Peak to Peak

“Now there’s a real mountain man” said the middle-aged* guy without (as far as I could tell) a hint of mockery.

Despite having lived in the foothills of the Rockies for over 10 years, it’s not often I’m mistaken for Grizzly Adams so at first, I wasn’t sure what he meant.  Turned out he was expressing admiration for my walking stick.  Not yet having made the switch to these new-fangled trekking poles, I’m still rocking it old school with a shoulder high hickory staff.  Apparently this marked me out as an experienced hiker.  A veteran amongst all these rookies.  Hard core. 

His companions were suitably impressed.I wasn’t too sure myself but then it wasn’t yet 6am.  And at that time of day, I’m rarely at my most impressive.  Even worse, having slept in the back of my truck at the trailhead, I’d awoken to discover my bag contained coffee and a stove, but no cooking pots.  Which meant I was starting the day without caffeine and that’s never a good thing.It wasn’t an auspicious start to my first real-live attempt at a 14’er**

Mind you, if I was that big an animal, I probably wouldn’t be tackling Gray’s Peak in the first place.  Drive an hour or so along the freeway from Denver, then bump up 3 (admittedly steep) miles and you’re at the trailhead.  Add a wide, well-trodden and easy to follow trail, this particular 14’er is a classic “beginners peak”.  Throw in the bonus of another 14’er, Torrey’s Peak just a short dip away and it’s one of the most popular trails in Colorado.  We’re not exactly talking Wilderness Experience here. 

In fact, there were at an estimate, several dozen other hikers setting off up the trail in the pre-dawn light.Any serious hiker would have scoffed at such an endeavor.  Not so very long ago, I would have scoffed at such an endeavor.  Back in the day, I was an experienced hill walker and with my disproportionately long legs, could leave most other trekkers in the dust.  

But, in my time as a Colorado resident, I had yet to venture above 12,500 feet and as well, let’s face facts here, I’m not as young as I was back in the day, so I wasn’t entirely sure how my old carcass would cope.  I have the fond notion that when I do have my first heart attack, it would be nice if other people were around.

Anyway, real mountain man or not, I resisted the urge to set off at a fast pace, knowing I had some 3,600 feet (1,200 meters) of altitude gain ahead of me.  Possibly as a result of this, I found the going not too bad.  In the beginning at least.  The thing about climbing mountains is you need to go up.  And the further up you go, the harder it is to breathe.  After an hour or so, I was extremely glad to have my trusty mountain man walking stick along with me.  Not only did it help as a lever to push myself up some of the higher step ups, it gave me something on which to lean while desperately trying to suck oxygen into my lungs.

To be fair, I seemed to be doing better than most others around me.  I was passing more people than passed me, and of the latter group, I usually overtook them later while they were resting.  Not that I was racing you understand, not me.  Not a competitive bone in my body.  That didn’t stop me feeling a bit smug though.

Although there were 2 young guys who cruised past me on the final, steepest stretch of the climb at a point when I was wondering just beginning to wonder if this bloody mountain even had a top.  Without a trace of breathlessness, they were chatting about the Tour de France and I didn’t even have the energy to correct their misapprehension that Mark Cavendish won it this year.

I was still ruminating on the injustice of this when hey ho, would you look at that.  Here’s the summit and you know what?  I didn’t really feel all that tired.  After all this time I’d finally made it to the top of a 14’er.

Only took me 3 hours too so after a look around, and asking a fellow peak bagger to take the obligatory hero shot, I headed down the trail to knock off Torrey’s seeing I was up here.  The two young guys passed me on the way down, chatting about Ultimate Cage Fighting this time but I don’t know enough about that to tell you if they were correct or not.

What I do know is that the 600 or so vertical feet (275m) to the summit of Torrey’s Peak was a darn site harder than the equivalent stretch of Gray’s.  It could be that I was tiring…well, yeah I was definitely tiring but my fellow hikers seemed for the most part, to be struggling too.   I certainly wasn’t the only one stopping to “admire the view”.But the top arrived eventually, as tops generally do if you just keep going.  And the view was every bit as spectacular.  And the sense of achievement just as great.  The 2 young guys were still at the top when I arrived and as it turned out, were very personable.  From Indianapolis apparently, where they don’t even have hills so I had to admire that.

