of the shop. I reluctantly pulled out my checkbook and the mechanic told me it had already been paid. I stood there with the pen in my hand and eyebrow raised thinking “if this is a joke it’s a terrible one”. Tom winked at the mechanic and told me to go enjoy my trip. I cried all the way back home.

I know I beam about my father quite a bit but after his death Tom really stepped up. I grew to love that man like you would a father. I’ll talk about him soon when I’m ready.

The next week I loaded up my jeep with a brand new tent, backpack, sleeping bag, some shiny new camping accessories and a single barrel shotgun I kept under my backseat along side my 5 disc CD changer I paid a ridiculous amount from a Circuit City credit card. Of course I had my book of CDs on my passenger seat as they should be. Whenever I’d pull off for gas I’d lift my jeep seat up and plug 5 new CDs in my disc changer. I had a cheap little handheld remote that I Velcro’d to my dash. Every time you shuffled a disc you could audibly hear the disc changers gears slowly rotating to play the next CD.

I drove up to Chadds Ford to celebrate one of my Furman buddy’s wedding. It was a significant memory for me I think. I roomed with four to five furman football linemen for a year or two. As to be expected we had some wild times in that house on Zelma and I made some solid friends there. Two of them have been lifelong friends. This would be the last time we would hang out together and the last time I would speak to quite a few of them including the groom Mike. We all had a good time but all the while I was itching to go west.

Although my jeep had been repaired it still have me some mechanical issues. When coming to a stop it like to shut off on its own. I would pop it in neutral and rev it up at stoplights to keep it running. My gas gauge didn’t work so I would monitor the odometer and stop for gas every 270 miles. While driving through Indiana I found out that 270 miles was over achieving and ran out of gas on the side of the road. Driving a canvas top jeep, I was worried about it getting looted while it sat roadside so I ran all the way up the highway for 3 miles to find a gas station. Pretty much everything I owned that was worth a shit was in my jeep. I didn’t own much. I bought a gas can, filled her up and ran back to my jeep with gas sloshing all around me. Luckily a trucker pulled over and gave me a ride while I still had two miles to go . I was pouring with sweat. It was late July. That jeep tried it’s damnedest to screw my ass on this trip. Aside from the mechanical issues the soft top was slowly coming apart at the seems. Those mid eastern plains winds tore it a new asshole. By the time I had returned, the top looked like Swiss cheese. I had used a shoelace to tie one of the windows together to keep the rain out. A week after I got home the transmission went out.

The atlas didn’t let me down. I made the drive in two days. I drove right past Denver and headed up to Boulder to have lunch. When I say we didn’t do shit when I had previously moved to Colorado I meant it. My first jaunt into Boulder and it was beautiful, I walked for hours around downtown I was in no hurry I had a month to myself. This was my first real time taking in solitude. I come from a very large family, shared bathrooms with several siblings growing up, rarely had a bed to myself much less a whole bedroom. Lived with a girlfriend when I moved out of my parents house and then as I apartment hopped for several years I always had roommates. Up to 5 when I lived at Furman. At 25 years of age I had never been alone for more than a day or two. I had lunch at a little local cafe by myself. I sat there by a little bistro table and ate a hot roast beef sandwich, cold beer in my hand and stared at the Rockies. If I could’ve bottled that feeling up I’d have kept it on my keychain I’ve had for the last 30 years. Actually I maybe I did. I’m fairly connected to that keychain. I even made it into a tattoo. It reads “Get high on a mountain” and at that moment I did .

I drove up 36w to Estes park. The gateway to RMNP. Pulled over as I crested Estes and took it all in. I had a stack of disposable cameras that I would use to take memories of this trip and clicked a few shots. No uploads, no hashtags, no ridiculous side face selfies I’d look through the little view finder and click. Go home and see what I photographed once the adventure ended.

I found a campsite off of 7 near Meeker Park Lodge. It’s a little motel/grocery at the top of 7. I’d buy groceries from there and if it rained all day I’d ask the owners if I could hang in the living area and read and blend in. The lobby has high wood beamed ceilings with furniture made from logs, pretty much what you would expect in a little bed and breakfast in the Rockies. They were as hospitable and pleasant and treated me kind. Any time I go to Estes I’ll pop in and support their little general store.

