Following the surreal experience at the Bonneville Salt Flats and the long long drive, Nevada City was to be our home for the next week. It is not in Nevada, nor is it a City. In the British sense of the word anyway. More of a quaint village with narrow winding streets and skinny footpaths. In California, not Nevada. Not even Nevada County, California.

This was officially our laziest week of the whole trip, activity-wise anyway. As Baz Lurhman once said “Live in Northern California once but leave before it makes you… soft”. That one hour time difference was a killer. Not only does this mean my work start time was brought forward to 8am, but also the end of Summer is approaching, and the sun isn’t getting up so early any more either. Or maybe we’re just soft.

What we did instead was to make good use of the slightly longer evenings in our Inn Town campsite (not really what you’d call ‘in town’ but I guess we’re over that now). Well, we drank more and barbecued more 😋, we marveled at the tall trees, and we played leisurely games of Cornhole and Yahtzee (yes I pretty much got my ass whupped every time).

I particularly liked the Sierra Commons co-working space in Nevada City, for its shaded outdoor patios, front and back. So nice to be able to work outside all day, and ironically the smoke had pretty much cleared up by the time we got to California.

The drive south from Nevada City took us past Lake Tahoe, where Darren let his paddle board out to play again (it’s not seen the light of day in so long, it must think it’s been in the naughty corner. Oh no, that’s my bike!)

And then just like that, we were in our final week. 11 weeks down, 1 to go, how did that happen? What better way to close out in style than a week in Mammoth Lakes on the eastern side of the Sierras. Mammoth is our normal California backyard go-to hangout when we need to exchange the heat of Santa Clarita for the refreshing mountain air. Likewise, it was the perfect last destination stop-off for hiking, biking, and drinking beer before going home.

Mammoth is to the outdoors what Vegas is to partygoers. It builds the sense of excitement as you approach. “The mountains are calling.” So says John Muir (the Scottish-American naturalist largely responsible for establishing nearby Yosemite National Park), the slogan almost as enticing as the recent Covid-induced “Your adventure has waited long enough”. I literally cannot think of this phrase in any other way than as a movie trailer voiceover: slow, deep and dramatic. “Your adventure has waited long enough”.

To be fair, this was less adrenaline-fueled type adventure, more of the get out of bed at sunrise to fit a walk in before work type of adventure. Yes, the six mile hikes before work on Mountain Time were long gone, we’d be lucky to fit in two miles on Pacific Time here. Still, we did what we could.

Given the Covid challenges in California, the co-working space in Mammoth had opted to not open for the entire summer season, boo. Leaving us with no other realistic option than an AirBnB. I was super impressed with Darren’s choice, a cute ‘Tree House’ cabin centrally located and just minutes from Mammoth Brewing.

Which brings me on to the very important topic of Mammoth Brewing. It’s come a long way from its early days, when we remember it as a small backyard operation focused on solid quality beers with some interesting seasonals. I’d go as far as saying it was our original inspiration for seeking out new and interesting breweries.

Fast forward nearly ten years and now it’s a big operation with canning and bottling exports stretching throughout California and since 2014, they’ve had a very prominent tasting room smack bang in the middle of Mammoth. If you ask me they’re no longer pushing the boundaries, although the beers are still excellent. With California Covid restrictions and our intolerance to queueing, it took us three days to get in. But when we finally did, it felt like coming home! Welcome to Altitude!!! 🙂

But it’s not all about the beer. Sometimes you just need a bit of purple in your life.

With Labor Day and a long weekend approaching, a day off on Friday gave us both an opportunity to experience that little bit more of Mammoth.

Come the weekend, we’d moved on from the AirBnB and we were taking it easy. There we were, chilling out by the river, skulking in the shade of the trees having forgotten to bring the sunscreen, and oblivious to any advancing clouds. And then this happened.

We were in no immediate danger from the Creek Fire but it was close enough to not want to hang around. And so a day early, we hitched up, braved the fog from the fire and turned our attention to home. Our thoughts go out to the brave firefighters that can’t just get the hell out like us.

