The Hoosier Passing

6 October 2008

Having a whole lodge to myself, I felt like Goldilocks as I perused the kid's room with bunkbeds, a room with a full-sized bed, and the master suite with king-sized bed and spa. Being a little shy, especially since I wasn't sure if I was "supposed" to be there, I opted for the middle option, taking a warm shower (no jacuzzi, mostly because of impatience) and the full-sized bed. Roughing it, I know. 

As I launched out on the highway, where clouds swirled and the occasional patch of sun lit the snow-flocked trees, I realized that there were only three or four miles left to climb. After a series of hairpin turns in the light rain and snow, and a final reach of neck-arching horizon, I was at the summit. Howling wind and frigid fingers, I took a few pictures, remembered the Pacific watershed for one last time, and headed down into the South Platte Headwaters. As soon as I began to descend, the clouds vanished, the roads dried and it was nearly pure downhill, with the exception of a brief climb over Currant Creek Pass, down the correspondingly named valley, until it joined with the Arkansas River. 

I almost didn't have to pedal. But of course I did, to see if I could add a little more speed and thrill to the descent. Ironically, I strained my legs more on the descent than I had during the previous weeks of climbing, as I pulled harder to get energy off the upstroke. Double irony, I was quickening my exit from the gorgeous Currant Creek Valley and my subsequent entrance into the somewhat less gorgeous plains east of the Rocky Mountain front.  

Between the Hoosier descent and the Currant Creek Pass and Valley was a section of high desert shrubbiness. Somehow, this section of land, just as high as many of the forests around it, was mostly windswept plain. Occasionally, a stand of aspen would oddly plunk down like a wandering traveler that decided to go no further.