The Peak

I saw the Peak every day as the background of my childhood. But the allure of a large mountain to a kid was about the same as any other adventure. When you are young, any adventure is possible. Go to the park? Be an astronaut? Hang out at the pool? Fly a jet? Walk on Jupiter? When you are young, the choices and possibilities are limitless. 

The Peak stood in view but was never visited, falling to the wayside of childhood memories. Possibilities from our childhood fly quietly out the window without us knowing. The possibility of adventure gets buried under the daily grind of adulthood: family, work, and bills.

My family moved away from the city of the Peak when I was in High School. It must have been burned into my mind though and somehow connected with my future. After High School, I entered a tech college for bookkeeping many hours north of the city I grew up in. While I never finished the coursework, I did meet my future wife. She was from the city of the Peak. A coincidence or a siren call?

My wife and I would drive south on the weekend to visit her family. The Peak is plainly in view most of the drive, reminding us of its presence. In a moment of exuberance left over from youth and perhaps a few too many margaritas, my wife and I decided to climb the Peak. Without any real idea of what we were doing, we parked in the pre-dawn chill of Manitou Springs and did what no one in our family had ever done. We took our first steps on the mountain.

The first steps were not easy. From the parking lot, you ascend in a small circle of light from your headlamp. You can smell the early morning dew and the faint smell of pine. The trail seems to lead straight up!  Your thighs start to burn within a minute. And the steepness just keeps going and going.   It is not easy. Our first attempt failed. We turned around after two hours of steep ascent, totally exhausted. Had we made it 1/10 the way? Possible, but that might be a stretch.  The peak taught me that it was OK to get started and take that first step.

A month or two later, we tried again. We did make it a bit further but could just not do it. We turned around again. The third time we tried, there was some sort of a race going on. While my wife and I huffed and puffed and made slow progress upwards, athletes were running by us on the way to the top. This was crazy! We talked with some of the other hikers we met and they told us this was the annual Pikes Peak Marathon.  We made it a bit farther this time but still turned back. The peak taught me that I was not ready.

Another time we made it past Barr Camp (about 1/3 the way up) and kept ascending as the sun rose over the plains and lit the trail with its stark morning light. We had stopped for a drink of water and a quick snack. As we sat beside the trail, we heard a clomp, clomp, clomp, right above our heads. We looked up, and on a ledge directly above us was a bighorn sheep. He stared at us for a moment, and then backed away from the ledge as if we had dreamt of him. We continued and the sun warmed away the chill from the air and its warmth seemed to settle into our brains. We walked slower and slower and I didn’t notice I was sleeping until I walked into a boulder. We could barely walk we were so sleepy. We crawled up to a small shelter called A-Frame and curled up in the morning light on its hardwood planks. I have never fallen asleep so quickly or so soundly. 

When we woke it was like waking from a dream to see the world laid out before us as we sat on our throne, high on the mountain. It was silent except for the faint sound of wind through the trees and the occasional twitter of a small bird. We sat holding hands, breathed in the mountain air, and listened to the stillness of the wilderness. The peak taught me that sharing experiences with others adds depth to your life.

Another time we headed up in early winter. Our gear was perfect, our food supply was good, and we had plenty of time. We ascended past Barr Camp, past A-Frame, and onto the exposed upper pitches. As we ascended past the tree line onto the exposed slope, a fierce wind hit us in the face.   We struggled to make progress but could barely move forward against the wind. If I opened my arms and spread my coat, the wind would lift me just off the ground and throw me back down the trail. We laughed at the situation and turned around. The Peak did not want us to summit that day. But it was still just talking to us. Having a conversation. Nothing is final, it said. Just not today. The peak taught me that sometimes you can’t force something to happen, no matter how much you want it.

I’ll always remember the first time we reached the summit. We had made it to Barr Camp and then through the forest. Across the middle steps, past the A-frame, across the face of the peak, and then finally the grueling high steps of the golden staircase to the summit. As we got close to the summit, my wife raced ahead of me the final few yards. As she ran, her joy and relief mixed in with her laughing. I joined her at the top and we smiled at each other. Only we knew what we suffered and completed that day. The peak taught me that I can accomplish anything.

Our story continued five years later when my wife and I got married at the summit of Pikes Peak. We drove up the road that time, but after all the years the climb and trail are part of our souls.  Without the Peak, would I have fallen in love?

I’ve lived in Colorado, Utah, Alaska, and Texas. Every place I go I meet people that have climbed or visited the Peak. I have friends from India and Australia who have visited the peak. Seems like the Peak is a nexus for the people I know and meet. A shared story, a common tapestry of life events that we share.

The Peak keeps teaching me. Teaching me about myself and my life. Teaching me that something can be right in front of me, but until I commit and take the first step, it will never be a part of my life. 

What peak have you looked at your whole life? What will happen if you dare to take that first step?

My wife’s parents lie in a scenic cemetery in Colorado Springs with a clear view of Pikes Peak. We visit there often. To pay our respects to them, but also to soak in the view from our childhood that has crept into our adult lives.

We took our first steps on the Peak. Later, we got married on the Peak. And after we pass on, we request that our ashes be mingled and spread on the Peak. Our ashes will float on the wind on the Peak so we may always have the adventure of our youth and the love of our marriage. And as we look down from above, we will enjoy the peace of the warm sun rising above the plains and lighting up the Peak with the dreams of the next generation.