And there’s no getting the hell away from the smoke. We barely managed to beat it back home, giving us a day of clear air (pool party, woohoo!) before being engulfed once again. Over a week on and the view on our home turf sunrise walk was still a dense red fireball sun obscured, almost eclipsed by smoke particles. Couple that with the heat (118F/ 48C on our first day back!! Calmed down since then but there’s no sign of autumn here just yet) and we’re about ready to head off again.

The only question is where…

A few hundred miles down the road from smoky Idaho, we found ourselves in smoky Utah, at the Bonneville salt flats. What with an intense 750+ mile driving weekend, our spare time was limited. But we were able to experience both sunset and sunrise at the salt flats. The opaque blandness of the sky from the fires only intensified the surreal experience.

Sunset was not much more than a few initial jaw drops at the scenery and a few practice flights with the drone, before settling in to camp overnight.

Swiftly go the nights (when there’s no mice around to keep you awake). Before we knew it, we were approaching sunrise and I was chomping at the bit to get out there and RUN. Into the nothingness, as far as you could see.

The salt flats underfoot are hard yet responsive, and well… flat. Such a great surface to traverse. Other people take their supercars to push their vehicle to its limits, testing its top speed and their own nerve. They embody their inner sense of youth, joyfully pulling donuts over and over as if in a computer simulated alternative reality. Me? I wasn’t planning on any speed records, I just wanted to experience the freedom of running into infinity. Which is exactly what it felt like.

If you asked me to define Ketchum in one of those Balderdash word games, I’d go with “an old tribal Indian greeting, spoken in a low, hushed tone, and accompanied by a deferential nod of the head: Ketchum”. Darren’s offering: “a new tasty recipe for ketchup, pronounced ketchyum”. Turns out it was neither of these things. Ketchum is actually a ski resort in southern Idaho and our next destination after Butte.

It was in stark contrast to our Saturday en-route stop at Craters of the Moon National Monument. And what is a national monument anyway? The feds say it’s not good enough to be a national park and the state doesn’t claim it? The only problem I have is that when you think of a monument, you think of a building or some kind of man made structure. Whereas this was a designated protected wilderness. Whatever. Craters of the Moon made for an awesome (if very hot and very dry!) hike, with some cool drone footage.

Back to Ketchum. Quite refreshing to be back in a compact (albeit out-of-season) tourist town after Butte. But actually the best thing was that just a few miles out of town, there was a gorgeous valley with awesome boondocking. Free camping for the week with a truly remote feel, and yet just a 15 minute commute to KetchumWorks, the co-working office. A cool converted bank building, with the main conference room housed in the original bank vault.

When you’re out in the countryside, it’s only right to accept you’re a part of nature. That the environment you’re in was there long before you, and will still be there long after you leave. And then, in this peaceful natural environment, you start to hear a rustling in the BaseCamp. So faint you even wonder if you imagined it. You doze back off to sleep…

Fast forward to the next day and there was no longer any doubt in our minds. We had a visitor. A field mouse. But not in the field, in our BaseCamp. Ding ding ding, round one: Hamiltons vs The Mouse. We diligently set out the two humane mousetraps before heading off for work, baited with Nutella. That evening: nothing. Mouse droppings, confirming our suspicions, but no mouse.

Ding ding ding, round two. Up the baiting game with pretzel M&Ms. (I was quite proud of my idea. I mean who can resist those! If you haven’t come across them before, they’re about the same size and shape as a maltezer but with a smartie-like coating). We retired to bed. It wasn’t long before I started to have doubts as to whether pretzel M&Ms were really the ideal baiting solution. They attracted our furry friend for sure. But with his first attempts, he accidentally locked the M&M inside the trap and himself outside. Gave Darren a beseeching look. “Let me in. I can’t get at the good stuff.”

After that, he developed a canny way of extracting said pretzel M&M from the trap, still without him getting inside the trap. He careered around the floor chasing it. Then upped his game to play soccer with it. It was maybe at this point he decided it would be more fun to invite some friends.

