Ohhh, Colorado

Before I made it to Abby and the mountains of Colorado, I crossed five states, chased (and was chased by) storms, camped by ponds and breweries, survived a surprise cow attack, sat through a personal bee tour, and cooked filet mignon in the middle of nowhere. It was a weird and wonderful blur of weather, wildlife, and wobbly feelings, all under the wide, unpredictable sky. And now, finally, I was settling into Colorado, my home for the next week. Last we left off, I was falling asleep to distant thunder and mooing of cows while camping outside of Great Sand Dunes National Park.

The next day at the dunes was quiet in a strange way. It was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but it was also the first time I felt truly alone on the road. Watching groups of people laugh and tumble down sand hills while I just kind of sat there, camera in hand, feeling like I was floating above it all.

As time went on and the people around me switched out, the feelings got heavier. 

I was very lonely, a little sad, and surprisingly calm. I didn't have service to call anyone, and I didn't know anyone around me. My only option was to just sit with my feelings. 

For the first time, my independence was really starting to sink in, and I didn’t know how to feel about it. This was everything I ever dreamed of, but I was doing it alone. It felt liberating, exciting, and nerve-wracking.

Once I was sufficiently in my feels, I decided to pack it up and head out for a different view of the park. I drove up a steep dirt road right outside the park to find the Zapata Falls Trailhead. After a 0.8-mile hike up, I arrived at the stream flowing from the falls. You can hear the falls from there, but to see the actual waterfall, you are going to have to get your feet wet and extremely cold. Just when I thought I was crazy for doing the hike in sandals, I saw a man doing a full-on polar plunge at the base of the falls. Very awesome and humbling, haha. 

Off Grid Cabin

That night I stayed at one of the best Hipcamps I’ve ever photographed—an off-grid cabin with mountain views, silence, and sky. The Milky Way made a full appearance. I laid in the grass like a kid, mouth open, just looking up. Took a few photos for Hipcamp and then curled up in bed, excited to see Abby the next day.

The next morning, I packed up and hit the road to see Abbey. But first, I needed gas. And of course, nothing can just go smoothly. The pump clicked, I looked down, and there it was: a suspicious little drip from my tank. Nothing screams “peaceful morning” like the slow realization that Murphy’s Law is alive and well on this trip. I crouched, stared, poked, Googled, and called my dad with the enthusiasm of someone reporting an “oops.” We decided it was safest to just not fill the tank all the way. It wasn’t great, but we crossed our fingers that this simple fix would get me through the summer and back home.  (That line is foreshadowing. This will absolutely haunt me later.)

Bailey & Silverthorne

From there, I rolled into Bailey, Colorado—another Hipcamp listing to photograph, tucked beside a pond with cliffs and distant mountains that looked like a Bob Ross painting. I got there first and knocked out some shots before Abby showed up, Subaru, and all. She had a new pop-up tent on her roof and the same joyful energy she’s always had. She climbed into my truck camper and we talked for hours about life, love, bugs, and road trip chaos. Then I helped her pop up her rooftop tent, and we both turned in early, wrapped in pine air and the sounds of absolutely nothing.

The next morning, we kept things slow. The property was close to a few little towns, but felt like we were a million miles out. After checkout, we headed north to Silverthorne, where Abby was living. She gave me the tour of her apartment, and then we immediately set off to find snacks. Farmers market loot included cotton candy, nut butters, sweet drinks, and fresh bread. We also swung by the Dillon Amphitheater to see the lake up close. 

Snowboards, Turkey Legs, and a Tiny Mountain Wedding

Next day: Copper Mountain Resort. We wandered around a snowboarding competition and ate BBQ that was aggressively good. I got a turkey leg like I was at a Renaissance Faire. Don't really know why, though, because I didn’t enjoy eating it like that at all, haha.  Then we went plant shopping (classic) and took a take-out pizza on a hike. At one of the overlooks, we saw a couple getting married. It gave my heart little flutters. 

Flat Tire and a Surprise Guardian Angel

Eventually, our time in Silverthorne wrapped up. Abby would be joining me for two more nights of camping up north, but for now, we parted ways and headed out in our own cars. I hadn’t even hit Wyoming yet when—BANG. Loud bang. My truck shook, and I knew immediately I’d blown a tire. Pulled over on the shoulder and called AAA, my dad, and Abby, in that order. It was Sunday. Shops were closed, so I didn’t know where to take the truck. AAA wouldn’t come unless I had an address to drop the truck. I was stranded in the most Colorado-y of places: a random shoulder surrounded by hills and absolutely zero solutions.

Enter Mark. My mom went to grade school with him. He and his family run several auto body shops. He was one of the people who helped look over my truck before the trip and had said, “Call me if you ever need anything.” And well… I did. This man delivered. He sent a friend of his who lived an hour away to come get me. Not only did they pick me up, but they brought me to their home, fed me, gave me a place to shower and crash for the night, and just straight up adopted me for a day. Absolute angels. Still blown away.

Into Wyoming

By Monday night, I was back on the road. High on kindness, I just started driving north with no real plan. Around sunset, I found Ayres Natural Bridge Park and decided to sleep there. The rock formations looked like someone had painted them by hand. The spot was covered in rattlesnake warnings, but I never saw one. You could hike up on top of the bridge for this insane view. The campground bathrooms were… interesting. They were wallpapered with fashion ads from the '40s, '50s, and ‘60s.

Anyway, that’s where I’ll leave you for now. Wyoming gets its own post because Yellowstone and Grand Teton deserve their own stage. And trust me, the gas tank comes back into play.