I pulled off and laid out my tent and shoved enough money in the camp registration for up to two weeks. I staked my tent as my home for the next 10 days or so. I’d buy phone cards to call home and check in about every three days or so on the pay phone at the lodge. Even at 25 years of age my mother was apprehensive about me adventuring around the Rockies. Before I had left she has asked me to fill out a form of identification and tattoo locations should I disappear. That’s my mom.

Estes park was beautiful. First hike was a simple hike around Lily Lake. I had to get acclimated and my hiking legs hadn’t found their true form yet. In fact I’d probably hiked three times in the last 10 years. Lily lake introduced me to the Rockies. First trail I ever set foot on in CO. Can’t quite tell you why but when I travel to Estes I immediately drive up to Lily Lake and reintroduce myself. It’s the gateway to my soul. Sharing my daughter’s name only makes it more so.

Man I hiked so many hikes, walked about town, I’d eat ice cream on a river walk bench, eat some street food and took in a show at the local theater. I think it was Air Force one or My Best Friend’s Wedding. I hiked Chasm lake beside Long’s peak and felt like I was on top of the world. At night I’d light up my little latern and read until I fell asleep which wasn’t hard. I exhausted myself daily taking in as much as I could. I look back at what I had to camp with in comparison to what I carry around now and smile. I’ve evolved quite a bit since then but there’s just something that’s so basic but romantic camping with just enough shit that you can carry on your back. Self sufficiency.

Once I got my fill I had Yellowstone on my mind. My girlfriend at the time had flown into Denver after week two of my Rockies adventure and we headed north. We got a hotel right outside of Laramie the first night. I loved watching the changing topography as we rode north. The vastness of Wyoming, the high winds were wrecking my wrangler soft top but I didn’t care anymore. I was too caught up in the moment.

We hit Yellowstone on a chilly rainy morning and I could smell the sulphur immediately. We found a camp spot right next to the western Yellowstone extrance and set to camp for the next three days. I took it all in. Any point of interest in Yellowstone I hit it. Mammoth falls, Old Faithful, Yellowstone Lake and the great falls. I saw my first moose that stood taller than my jeep, Buffalo, elk, foxes and tried to get my eye on a grizzly that had just passed. Yellowstone was amazing. It was congested but I was too caught up in the moment to care.

On the way out we hit the Tetons and hiked Jenny Lake. The whole time I was scanning for grizzlies. I really wanted to see one just not within 500 yards of me. Never did and still haven’t to this day. Not in the wild at least.

That trip tripped my wanderlust. I have driven to the Rockies around 10 times since and took a few flights just to hang out for a few days. If anyone asks where my favorite place is I’ll say Colorado Rockies before it can come all the way out of your mouth. My goal now is to hit it annually even if it means leaving my precious camping cargo at home. It’s my annual reset. Almost like shedding off my old skin. A majestic spa.

The only downside is coming back down the mountain.

Every time I visit Estes I have my little motions to go through. My itinerary is consistent. I’ll pay homage to Lily Lake, salute Long’s peak, grab an ice cream cone on the river walk and I’ll perch a hammock and relax by the reservoir. I’ll drive up to Meeker lodge and drive around that campground to find that little spot that brought me so much joy.

People ask me all the time why I haven’t moved to Colorado and often times I’ve asked myself the same question. I guess for me it’s a mental sanctuary that I hold dear in my heart. I don’t want to rock it. I don’t want it to lose it’s appeal to me. It’s like eating your favorite dish every day for the rest of your life. Eventually it may not taste the same to you or you’ll grow tired of it. Colorado to me is a heirloom. I take it down when it’s necessary and put it back on the shelf until it’s time to play with it again.

It calls to me every year hell it’s calling me right now but she might have to wait a little while this year.

Rest assured if I do I’ll have that same smile on my face as I did almost 30 years ago.