Ding ding ding, round three. After two sleepless nights, we were starting to become more concerned for our wellbeing than that of the mouse. Or mice. Bring on the big guns: the proper mouse traps. Ones that the mouse runs onto, gets stuck and can’t run off. We still put the humane traps out so if they played the mousetrap lottery wisely, they’d be good. Other mouse deterrents from my research included Irish Spring soap and tumble dryer sheets. We strategically littered the smellies (in the hope the mice would just leave us in peace – fat chance) and the traps (sorry, not sorry) around the BaseCamp.

What a long night it turned out to be. It started with the scurrying, scampering, and scuffling. Then a faint scraping sound as they danced around the traps. Followed by a bit of M&M football (wait what, had I not learned my lesson?). I was actually relieved when one of them was finally able to make some inroads into an M&M, so it was no longer spherical. More to the point, it was now able to fit under a small gap, lost unto mouse obscurity forever.

I may have forgotten to mention that the mouse hotel and freeway were under my side of the bed. So on top of all the mouse activity, those damn smelly soap bars were using their repellent superpowers on me. In between bouts of trying to sleep, my eyes were streaming and my nose was running. Ever been in a car with a newly opened overpowering air freshener that leaves you gasping for breath? …That!

I could go on. But long story short, FIVE mice. In a night. In a small trailer that comfortably fits two people. Come the morning, we were five mice lighter. Our persistence had paid off. We were exhausted but officially mouse-free. (Don’t count your chickens and all that but for now at least, fingers crossed!).

So I realized my blog and my photos for the week don’t really line up. It’s difficult to capture mouse action on camera. So instead, here’s what we DO have photos of.

We made the most of our camping spot with some nice early morning hikes and runs, and warm evenings with BBQs and campfires.

We book-ended our week in Ketchum with some local hikes around Sun Valley and Hailey, Idaho. The first one involved a decent climb of 3,500ft up Bald Mountain for great views of the valley below.

Throughout the week, the air got more and more dense, as the smoky air from the California wildfires made its way across to Idaho. By the end of the week for our walk up Carbonate Mountain, Hailey, well you can see the difference for yourself.

It’s difficult to know how to describe Butte, Montana, other than ‘a bit weird’. The population has gone down from around 100,000 in its heyday to currently 30,000. And it shows. Even at rush hour (actually there was no rush hour), the roads were quieter than Santa Clarita during lockdown. Think zombie apocalypse without the zombies.

Let’s face it, unlike most other places we’ve been, Butte is not a destination in itself. The area has a rich, diverse mining history, indeed it was once known as the richest hill on earth. Since then, other mining areas went on to steal that crown and by the 1980s, mining had largely come to a halt. But boy, does Butte still play the mining card, not yet ready to depart from its roots. And why not.

Just walking around, we saw the Mine bank building, the Miners hotel, Metals bank, Metals Sports Bar, Quarry Brewing and Copper City Casino. And there are mines or remnants of mines everywhere. I even saw what looked like an outdoor wedding ceremony or the post-wedding photo shoot positioned right under one of the mine structures.

Another unique aspect is that uptown historic Butte does not have your average high street. Maybe somewhere there’s a downtown Butte, hip and kicking, and we just never found it. The Butte we did encounter was a bit light on bars and restaurants, big name fashion stores and well, just ‘normal’ shops. Instead there was a Senior Center, a Community Counseling Center, an Affordable Housing Network, an Imagine Butte Resource Center and a Chemical Dependency Center. Starting to get the picture?

Shop-wise, there was an abundance of ‘lightly used’ clothing stores, not to mention a pawn shop, a tin shop (where else can you find a tin shop?), and a taxidermy (I kid you not).

Despite the ghost town feel of the place, it had some really awesome buildings. It nostalgically reminded me of an industrial northern town in England. A lot of red brick, with outer walls bearing huge painted signs and faded advertisements. It’s just so begging to be renovated.

Surrounding the town itself, there are mountains. Granted not Frisco in terms of scenic beauty but still picturesque. Point being, this town could be really great again. It would just take something other than mining to generate investment and attract people to live here again. Maybe I’m one step closer to understanding why Trump’s Make America Great Again campaign took such hold.

