When you reach a certain age–say, 40—you suddenly yearn to do stuff that would have actually been fun when you were younger. This yearning can take many forms, and I have done most of them.
Complete a marathon? I did that. A guy blew cigar smoke in my face at mile 22, in New York’s Central Park.
Buy a sporty car? My hybrid Honda CRV counts, right?
Compile a bucket list? No, thanks. Once you come up with one, you’re that much closer to kicking that bucket.
For a challenge, many past-prime Coloradans also attempt to climb a 14er—one of the fifty-three sky-scraping peaks in our state. It’s rockin’ with the oldies, only, with real rocks. Lots of real rocks.
For my first 14ers, I picked the famed DeCalLibron loop, north of Fairplay. The loop touches the summits of Mounts Democrat, Cameron, Lincoln, and Bross–if you dare.
Of course, Bross has been on the do-not-climb list, because of a long-running insurance dispute. The landowners worry that errant hikers might disappear down the old mine shafts up there, and be sued by greedy survivors.
Of course, middle age itself is a long-running insurance dispute, so Bross may be the most appropriate bucket-list item of all: One you’ll never accomplish.
My lust for altitude first hit me at the emissions-testing facility west of I-25 in Fort Collins. The garage door perfectly frames Longs Peak, fifty miles southwest.
Why climb Longs Peak? Because, just like my bald spot, you can see it from practically everywhere in Larimer County.
And Longs Peak is bald, too!
I hooked up with two neighbors for the climb, which we completed while Covid was still raging in the flatlands. I’m not sure which was more dangerous: The deadly virus, or the half-mile plunges I dodged on the way up and down Longs Peak. If you hope for a long life, hike elsewhere.
I survived that harrowing climb, which freed me up to schlepp up other 14ers.
Mount Quandary, south of Steamboat, was named by miners who puzzled over an ore sample from the peak. They were in a quandary over it, and the name stuck.
On my hike, I emerged above the timberline at 11,000 feet. From there to the 14,272-foot peak it was one giant rockpile. Which led to my own quandary: Why was I doing this?
Mount Bierstadt, at 14,066’ feet, is named after the artist Albert Bierstadt, who has a lot in common with John Denver. Both men completed seminal works of art that lured droves of people west.
Most of those droves were there with me on the summit of Bierstadt. It looked like the aftermath of a rockslide, with bedraggled victims scattered among the boulders.
I have few memories of the other six fourteeners that I summited. One rockpile is pretty much like another. Climbed one, climbed ‘em all.
Except for Mount Elbert, that is—the highest point in our very high state. I still haven’t climbed that one.
I first admired the 14,440’-high peak from the latrine at a high mountain cabin, which has a window that frames the peak. I’m planning to climb it later this summer, if it isn’t too smoky to find the trail.
The 10-mile trek up and down Elbert will be miserable. But then, so is aging. And my view forward is limited, because of a high birthday count. But from the top of Mount Elbert, I can see forever.
Anybody care to join me? Maybe we can split the cost of a helicopter.
