Escaping Convenience

Watching the lower right corner of the computer monitor like a hawk eyeing a field mouse, it seemed to take forever for 5 p.m. to roll around. With a mere 8 minutes left, I started packing my laptop messenger bag when Marti craned her neck around and piped up, “John, what are you doing? You can’t start shutting down now.”

“It’s almost time to head out. I have to pick up my wife and head to the airport,” I said.

“It’s not fair to the taxpayers. You can wait a few more minutes,” Marti said.

Oh, how I loathed my clock-watching boss. If it wasn’t bad enough that she sat in the cubical directly behind me, I couldn’t so much take a congress sanctioned lunch break without her micromanaged approval. 

That’s it, I’ve had enough of this place! I need to get going. 

I’m sick of staring at this keyboard and monitor for 8 hours a day as if it was going to magically entertain me. 

Listening to the clickity clacks of keyboards throughout this cubical jungle has me daydreaming of sitting on the beach listening to clams. The constant droning of phones ringing and conversations taking place put me to sleep quicker than my white noise machine at the bedside. 

Those few occasions when I’m early before others in the morning, it’s nice and quiet except for the electrical hum coming from the ballasts of the endless sea of fluorescent lights that are inching me closer to a seizure from the strobe effects. The constant ringing in my ears from tinnitus doesn’t mask it at all either.

Finally, 4:59 magically turns into 5 p.m. on the monitor so I bolted out without saying a peep to anyone. I high-tailed it out only to sit in heavy traffic. 

Ugh! Why? Why? Why?

After cursing my way home while trying to weave in and out of traffic, I finally reach the house. “Hey sweetie, I’m finally back! Please tell me everything is packed and ready to go. You have NO idea how ready I am for some solitude,” I said.

Genevieve was wearing her winter jacket despite it being a balmy 74° outside. “You sure you don’t want to pack that? You’ll sweat for sure!” I assured her.

“No, the temps in Steamboat are hovering with highs in the 20° range and we’re going to be in a higher elevation than that. You’ll see who's sorry!” Said Genevieve.

I scrounge around to finish my packing. I decided to pack a couple of Louis L’amour novels and leave behind the laptop. Besides my cellphone, no electronics! This is a decompression vacation for sure.

We head out for the airport. Thank goodness traffic died down. 45mph average, I can tolerate. A couple of hours later, we’re cleared through the security check and waiting to board flight 1969 to DIA.

The flight was fine enough. For an evening flight, it always aggravates me when people keep on their lights after the cabin lights are off. Oh well, nothing is going to stop me from enjoying this trip except for my own eccentricities. I’m determined!

We arrive in Denver after 11pm and check into the Westin for the night. The next morning, we get into the SUV. Brr… it is frigid!

“What’s the temp?” I ask the rental car attendant.

“24°, sir. I understand another front is moving through later this evening. Enjoy the warmth while you can,” he said.

Warmth? Well, it’s fine. After all, cold is cold, right? I doubt it really matters if it’s -20° or 20°. 

We’re on the road! Driving up I-70 west of Golden, we start the ascent into the Colorado Rockies and I notice the occasional snowbanks on the sides of the roads are getting thicker.

“Do you think we should’ve asked for tire chains,” she asked.

“No, I’m sure we’ll be fine. I don’t see any other vehicles with them on and too late now. We’ll be fine,” I said.

As we pass Georgetown, the climb up towards Loveland Pass gets more treacherous so I slow down. “Hey, look out the window! There’s the Loveland Ski area. I’m shocked, I don’t see but a few people on the slopes. I wonder if this stiff wind and the front that’s on the way is keeping them away?” I said.

We finally reach the pass and go make it through Eisenhower Tunnel unscathed. As we make the great descent, I quickly learn that I need to drop the gears to avoid burning out the breaks. I also notice the thick hard-packed snow on the roads were icy as the SUV was slipping and sliding. A few miles down and we slowly pass a poor jack-knifed 18-wheeler around a bend. We’re not in Texas anymore!

The roads remained treacherous but a couple hours later, we finally reach Steamboat Springs and stop by the rental office for the cabin we reserved about 27 miles further up the road.

“Hello! How may I help you?” asked the receptionist. I answer, “I’m John Morris. We have reservations for the High Line Cabin near the state park.”

“Ah yes, okay. Well, welcome,” she said as she typed on her computer. “Okay, all checked in. Here are your keys, a map, and instructions on how to operate the pot-bellied stove. You’ll know you reach the cabin when you see the numbers on the fence line. There’s also a blackbird silhouette on top of the A-frame roofline. There are two A-frame houses in that area but this is the only one with the blackbird at the top. Now, before you leave town, I recommend stopping by Safeway for shopping as there’s not much in the area you’re heading. It’s really remote out there. No cell phone reception, no electricity, no TV,” she said, “there’s chopped wood to feed the stove a short walk near the fir trees and we have the cabin stocked with a box of matches, sheets, and blankets. I hope you’re prepared because it’s going to be cold!”

“Yes ma’am, we’re looking forward to it,” I said, “thank you. Should I just leave the keys there or do I need to come back to check out?”

“No need to stop back unless you need to settle up with business. As long as everything remains intact, just make sure you’re out by 11 a.m. on the 5th,” she explained.

After loading up on groceries, we head north traveling slowly. I have no idea how high we’re sitting off the pavement but the packed snow looks thick.

“Turn right, babe,” Genevieve tells me as she navigates with the map. The GPS from the phone has no network at this point. “Uh, is that it, John? I can barely see the numbers on the fence post covered in snow.” 