At the co-working space itself, we had a whole spacious, airy conference room to ourselves. Actually, let’s face it, we had the whole place to ourselves. Is it still valid to call it a co-working office if we’re the only people there? Other than walking through what felt like the wardrobe in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe to get to our office (literally a Mr Ben style clothes shop with random racks of used clothes angled like an obstacle course), the workspace served us well. Of course, it was decked out with all the mining history memorabilia you could ever want.

Once we could see past all this, we actually had a really cool week here :-). There was the morning walk on the old railway line. What better excuse for Darren to get the drone out. Albeit a six miler put us under pressure to make it to work on time, had to seriously pick up the pace.

And slap bang in the middle of Butte is the M trail up Big Butte. Great views of the expanse of the town from the air.

We also paid a visit to the two breweries in town (the third was boarded up and out of business sadly). After the deserted streets and tumbleweed, we finally found where all the people were – at the breweries! Even with COVID, people will find a way to socialize in small bubbles and drink good beer outdoors. Cheers Butte!

After leaving the scenic beauty of the Grand Tetons and all that is potato in Idaho, our sights were set on Montana. Yellowstone-bound 🙂

But this nomadic life is not all perfume and roses, ya know. Some of our less than perfect experiences this weekend included more fishing without catching; finding the best boondocking spots already taken (resulting in a lot of maneuvering, swearing and cursing); having a thunderstorm appear from nowhere just as I’m ejected from the truck to help park (deja vu!); driving with the Basecamp along a horrific washboard dirt road trying to avoid ruts the size of France, all to reach let’s call it a sub-optimal hike with narrow paths, steep drop offs and river crossings. My favorite! Still, even a ‘bad’ weekend on the road beats a monotonous groundhog weekend.

You might not realize this but we actually spend a good deal of our time working. So finding a great spot to work is an awesome thing. Being this close to Yellowstone brought with it a sparsity of co-working offices. As in none. As an alternative, we started our week with a few days at a (WiFi-d up) Airbnb near Big Sky, Montana. The slight problem was that the views out of the windows were so awesome, I spent every spare moment staring with longing at the outdoors, tongue lolling and chomping at the bit to get out into the mountains. In the meantime, I made do with an early morning run and some wistful distracted looks during meetings.

We were also lucky enough at Big Sky to be right on the Gatlin river. When low cloud put paid to our early morning walk into the mountains, we see-sawed our fun and games to the other end of the day. Sundowner cocktails by the river? Don’t mind if we do.

Half way through the week, we moved on to another equally awesome Airbnb (views within a hair’s breadth of the Big Sky place and comparatively palatial), not too far off the north entrance to Yellowstone. Our main distractions at this place were the herds of deer regularly pronking past the window and the rough-legged hawk that had nested atop a nearby perch, constantly vigilant, occasionally swooping down to the field below, eyes on the prize. The single chick back in the nest vocally awaited its mother’s return, demanding bite size rodent snackettes.

Speaking of rodents… so there we were in the back garden, having just finished up a very tasty barbecue. Sunset a recent memory, darkness was setting in: time to build a fire.

Just as Darren was busy building his masterpiece, there was a high pitched squeal followed immediately by a surprised yelp from Darren as he leapt two clear feet in the air. I rushed over, concerned he’d burned himself. But no. Seems like he stood on a mouse. Or maybe a mouse’s nest with a mouse in it. Either way, it was a little bit squishy, evasive and squeaky.

With no evidence of further movement, we calmed down and huddled around the fire. After I’d gone to bed, leaving Darren to douse the embers, he saw a mouse scamper past. He was convinced it gave him ‘the look’.

It was in full daylight the next day that a higher truth was revealed.

With the national park practically on our doorstep, we ventured to the Mammoth hot springs area one morning at sunrise. The morning light was perfect as we walked past atmospheric plumes of steam, gazing at the cascading petrified waterfalls. We almost had the place to ourselves, a very refreshing change from our previous visit two years ago.

Other highlights from our brief time in Yellowstone included walking through the Lamar valley in search of wolves (none to be found) and prehistoric cows, otherwise known as bison.

You can’t go to Yellowstone without being in awe of the bison. So loud with their grunting and snorting, so entertaining to watch with their mock fights and mud baths. And just so damn many of them. Around 5,000 to be exact.