Off down the hill then and as is so often the way, I found this to be more tiring than the hike up.  It was way further than I expected too and while it only took me a couple of hours, which doesn’t sound all that long but I was bone weary by the time I finally made it to the trailhead.  Still, I’d made it to the top of not 1, but 2 of Colorado’s 14’ers.  My heart hadn’t given out and really, I hadn’t found it to be anywhere near as hard as I had feared.  So I was feeling pretty good about myself.

Better yet, my 2 young friends were still in the parking lot, sitting on the tailgate of a truck.  They’d changed into matching t-shirts and the legend emblazoned across their chests cheered me even further.“Marines”

So yeah, I’m OK with them being faster than me.

* The definition for this is a moving target but it generally means “Older than me”.
** Colorado has 54 mountains above 14,000 feet (4,268 Meters), affectionately known 14’ers. 

Half a Century

Well there we go. According to the calendar, I’m fifty year old, as of this morning and there’s no getting round it.

Fifty years. Whoever would have thought I’d make it, eh? What’s the old line? If I’d known I was going to live this long I would have taken better care of myself? 

Well, I’m not sure about that. Looking back, I probably wouldn’t have. Most of the fun memories have been when I’ve been doing things that on hindsight; probably weren’t all that smart in terms of long-term health. Those of you who were there know the things I’m talking about.

It could be that this is why it takes me a couple of minutes to get fully upright after crawling out of bed in the morning, and why my knees hurt so much of the time. And why people feel the need to point out my grey hair as if they think I’m unaware of it but never tell me I look young for my age any more.

For the most part, it’s been a good fifty years, but there are certainly reasons I look the way I do.

Here’s how it all began, back in Stirlingshire, Scotland in 1962. Just down the road from where Mel Gibson ran around with his face painted blue.

Being the third child, the novelty had worn off somewhat for my parents and as far as I know, this is the only picture of me as a wean.

Obviously, there were more as I got older. Usually dressed in my Sunday best and standing to attention which was how my old Ma believed children should be photographed.

As you can see, I had remarkably poor taste when it came to colour coordination and dress sense back then. Hard to believe as I sit here today in frayed shorts and food splattered t-shirt, like I’ve just fallen off the page of GQ Magazine.

In my opinion, things got a lot better once I hit my late teens. Here’s me at 16

And then 17

Looking quite stud-muffinesque as I’m sure you’ll agree. Or not. Dear Wife breaks out into fits of laughter when she sees these pictures but then, what does she know? She’s always had terrible taste when it comes to me. At least since I’ve known her.

The eighties passed, as decades do and…well let’s just say that I believe all photographs of me during that era have been hunted down and wiped from the face of the earth. Which is what will happen to the smarty-pants who thinks it would be funny to produce any at this stage. Clear?

Then in 1991, I packed it all in and set off to travel around the world and see where life took me. After years of working in the public sector, wearing a suit and tie every day, I embraced the opportunity to become a smelly backpacker. 

Although sometimes I cleaned up, for special occasions such as when my Australian friend Matt and I took Malaysia by storm as the singing duo, The Batik Brothers.

So idyllic was beach bum life I was living back then, I made a vow that wherever I ended up living, it needed to have palm trees. Of course, I didn’t expect to wind up in the concrete wasteland that is Phoenix, Arizona.

But that was where I met a gurl, and within a few months I'd conned her into marrying me.

Yes, that is a dog in the bottom right hand corner and yes, I have mullet. And of course, you noticed the mullet before you noticed the dog, right? Don’t worry, it gets worse.

Most people upon seeing that photo make some reference to A Flock of Seagulls. If you aren’t as old as me, you won’t get that but then to be fair, they were fairly obscure even by the time that was taken.

Into my forties then. Not happy about it but what are ya gonna do, eh? On the plus side, we finally escaped Phoenix in 2002 and moved to Colorado. What took us so long, I can’t explain.

Sadly, this was around the onset of digital cameras, which meant that everyone was paparazzi, snapping dozens of photos at every gathering and usually, posting them online.

For reasons unclear, it became a running joke to try and get photos of me with food in my mouth. It got so I could barely eat at a party without some unflattering picture appearing on the web within minutes. I tired of the game long before everyone else did.

