From Steamboat to Silverthorne, then Leadville and to Crested Butte, through Gunnison, Lake City, Paonia, and Grand Mesa, exploring Colorado for the first time was more fulfilling than I could have expected. 

If my original plan had stayed intact, I would never have driven down Route 30 south of Lake City. I was due to be back in Grand Junction the following day and would have needed to head north instead of south. But when I wandered into cell coverage, a voicemail notification came through. It was the dermatologist in Grand Junction calling to inform me that they had canceled my appointment and rescheduled me for Monday, four days later. I was instantly upset. My entire camping trip had been carefully planned around being in Grand Junction on Thursday. Now what was I supposed to do? 

Even in that moment, I knew I was acting and feeling unreasonable, yet I couldn’t get a handle on my emotions. Later, I was able to identify it as a classic case of projecting. All the unknowns in my life have collided: not knowing when Serhii and I can be together more than 90 days at a time, not knowing if we will live in Norway or the US, having submitted a visa application in February and still having heard nothing from the US government, having no idea when this limbo will end. It is all clearly affecting me more than I had realized. Upon reflection, it seemed that my plan for the trip had given me a sense of having control over something. After being canceled on, it became clear that I had no control over that either.  Of course, the truth is that none of us has control over anything, but there are times in life when it is much easier to live in the deluded state that tells us that we have control, and this is not one of those times for me. 

My mom, being the calm, reasonable, and supportive type, suggested that I just camp longer and keep the appointment in Grand Junction as the marker of the end of my trip. I was resistant at first, but only because it was admitting defeat. It became obvious that it was the natural trajectory of the situation.

The following days, the days that were not supposed to be part of my trip, ended up being the most fulfilling days of my entire summer. It was when I found calm, peace, and acceptance for the first time in many months. Universe, you win again. Maybe this time I will remember. 

But let’s go back to the beginning.  

The intent of my trip was to explore areas in Colorado I had never before, with a theme of keeping cool in the mountains. I came up with a Kate-style itinerary, making no reservations at any campgrounds or having a solid route in mind. I only knew that I wanted to start in Steamboat and end in Grand Junction. Leadville and Lake City were also on my mind, but ultimately, I planned to just let each day play out, while making sure to keep up the necessary pace. 

Arriving in Steamboat on a Friday night in July was perhaps the first flaw in my non-plan. All the campgrounds were full. But rolling with the punches allowed me to just take that as an opportunity to save some money. I spotted an area in the national forest where other campers locked out of the campgrounds had taken up, and I stopped for the night. 

The next day brought me to arguably the best Farmer’s market I have ever been to. As if in a scene from a Hallmark movie, the vendors gleefully sold everything from pasture-raised meats to fresh pastries, to local vegetables and handmade clothes, plus there were numerous food and beverage trucks. The Yampa River, which runs through the town, was packed with families on yellow inner tubes, joyously floating down. Everyone I saw seemed to be enjoying the lively mountain town, and I was impressed. I generally avoid the very affluent towns in Colorado because I just cannot resonate with the people who inhabit them, but Steamboat had a more down-to-earth vibe that I really found compelling. I even thought, maybe we could live here, until I checked the real estate prices. If you have a million dollars to spend on a tear-down, it’s the place for you! 

From Steamboat, I set off for Silverthorne, though hoping to stop short for the night. As luck would have it, Green Reservoir, about 20 miles north of Silverthorne, boasted no less than six campgrounds within ten miles. Being a Sunday night, I had my pick but ultimately settled into a spot farthest removed from the busy waterline and all the giant campers with idling generators. Enjoying the peace and quiet, I began writing for my (yet to be disclosed) new project when something brushed my foot. I did not think much of it until movement caught my eye. I looked over to see a mouse staring up at me. The mystery of the chunk removed from a peach that had been sitting on the counter overnight had been solved. It seemed that I had a resident mouse.