No bison stories this time, other than trying to shoo one along the path we were hiking, trying to keep a respectful distance but impatient to look for other wildlife. (For a reminder of our bison encounters last time, check out Yellowstone: The Bison Face-Off).

And the grandeur of the park doesn’t immediately stop when you leave the park gates. We snagged an awesome boondocking spot on nearby National Forest land along the Beartooth Highway. Not only that but a full 8 weeks into our trip, Darren finally caught his first fish!

From Jackson, we skirted the underbelly of the Tetons, driving into Idaho to approach the mountains from the other side. And the best jumping off point for hiking and biking on the Idaho side is the Grand Targhee ski resort. ‘On the Idaho side’ is a bit misleading though, because even though we approached from Idaho, the actual mountain area is technically back in Wyoming (as in, they nicked the best bits). Hence, we found ourselves in ‘Wydaho’.

While you don’t get that iconic Teton skyline (should that be Tetonic?) as you’re approaching from the Idaho side, the view makes up for it once you get right up there. Darren is starting to get paranoid that my top walks of the trip have been when he’s not been with me. There could be something in that, but I’m thinking more correlation than causation. So he took off to play with his mountain bike. And I climbed a mountain.

The awesome things about our Work Farm co-working space for the week were 1) we could park outside. Meaning we had everything in the Basecamp at our fingertips, should we feel the need for a coffee or snack. Which we did quite often. And 2) the WiFi stretched to the Basecamp. Meaning we had an extra option to use the Basecamp as an office. Sweet.

Pre-work morning activities were a bit more limited this week, sometimes you need a bit of a break from the work hard play hard thing. In fact, two mornings were taken up with The Great Propane Hunt. Our gas supplies were running low, and no one wants the ice cream in the freezer to melt! There was a closed propane place, a non-existent place (showed up on a map but just wasn’t there) and a place that wouldn’t do walk-in refills due to Covid. Darren had to do a good bit of phoning round until we eventually found somewhere.

A couple of other days, we still managed to stretch our legs and take in some fresh air and scenery.

By day, we ate potatoes and worked in Victor, Idaho. Ok, maybe I made the potato bit up. But that’s what Idaho is known for. By night, we retired to our cool campsite, just four miles up the road at Trail Creek, Wyoming. It was a secluded national forest spot, just a dozen sites, very pretty. We made the most of it with a few cozy evenings spent by the campfire – maybe another reason we didn’t get many early hikes in.

And for a small town, Victor over-indexes with two breweries. Of course it’s very important to support local businesses.

We also embraced the diversity of Wydaho with some unusual overnight camping spots.

Located near Driggs just outside Victor, we spent a night at one of the Harvest Hosts, the Grand Teton Distillery. Obviously, it’s only polite to pay them a visit before camping there. The state of Idaho dictate an unfortunately low limit on the amount of liquor you can taste in one sitting. And it’s not a lot! To the point of supplementing our potato vodka and whiskey tasting with their bourbon maple syrup and ‘drunk’ cherries (which didn’t count towards our liquor intake), bonus 😀

Another novel place to lay our heads was the Spud Drive In movie theater. How cool is that – even going to a drive in is such an old-school all-American experience, I felt like an extra in Grease. Except this was the latest remake of Disney’s The Jungle Book. Whatever, we improvised. It was cool.

And you can even have a cheeky beer or two cos you don’t have to drive home afterwards. As the final credits rolled, the car engines revved and the line of red tail lights faded into the distance, our commute was all the way from the truck to the trailer. Night night.

Skirting the southern edge of the Grand Teton national park lies Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Given its ideal location location location, it’s a touch on the posh & pricey side, and definitely busier than anywhere else we’ve been to so far.

Instead of our usual choice of camping and co-working office, this week we plumped for a motel in Jackson Hole. Not just any motel but the Modern Mountain Motel. Night and day from our go-to Motel 6 standard, I would say more hotel than motel. And having WiFi meant we could work from the hotel room, the lobby, the cafe or the outside area. Oodles of options and no co-working office needed.

It did mean saying goodbye to the Basecamp for a week though. Being such a shit-hot tourist destination means no parking in town for trailers overnight. Which also meant we had to venture into the zoo of a town to find food.