So, I got into the habit of either pulling a face or putting a finger up my nose whenever I sensed a camera pointing in my direction. Hey, I said I was in my forties; I never said anything about being mature.

Digital cameras I note, also have the unfortunate tendency to make me look like I have a double chin. And a big stomach. Neither of which are true, obviously.

The upshot? Not too many photos of me during this period of my life. Or at least, none that I wanted to keep on file.

This one though, was taken when I was about 46.

Another at 48

This one starts to give you an idea of where the mystery stomach came from.

At least I remembered to suck it in for this photo, taken just after I’d come off my bike. Again. My ability to stay upright on a bicycle hasn’t improved with age.

Earlier this year at 49, I shaved my head for charity, which instantly transformed me into a badass. Oh yes it did! Here, I survey my empire.

 

Really though, I wasn’t a fan of the full-on bald look, but once things started to grow in a bit, I got used to it. So my hair has stayed short.

Which brings us to 50. Still forgetting to suck my stomach in for photos, but otherwise, contented enough with life.

Regrets? I’ve had a few. But then again, ah well, I’m out of space.

2012 - By the Numbers

Days to St. Baldrick’s - 40

Days to MS150 - 121

Number of Days Cycled - 12
Trainer – 5
Mountain Bike - 1
Touring Bike - 6
% of Goal - 12%

Miles Cycled on Touring Bike - 103
% of Goal – 4.1%

Miles Hiked on Colorado Trail - 0

14’ers Climbed - 0

Number of Nights Camped - 1
Caravan - 1
Outdoors -0

Time between 5pm and Sunset – 22 minutes
Time between Sunrise and 8am – (51 minutes)

Days until Spring – 49
Days until Daylight Savings begins - 39

A Kojak Moment

OK, so what’s this “Shaving my Head for St. Baldrick’s” thingy that I’ve been on about in my New Year’s Not Resolution posts?

Shaving my head? Sounds like a trip, right? Well, if you’ll forgive me, I’m going to get serious for a bit

The St. Baldrick’s Foundation (www.stbaldricks.org) is a volunteer driven charity that funds research to find cures for childhood cancers. According to their web site, 160,000 children are diagnosed with cancer worldwide each year. One every 3 1/2 minutes. Not only that, Cancer is the number one disease killer of children in the U.S. and Canada.

Now I’ve been blessed in that so far at least, no child I know personally has been stricken with cancer. However, in recent years we’ve had more than enough of it in our family. My Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer but she beat it. Stomach cancer took my Dad in 2010. My father-in-law beat bladder cancer a few years ago but is now fighting prostate cancer.

How messed up is that?

Cancer is a hateful, cowardly disease and frankly, I’m fucking sick of it.

Which is why I have so much admiration for people like The St. Baldrick’s Foundation and the work they do to help efforts to beat it once and for all. If you haven't already, take a look at the web site and see some of their success stories.

Right, I’ll climb off my soapbox now and explain about the head shaving stuff.

Each year, round about St. Patrick’s day, the St. Baldrick’s Foundation coordinates head shaving events at locations around the globe; more than a thousand in 2011. Over 45,000 people (more than 5,000 of them women) volunteered to have their heads shaved allowing the Foundation to award over $21 million in grants to help fight childhood cancer.

One of the volunteers was my mate Robert de Jong and it’s him wot deserves the credit for inspiring me to step up and do the deed this year.

It’s not going to be easy. My head hasn’t been shaved down to the wood since I was about 7 and who knows what we’re going to find under there. Tattoos, shopping lists, old girlfriends' phone numbers, there could be anything. And while they may have more silver highlights than I care to notice, I am somewhat attached to my flowing locks. I mean, I am pretty darned gorgeous.

So what I'm saying is, I’m more than a bit scared.

But what the hey. I've looked like a dork before, I can do it again. And who knows, maybe I'll look badass. (Yeah, right). Still, if me walking round looking like a billiard ball for a few weeks can help some kid with cancer, well then it’s not that big a price to pay now is it?

And if you wanted to help by making a donation, I’d be very, very, very grateful.

www.stbaldricks.org/participants/andrewsmith

Note: I can't get the links to work tonight for some reason, so please just copy and paste.