“I don’t know. Maybe? She said to look for a blackbird on the top but I can’t tell. Look at that! Even for an A-frame, there must be a foot of snow on top? How’s that even possible? Wouldn’t it all slide down?” I asked.

“Well, I guess there’s nowhere for the snow to go since it’s piled up covering the windows on the side facing the mountain,” she said.

“Okay. Well, obviously there’s no way I can park by the house. We’re going to have to park here on the side of the road and hoof it in,” I said.

We get out of the SUV and the snow is coming down hard. Big, fluffy flakes land on me, and before you know it, my head is covered in the white stuff.

I grab a couple of suitcases and try walking towards the cabin but quickly notice the snow is coming up between my legs and jeans. Man, why didn’t I put my gaiters on? I’m halfway there and the snow is up to my waist. This is crazy! I love it, but I’m starting to fear it.

We arrive at the front door and I put the suitcases down. By now, they are hidden because the snowdrift is up the side of the house a good 6 or so feet! We shovel the snow away from the door with our hands and numbness sets in. The snot is now frozen - how does something like that even happen?

I struggle to feel the cabin keys in my pockets but I’m finally able to get them. “DAMN IT!” I shout. “What is it?” asks Genevieve. “I dropped the damn keys!”

I let out a big sigh and can see a hole in the snow where it fell through. I sink my arm following the hole and after a few seconds, I find it. I rise back up and Genevieve is chuckling, “Oh my Lord! You are completely white!”

We both have a good laugh combined with intense shivering. We finally make it inside the cabin.

After closing the door, we both look at each other. “Uh, the smell,” says Genevieve, “Do they not treat the smoke smell? It smells like we’re inside a smokehouse back in Lockhart!” The smell is pungent but what could we expect? The pot-bellied stove in the corner is the sole source of heat. 

It’s dark inside. The counter has a couple of oil lanterns. Quaint! I light them with the matches near the stove. It’s just bright enough to see all the soot on the log ceilings and walls. 

We make up the bed with sheets and blankets. Good grief, I hope the layers are good enough.

“Uh, I guess I need to get some wood, huh,” I said. 

I never did remove my coat but I opened my suitcase and get the gaiters this time as well as my gloves. I head back outside and have to plow my way through a wall of snow. It’s not easy. As I attempt to find the cord of firewood, I begin huffing and puffing. It’s so cold it is literally sucking the air out of my lungs and freezing the inside of my nostrils!

10 minutes later, I locate the cord and bring an armful back to the cabin. 

“Sweetheart, you’re going to need to start the fire because my body is frozen. Not just my hands, but I literally cannot feel anything!” I please to Genevieve. She explains to me how all the skin she sees on me is red from the intense snow.

After a few minutes, the fire starts up. Thank goodness, another source of light. But, then the smoke is backing up into the cabin.

“Did you open the damper?” I ask. “Yes,” she answers.

“Shoot. I bet the chimney pipe is clogged from the snow!” I say in disgust. I grab a log and start banging the side of the chimney pipe.

I try not to bang it too hard as I fear loose areas that may come apart. I can hear noise from the snow as it lands in the belly.

“Fixed,” I said.

“Oh man, the groceries! Crap. I guess I better go fetch them,” I said as I head back out the cabin door.

I can barely open the hatch to get the bags due to my numb fingers. I swear it got colder in the past hour. How’s that possible? It’s just 2 p.m.!

As I grab the water bottles, I notice the waters if half iced! Wow, that’s cold. 

After three trips, all the groceries are inside. 

“So, are you hungry,” she asked.

“No, I’m exhausted. I think I’ll just lay on this couch for a spell and try to thaw out.”

It’s so quiet. With the exception of the subtle sounds of the cast iron skillet scraping from Genevieve’s cooking ground beef to prep for the chili, it’s absolutely quiet. 

No humming fluorescent lights. No clickity-clack of keyboards or constant droning phone conversations and ringing. It’s nice. But I’m quickly learning nice isn’t easy. 

My mind turns philosophical as I ponder the teaching of my philosophy professor. Which situation gives me more jollies? Quiet solitude with a hard life or noisy distractions with easy amenities?

Hmm, that’s a tough one. 

That had to be the best chili she ever made perhaps due to my exhaustion and the heat warming my innards. Regardless, it really hit the spot!

After dinner and more relaxation, it was dark. And I mean dark! I peaked out the front door and I couldn’t see a thing. Just pitch black. The windows were useless as the snow-covered any view we possibly could have.

We started making small talk, centering around how foreign all this cabin life is and how hard it must’ve been for the pioneers who settled the Rockies. How did the native tribes handle it? No cars? No electricity? Heck, not even outhouses!

The lack of TV, the internet, and music heightened our senses and thoughts. There’s a lot said about technology and having the world at your fingertips. But, I’m quickly realizing that this physical exhaustion and the heightened senses may overrule any conveniences that I thought were just a part of natural life n today’s world.

Perhaps Ted Kaczynski was onto something with his major disdain for technology and wanting to isolate in the Montana mountains. I was beginning to understand it. No, I don’t believe I’d ever go mad enough to figure out how to create mail bombs to stop important people from improving technology. That’s insanity. But, I get it.

There’s a fine line between genius and madness.

I begin to doze off. Genevieve creens over and kisses me goodnight. We’re both exhausted.

I wonder what day two of the frozen paradise of the amenity-less cabin will bring us tomorrow? But I don’t wonder too hard as I begin to doze…