We kept it simple with Snake River Brewing, seated outside (although tbh, not one of my favorite breweries), and Bin22, an open patio seating area that did decent tapas style dishes. It had a wine retail store attached, from which you could choose your wine with no additional corkage. Nice.

The housekeeping arrangements at the Modern Mountain were such that they did a deep clean in between guests, and then no maid service during your stay. Which suited us just fine. Clean towels and keurig coffee pods (told you it was posh) were available in unlimited supply. And for the first time in six weeks, I had a hairdryer! (Should have taken a selfie but nope sorry, hair photo fail again).

You probably get the deal by now: Mornings before work involve either hiking, biking, running or SUPing. Being on the edge of the Tetons enabled us to really make the most of it this week.

And then before we get to Friday (for me the highlight of the week), let’s skip ahead to the weekend, when we did a longer hike into the heart of the mountains up Death Canyon.

Not far from the trailhead was a bear. I’m not going to tease you with another Where’s Wally/Where’s The Bear type pictures as this one wasn’t much in the mood for posing.

Now, back to Friday. So I have been known to get a bit excited about wildlife sightings. Ah but this was no ordinary wildlife sighting, it was a wildlife encounter, no less!

So there I was, on a single track trail by the river, doing a trail run shuffle in an attempt to make up a bit of time as I was behind schedule to meet Darren from his morning SUP.

Another trail runner was coming towards me and I stepped aside to let her past. Instead of a ‘thanks’, what I thought I heard uttered from her lips was “Moose”. Twas a bit difficult to make out as she had a face covering on and she wasn’t hanging around, so took me a while to assimilate. My initial thought after “Did she just say Moose?” was “Screw you, not looking too hot yourself”. Which swiftly turned into, “Ooh, maybe she means there’s a moose up ahead somewhere, I should keep an eye out”.

I rounded the corner, eyes scanning the horizon and the trail way ahead. And then I stopped. Right up ahead and nowhere near the horizon was A Moose. Literally right there on the trail in front of me. And still moving. In my direction. On a single track trail.

You don’t have a lot of time to think in these situations. I realized pretty quickly that I wasn’t getting past That. It also didn’t seem a good idea to about turn and run back the way I came with the moose following me. I’m not very fast and there’s a lot of ways that could potentially end, most of them not good. Instead, I ran back around the corner and scrambled up the bank. Covered in thick undergrowth and mighty steep, this was not a bank I would normally attempt to climb. But this wasn’t normal circumstances. The adrenaline was flowing, you’ve never seen me move so fast. Albeit with phone in hand at the ready.

And without a care in the world, just a casual sideways glance at me as if to say “funny place to hang out, you don’t look too comfortable precariously balanced up there on that slope”, she just moseyed on past.

Not to be outdone, Darren reported that he’d seen a family of ducks & ducklings on his SUP outing 🙂

When our two week holiday in Colorado was over (boo!), we returned to Frisco for a week. Bit of a cheeky maneuver with the blog in that I combined our two weeks in Frisco into one post.

Next stop: Steamboat Springs. Actually, before that, we had a weekend to play with, starting with a diversion to Boulder. Reason being, the last time we were in Boulder on the vacation section of the trip, Avery Brewing wasn’t yet open. Whereas now they’d had a bit more time to get their act together and it seemed such a shame to be so close and not pay them a visit.

For the Brits out there or any non-beer aficionados, Avery does really good beer. Standout favorites include their Maharaja imperial IPA, and some stonking barrel-aged dark stuff. Definitely worth going back for.

Taking this route to Steamboat Springs also meant we got to drive through Rocky Mountain National Park, having only scratched the surface with a couple of hikes first time round. Unfortunately, RMNP is not what you’d call trailer friendly. It was an impressive scenic drive, but sorry no pics as there was nowhere for us to stop.

Nearby Estes Park on the other hand, was chock full of photo opportunities. Little town, big lake, blue skies, mountain backdrop.

As I’m still religiously doing my One Second Everyday video, I’m constantly on the lookout for video opportunities. Darren is totally over posing for videos that I take just in case I might need a video of the day (but which in fact generally get usurped by a different video later in the day).

