There are some mornings that I wakeup and feel indomitable. Coincidentally, these are the same mornings I received miminal sleep. The result is a veritable delusion of grandeur.
I had a summer of these. Hey, why not climb..limp crawl up Colorado’s highest peak? Or better yet, let’s bike 25 miles in the mountains hauling the kids. Gee, that sounds like fun!
Last week was no different.
I decided to bike the Clear Creek Trail along Highway 58 from the I-70 junction to Lion’s Park in Golden. Hauling the kids. Uphill. Both ways.
Now, let’s see. Child #1: 32 pounds + Child #2: 23 pounds + 15-pound Chariot carrier + everything including the kitchen sink to keep the kids entertained = a tabulation I care not to compute. Why would I? I lived every stinkin’ pound of it.
I will spare you the gory details but in the end, we miraculously made it. Well, at least the kids did.
Blasted from the Past
I should have learned my lesson from when these same delusions led me to roller-blade that path a couple of years ago. I had started out strong. Smooth, powerful strokes. I was completely alone on the trail, which I love. But then I encountered hill #1. No problem. My pace slowed a bit but I triumphantly summited.
Then came Hill #2, then #3. All was fine and dandy until it came time to turn around.
But then came the “Ohhhhhhhh fudge” (I blame Ralphie from The Christmas Story).
During my jubilation of conquering the trail, I hadn’t realized how truly steep my ascent was. For those who have ever been on roller-blades, stopping while careening 100 miles an hour down a hill can be problematic. For me, it proved to catastrophic. Because in addition to the steep hills, there were also signs everywhere with the squiggly arrow (the official road-sign term, I’m sure). You know, the one that says “You’re dead if you don’t follow the hairpin curves.”
The rest of the story was not pretty. What ticks me off is do you think anyone witnessed my triumphant ascent? Nooooooooo. But now bikers started coming out of the woodwork as I desperately clutched the railing, my legs wedged in a snow-plow…errr..asphalt-plow.
In the end, I only suffered a few scrapes and a bruised ego. But worry not, after these two sordid experiences I have certainly learned my lesson.
Until my next episode of sleep deprivation, that is.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 