Last weekend, I ended up on a trip to Colorado.
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Other than the flights there and back, which made me nauseous with nerves, the trip itself was a lot of fun. A few friends and I traveled to Colorado to visit our buddies who just moved out there, a married couple whose wedding I actually officiated. We arranged to spend Labor Day weekend at their apartment, conveniently situated halfway between Boulder and Denver.
The weekend started on Friday afternoon, when we landed in Denver and our friends very kindly picked us up from the airport. I hugged them tightly, partly due to my eagerness to be back on the ground, but mostly because I love them and was excited to see them.
My post-flight nerves dissipated as soon as I stepped outside and saw the mountains in the distance. We had actually made it to Colorado! The air was hot but not humid, and the mountains were indigo and distant but there. Our great western trip had begun.
On Saturday morning, we drove into Boulder and stopped at their famous farmers market. The street was overflowing with people and stalls of fresh vegetables. We loaded up on crumbling pastries and fat, maroon peaches.
Armed with our snacks, we drove an hour and ended up at Rocky Mountain National Park. I held my breath as the car swung up the winding roads to the top of the mountains. As we climbed, my ears popped and my heart pounded from the elevation. Rocky peaks towered above us, pine trees with needles so fine they looked like brushstrokes.
We finally found a pull-off and hopped out of the car to hike. We scrambled over rocks and through the trees until, suddenly, we stumbled across a brook and waterfall.
The water babbling down the rocks, the blue sky, the beautiful Colorado afternoon — I was in love. I took off my shoes and stood in freezing ankle-deep water, just taking it in, silent as a vigil. I stayed there until my feet turned purple with cold. And then we continued our hike.
That night, we found ourselves in a Denver nightclub. Heavy music pumped through the speakers. I hopped and danced and sweated the hours away. My friends and I laughed as the clock struck midnight, then 1 a.m. When I fell onto the air mattress on my friends’ living room floor that night, I was loopy with exhaustion and absolutely content.
The next day, we walked through downtown Denver and watched “The Shining,” feeling the full creepiness now that we were actually in Colorado. We ended the trip back in Boulder, sifting through the shops on Pearl Street, until we stumbled across A THREE-STORY BOOKSTORE.
You must understand, this is my dream. I whirled through the shelves, regretting that I couldn’t buy anything because all of the space in my carry-on was already filled with clothes and toiletries.
This constraint likely saved me a lot of money. But still, I combed through the books and magazines with love in my eyes. I was a woman obsessed. I’m still dreaming about that place now, a thousand miles away and a week after I discovered it. One of these days, I’ll go back.
That’s always how I end my trips — swearing up and down that one day I’ll be back. I can never leave a place for good. I need to know it won’t be the last time I’ll see it, so I promise myself I’ll return.
Luckily, I have great friends who travel with me as well as great friends spread out across the country with whom I can sometimes spend a weekend. It’s wonderful to see the world in spurts and starts, one weekend at a time, with people I love.
I’ll be dreaming about Colorado for a long time, but the real gift was spending that time with my buddies. I’ll be back, mountains! And that air mattress better be waiting for me.
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