This was one such example where I’d had Darren posing on his SUP on the lake. Video in the bag, I continued on my run, heading for another lake. Squinting into the sunlight, I saw splashing up ahead, which I gradually realized was elk. Not just one of them either, a whole herd of maybe 20 elk made a break from the bushes on the shoreline into the water. Once there, they were like kids at a water park, joyfully frolicking around, splishing and a splashing, teasing and chasing each other. Such a delight to watch.

It wasn’t long before they bolted from the exposed water to the relative safety of dry land, crossing the bike path I was on and startling a couple of cyclists. So I’m sure my One Second video doesn’t do this sighting justice (kind of too short and too far away), but sorry Darren, the video of your SUPing is relegated to the sidelines yet again.

Steamboat Springs

Given the current situation, we are deliberately avoiding cities, instead centering our road trip around towns that are smaller, more compact, and more at one with their surroundings. Hopefully less risk of coronavirus (but obv no guarantees). Generally places you’ve never heard of. Steamboat Springs seemed to fit the bill: a small town positioned along the banks of the Yampa river in Northwest Colorado.

Our co-working space for the week, the Ski Locker, was particularly well situated between a donut shop and a brewery, Mountain Tap, that excelled in pizza. They claim their “pizzas bake to perfection in 90 seconds in the wood-fired oven heated to 700 degrees”. Sounds suspiciously like our uuni pizza oven. OK, so their oven’s a bit bigger than ours. Likewise, their pizza was bigger, rounder and more consistent than ours. However. It tasted just like ours, oh how we miss you uuni!

We lasted all the way to Friday with just daily coffee from the donut shop before finally caving into the donut craving on our last day. Ooh so light and fluffy, totally hit the spot.

Taxes, boo. I’m not sure which bright spark extended the tax deadline to 15th July, but they didn’t take into account that’s my birthday. And doing taxes is not how I want to spend my birthday thank you very much. Hence, doing taxes put paid to two days worth of valuable time right before my birthday that could otherwise have been spent recreating. (Recreating seems to be a new word. Is it even a word? Possibly an American word).

All done and dusted by my birthday though – treated myself to a long hot shower, some cocktails and a bbq 🙂

We still managed to fit in some hiking before work, or maybe you’d call it walking, certainly nothing too strenuous here. And running (alongside the nice flat paved Yampa river path). And mountain biking (for D obviously, not for me). And just as we were out doing our stuff in the morning, like clockwork so was the Steamboat Springs hot air balloon.

Actually we did do more of a proper hike at the weekend at nearby Rabbit Ears pass, just west of Steamboat Springs. We hiked up to the top of Rabbit Ears Peak. Now whoever named this peak and this pass has a very vivid imagination.

Ears aside, it was actually very pretty, meadows littered with wildflowers – lilac lupines, cow parsley and fiery red indian paintbrushes (get me, like a walking wildflower encyclopedia – with a bit of help from Google).

Dry slope ski jumping seems to be a thing in Steamboat Springs. What on earth is that all about? For a start, these people are kitted out like Michelin man with a big plastic suit which is no doubt essential but must be ridiculously hot in the sun. I’m sure it must hurt if you fall in the snow… but falling when there’s NO snow, must surely be worse. Ouch just even thinking about it. Never mind Michelin man, I’d need a Mr Blobby suit to attempt that.

Tubing. This seemed more up my alley. I’d watched people on the river throughout the week, floating down the Yampa in huge inflatable tubes. It looked tame enough – while I heard a few shrieks and wahoos, this seemed to be more exuberance than terror. I mean, there were young kids doing it. (Note to self: Not a good measure. The amount of gumption most young kids have in their little finger is generally more than I have in my whole body. And kids are resilient: they bounce.)

However, I needn’t have worried. The most difficult part is admitting that you don’t have any control whatsoever over where you are in the river, which rocks you’re gonna hit or which direction you’re going to be facing as you hit a particular ‘rapid’.

What I did get for my trouble is a wet bum. I mean it’s literally dangling in the river the whole time, like experiencing nature’s bidet. Good job it was a warm sunny day.

But hey, this is what I subject myself to for you guys, just so I’ve got something different to write about for a change. You’re welcome!!!

