May 19th, 2025
I left Interstate 25, heading straight west through the city of Boulder. I followed Canyon Boulevard paralleling the walkable mall of Pearl Street and started up the narrow winding Boulder Creek Canyon. As I approached the mountain town of Nederland, I met cars heading down to Boulder, probably going to work. It was that time of the day. I noticed that most of the vehicles had a couple inches of snow piled on their roofs or engine hoods. That’s May in the high country. It can snow, hail, and get below freezing almost any night.
When I arrived at the Kelly Dahl U.S.F.S Campground, the gate was locked. That day, May 16th, was supposed to be the opening day of campgrounds along routes 119 and 72, the Peak to Peak Highway. Maybe spring was arriving too late this year. I parked near the entrance and decided to wait. I double checked my reservation, thinking I might had accidentally paid for June instead of May. I was correct though, I had paid for 4 nights and the confirmation noted that if I had to cancel, I would only receive a 50% refund. I had just opened and started to read a book when there was a tap on my window. The park manager had seen my pull up, and came down to tell me the campground opened at noon. We talked for a minute and then he told me he would open the gate and let me in early. I was the first camper of the season.
The air was crisp and thin. I was out of breath as I unhitched, leveled, and stabilized the trailer. I was also excited to be back in the forest above 8,000 feet, surrounded by peaks that were still covered in snow. The day marked the official start of my 2025 camping season in the mountains. It would also be my fourth straight year in a row of not spending the spring and summer sitting in an office staring at a computer screen, wishing I was somewhere else.
I took a walk around the campground loops. I came across a young couple who were also walking. With a leash in one hand, the father led a husky with a very dark black coat. With his other hand, he led his son of perhaps 6 years old. Following behind the mother was a little girl of maybe 4 years old, observing everything around him. The mother also wore a backpack. It was the kind you use to carry a baby. They had 3 children altogether. I stopped because the little girl wanted to show me something. With a sad look she was pointing at a chipmunk that had been run over by a car. I said “Oh no! That is so sad.” She shook her head, yes. I knew they had camped in a tent. I asked her if she had stayed warm during the night and she smiled saying “yes”. The father asked if I was from the area. I said “no, I don’t have an area anymore.” They seemed like such a nice family, so I told them so and said it was good that they could get out and camp with their children. I said “do it as often as you can, because they are going to grow up so fast, and then they will be off to college. You will remember these as the best years of your life.”
I remember when my boys were 6 and 7 years old. We came to Colorado on a vacation, just the 3 of us. We spent a week in Rocky Mountain National Park. We hiked, climbed on rocks, saw wildlife, threw snowballs up at the pass, and soaked in the hot tub in the evenings. Recently I asked if they remember that trip. They looked like they were searching their minds. My younger son said “no”, but the older said he just remembered the hot tub and the Alpine Slide. I wasn’t sad about it. They were too young. Even though they didn’t remember, I don’t think that made any difference. The experience still registered with them, maybe not in the specific things they saw or did, but rather in the feelings it gave them. Like the other young families I see now, we were together. We had adventures. They were happy and they remember that happiness as part of their childhood. That is what is important. I hope they see it in the way I now describe it and in the excitement in my voice when I retell it.
I am again at a preparation day. It was below freezing this morning. I ran the furnace for a few hours as well as the tank heaters. It doesn’t appear that anything froze. This afternoon, I will put things away and hitch up the trailer. Tomorrow, I will drive to Dillon Reservoir on the other side of the Continental Divide, through the Eisenhower Tunnel, entering Summit County. My next destination will be along the backbone of America.
Starting All Over 