April 24th, 2026
I spent yesterday driving across the plains from Minnesota towards Colorado. I stayed overnight in North Platte, Nebraska. I have now crossed into the Mountain Time Zone, veering to the left off of Interstate 80 and onto Interstate 76 towards Denver. A few minutes after that, I was in Colorado. I am now at the junction with U.S. 34 driving west towards the towns of Greeley and Loveland.
It has been just over 50 years since I drove this way on my first trip to the mountains. Back then, my partner and I were headed to Rocky Mountain National Park, my first ever trip to mountains after growing up in the flat corn fields of northern Illinois. It was a little surprising when we crested a hill in the rolling countryside and I got my first glimpse of morning sun highlighting the white snowfields of the Rockies.
It was the end of June, and I was intrigued by the snow capped peaks. We passed through Loveland and the low red rock ridges on the foothills before starting the slow winding climb up the Big Thompson Canyon. That was the second big surprise. The river was a crystal clear rushing, cascading stream. Fly fisherman were visible along the banks, casting for trout. The rivers and creeks where I grew up were slow meandering things that looked like coffee with a little too much cream and were populated with catfish, bullheads, and carp. There water was warm, tepid, not freezing cold from upstream snowfields melting on spring days as today.
I am returning to those same northern Colorado mountains that over the years seemed more like home than the places I grew up. They are where I have come whenever I feel worn and ground down by life. They are the place I go to recover and rejuvenate. A place to forget bad jobs, tough times, and failed relationships. My place of peace.
I return to retrieve my trailer and start this years camping in the high country.
The answer to all my problems probably isn’t up a mountain in Colorado, but I’m going to double check just to make sure.
Starting All Over 