People often ask me if I am frightened to travel alone as I do, with just my dog and cat as my companions. I say, no. I am not frightened. I am not afraid to venture to places I have never been. I am not afraid to camp in designated campsites. I am not afraid of having car trouble or getting lost or talking to strangers at rest stops, gas stations or along whatever trail I may be hiking. But that doesn't mean all is carefree or that I approach my travels with a devil-may-care attitude. Quite the contrary. I accept my vulnerability and try to minimize any misfortune by researching routes and destinations with great care.
Recently, however, I mis-planned, poorly researched and rested on my arrogant laurels for one brief segment of my travels. Spoiler alert: The Universe sent an angel named Michael E. who gallantly rescued me from my series of poor decisions. Here is what this kind soul looks like:
Dimmie invited me to camp on her recently purchased ten acres of mountain land. Her property was, sort of, en route to my intended destination. i read the first few lines of her directions and watched the video she posted of her road. "Four wheel drive not necessary," she wrote. "Just take it slow as there can be a few ruts here and there." This where my arrogance came into play. The directions were to take highway 285 south to Johnson Village. Turn south to Salida. Turn west towards Gunnison until County Road 76. I stopped reading the details as I was so very familiar with this area. I thought I'd read about the last leg up to her property once I reached County Road 76. What Dimmie did not write, nor did I bother to research, is that County Road 76 is on the Other Side of Monarch Pass, almost all of the way to Gunnison.
Once I did eventually reach County Road 76, I had no cell signal and had to rely on her directions that I copied by hand from her online post. I gave myself smug kudos for planning for the lack of cell service in this old school way and continued confidently up the county road. Sixteen miles later, I found the Quartz Creek Properties sign as promised and turned left onto the dirt road that would take me to Dimmie's camping spot.
It was to be a four-mile climb uphill. Very UP hill. Within the first mile I knew I was in over my head. My front tires spun in the dirt and gravel, trying desperately to find footing. The engine roared as it fought to drag my 1600 pound trailer. (Mental note, the video didn't make the road look this steep.) I soon learned that a running start was needed to crest each little incline. I continued white knuckling my way up until a curve in the road caused me to let up on the gas, and that was all she wrote. My van could not go up another inch. When I put it into park to consider what to do next, I could feel the gear slipping and the trailer's weight causing us to begin inching downhill in reverse. A few yards back at the curve, there was a wide spot in the road. I thought if I could drive back down hill to that point, I could at least be out of the way of any oncoming traffic. In my rattled state of mind I failed to turn the front tires in the right direction and all too soon found myself with a jack knife travel trailer that was just inches from slipping into the ditch. My situation looked something like this:
I put the van into park.
I pulled the emergency brake as hard as I could.
And then I tried really hard not to have a complete melt down.
I looked something like this:
And that is when Michael found me. He and his girlfriend came roaring up the dirt road in his four wheel drive truck. They hopped out of the truck and began to assess my situation. "Do you have any chocks?" he asked.
Chocks! Of course! Why hadn't I thought of that? What I did, instead, in those few minutes I spent hyperventilating before Michael's arrival was to extend my recently repaired front jack in effort to stop the trailer from pulling itself and the van into the ditch. This decision leaves me with having to repair my front trailer hitch jack, again. Sorry, Chris Shive (= another story for another time).
"Yes! I have chocks in the trailer!" I exclaimed a little too excitedly. "I just need to unlock the door." But the keys to the trailer were no where to be found. As I looked in the glove box, my pockets, the middle compartment, the passenger side floor and anywhere else I could think of for the keys to get the chocks, Michael quietly came up with a plan. "I can't find my keys," I lamented to him a little too distraught-fully. Michael told me all would be fine. Not to worry. Just to breathe. I felt my knees begin to buckle and thought I might vomit. In that same moment, I reached into my pocket for a fifth time and, voila! There were the keys.
With the chocks securely in place, Michael presented me with his plan. He would unhitch my van from the trailer and hitch it to his truck. Then he would drive my trailer uphill to my destination with me following behind in my van. By then a second vehicle came along and this other driver helped Michael wrestle my trailer free from my van. I drove it up and around the corner to the to the next wide spot. After securing Zoey and Marzipan inside the van, I walked back downhill to assist hitching my trailer to Michael's truck. Soon we were ready to resume the uphill climb.
I only had the intersection of where to find Dimmie's access road written in my notes and Michael was not aware of all the names the property developer had assigned to the roads. At one point, he decided to not continue uphill and scramble across a thick meadow to ask at the cabin he spotted if those people knew the intersection I sought. Much to my delight, the woman answering Michael's knock was Dimmie herself.
My trailer was deposited on the designated camping spot in short order. Dimmie was so confused. She first thought I invited two more friends up for the weekend. When she realized we three just met, she then thought that I hired Michael to haul my trailer up the hill. It took several attempts until Dimmie grasped the magnitude of Michael's kindness. I tried in vain to give Michael cash but not only did he refuse, but looked a little offended by the offer. Then he did me one better. He asked when I planned to head back down hill. I said bright and early Saturday, two days from then. "Great!" he said. "I have lots to do on Saturday being that's the day Pitkin is having their annual Fireman's Ball and all. But I'll be back here at seven o'clock Saturday morning to get you safely back down the hill."
I stammered, and insisted that that would not be necessary. But he wouldn't hear otherwise.
Michael drove slow and sure the four miles down to County Road 76. Just before reaching that welcome stretch of asphalt, he pulled over and helped me re-hitch my trailer to my van. He grew up in California, but spent his summers visiting his grandfather who lived in Pitkin. He moved to Pitkin four years previous. Bought a hundred year old house that he is refinishing. He paints signs for a living, and was looking forward to the festivities the town of Pitkin planned for that day, as he is one of the town's volunteer firefighters, and all. After an exchange of emails and phone numbers, my animals and I continued on our journey west, leaving Michael standing in the road, waving us goodbye.
This is what the town of Pitkin looks like:
This is it's sign welcoming all. I can attest that their welcome is sincere.
Michael E. of Pitkin is one of its legends.