Of course, no holiday is perfect. And so ladies and gentlemen, I give you… the not-so highlights:

Rocky Mountain National Park

Only included here due to my near death experience of having to cross a snow-field. Said snow-field was a real wow to look at from afar. Picture perfect with hikers photogenically dotted against the snow white backdrop.

Um, not so scenic when we actually got there.

The thin sliver of packed down snow that was supposedly the path across was way narrower than it should be (in my opinion). My fear of falling turned me into a hunchback as I painfully inched myself across, trying to keep my center of gravity low.

With the occasional mistaken glance down at the immense steep snow bank below and my heart in my mouth, I spent the endless time crossing wondering how they could potentially get a helicopter in to rescue me if I fell or if they would just leave my dead body down there, like they do on Everest. Luckily I didn’t have to find out.

Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park

Bit harsh to put this in the not so highlights section. But just to set expectations, this is no Grand Canyon. The thing with canyons is that it’s a damn long way from one rim to the other. Which means a minimum 6 hour drive to the other side if you picked the wrong side. On a driving day-off day, no thanks. Instead, we made the best of it with a couple of short walks and a bit of fishing. At which point Darren was reminded why it’s called fishing, not catching (i.e. no fish).

The Laundromat

You don’t spend three weeks on the road without going through virtually every item of clothing you brought with you. I was hoping for one of those service washes but sh!t out of luck. Nope: one of those coin operated places where you have to attend to all your own washing and drying needs. So I whiled away a few hours of the holiday watching our clothes spin round in a circle. Hey, at least they had wifi!

Boondocking

Finding the best boondocking spot isn’t always easy. It generally involves me being kicked out of the truck to go walk ahead and check, amongst other things, the state of the road and the options for turning around. Fine when all is well and good. Not so fine when the weather turns into a storm of biblical proportions and I still get chucked out to the elements.

When we’d set off earlier in the day, the sky was blue with a balmy temperature in the 80s. Not any more. I gave Darren a ‘you cannot be serious’ look and played for time, pointing out that my jacket was in the Basecamp and I couldn’t possibly go outside in a t-shirt. Darren produced my insubstantial cheap hoody from the back seat, raised his eyebrow and unsympathetically growled “Off you go”. Bottom lip out, I shrugged on my hoody, held onto the door tightly so it didn’t blow off in the wind and forged ahead to do my duty.

Note to self: hail the size of rabbit droppings hurts.

I was actually relieved when the hail turned to rain. But rain the size of rabbit droppings gets you very wet very quickly.

Mountain biking

I struggled around my first ‘beginner’s loop’ in Fruita. Not fast or clever – I could have trail run it faster. But I made it round in one piece. And was quite proud of myself to boot. The same could not be said for my next attempt. The ‘Trust Loop’ near Darongo. Sigh.

After a mile of negotiating my way around a rather nice suitable course (minimal obstacles, tricks and ups & downs), I clocked a steep incline up ahead and rapidly changed down gears to give it a bit of oomph. Unfortunately not enough oomph to get me up. Realizing I wasn’t going to make it, I started to put my foot down, at the same time realizing I was on an adverse camber, for which there was no way my little short legs could possibly over-compensate. Game over.

It’s a long way to fall from a bike. I saw the world whizz past me at odd angles and then “dufffff”. Upside down in a bush. Me, the bike and the bush became one. (I was still finding bits of sagebrush in nooks and crannies days later). Darren came rushing back to extricate me when he heard my yelp. Sorry no photos of me in my predicament (even though Darren DID ask if he could get a quick snap. Quite frankly, I wasn’t in the mood).

You remember that Fear of Falling thing I have? Well it’s not one of those things that gets better by facing your fear. However… this was a one way loop, and there was little option other than to carry on.

Confidence wrecked and one gear out of action from the first knock, I got little more than half a mile further before repeating another spectacular launch from the bike. Another shriek, another fall, another bush. I’m sorry but I’m just not cut out for this. A mountain biker I am not. A week later my bruises still make me look like a domestic abuse victim. Bikes are for bike paths and that’s the way it’ll be for now, thank you very much.