Why don’t you just fly out to see the places you want to see?
That’s a question we both have been asked over the past year. Our answer, from the beginning, was, “To see the country.” Before we started this crazy retirement journey, we thought that would be the case – hoped it would be the case, more like it – but had no real experience to back that up. It was, perhaps, a fool’s hope, but it was ours. A wise man once said, “Getting there is half the fun, you know that!”*
It really hit me today, after nearly 23,000 miles in Livvy, we were RIGHT ON with that thought! Watching the miles roll by, seeing the flat lands turn into foothills and then into mountains gives a sense for the diversity of this land we call home. And for most everywhere we go, no matter how remote, people have somehow made it their home. Quite often we will remark about the remoteness of a home and wonder what they do, for work or for play. Likely, they are sitting in their home wondering what they hell we see in driving around in an RV! Yet, we are both living a life we want.
We left the enormous flat plains of the alpine valley we were in the last two nights (no small feat, as the area is staggeringly big) and headed northwest back into the heart of the Rockies. The plains at our start (which were being farmed, no less, but what we discovered were potatoes) covered in nothing but scrub gave way to grass and conifers. Snow fields began gradually peeking out from between fields of pines adjacent to Livvy. And we continued to climb. The road headed gradually upward into the mountains, rising steadily to a pass at nearly 10,100 feet.
Steadily, yes, but not smoothly. The road varied in condition, from silk-smooth to rather fractured and jarring. Karen had the first leg (as she usually does) and handled both the roadway changes and the elevation increase wonderfully. Still, she was happy to make a switch, owing to the rather abrupt elevation change.
Slight ups and downs continued after I took over and as we traversed the top of the pass. We were both looking forward to the descent, putting us back in slightly thicker air. The altitude really does have an impact.
The drive down, while allowing us to breathe a bit easier, was also fascinating. The road wound its way through a vertical cut of rock known as Cochetopa Canyon, carved out over unknown years by the benign looking stream we followed. The walls were so steep and so sheer that, at the beginning, it felt like entering a narrow doorway into the Earth. Karen mentioned that it made her feel small. Ditto to that.
We passed uncountable herds of cattle grazing (cattle seem to be EVERYWHERE). I am 55 years old and still cannot resist mooing when I see them. It is quite irritating, I am sure. The down side of this is that we also were privy to a large field covered in small plastic igloos, each with a spike outside its entrance. I mentioned to Karen that these are where the cattle are kept for veal (keeping them mostly immobile to prohibit tough muscle growth). Needless to say, I do not think we’ll be having veal chops again any time soon. It is a sad existence for those cows.
The scenery finally leveled out after coming down out of the pass and gave way to Montrose, Colorado, our home for the next two nights. We are staying the Riverbend RV Park and we have a site right along the river. It is stunning!
As I type this, our door and windows are open, and I can hear the Uncompahgre River tumbling over its riverbed and ceaselessly working its way to the ocean. The faint smell of someone’s campfire is on the breeze. We could be in the middle of nowhere, not a living soul around. The Needy Bichon is curled up in the bed, pleasantly tired from all the fresh air. We have everything we need.
That’s why we don’t just fly to see the National Parks. They are not the goal. They are not the end to the means. It is the journey that makes the difference. It is the journey that changes us, makes us grow. The end is, after all, just the beginning.
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