Part Seventy Four

     November 9th – 17th                Salida, CO                                (Go to Pt 1)

The temperature dropped to the bottom of the thermometer overnight and it was bitter cold in the morning, probably around zero degrees, even though Radio was reporting a mild 53 degrees in Ft. Worth, Texas, the only station available from Hancock Lake.

The cold, dry air rasped at my throat, irritating my cough, and I felt lethargic as hell with every little task turning into a major chore.  This was the last day of this section and, thankfully, all I had to do was get over Chalk Creek Pass and out the Middle Fork valley to Highway 50 where I could hitchhike to Salida.

Click on map for a larger image

Outside the tent, grey, snow clouds hung low overhead and a cutting wind swirled about the basin.  Disassembling camp was a miserably cold, god-awful chore and my legs felt like lead as I started up the trail.  I was utterly zombied as the illness’s infiltration progressed to an all-out onslaught and what little energy I had, I expended getting to the top of Chalk Creek Pass, which was neither far, nor steep.

At the top of the pass my condition was worse.  Fever chills had set-in and the outside temperature couldn’t have been more than mid-teens, with wind.  The only way I could stay warm was to keep moving and I didn’t have the energy with which to sustain constant movement.  My throat was raw, swollen, and painful and I could feel the crud in my upper respiratory tract.  This was a bad situation but at the same time I was extremely lucky to be where I was.
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From the top of Chalk Creek Pass it was only a three hour hike, all downhill, to get down and out to State Highway 50 where I could hitchhike to Salida.  As I headed down valley, the hike relied heavily on my body doing what it had been trained to do because my mind was unshakably fogged-out.  The few hours it took to get down to the highway seemed an eternity as it was happening but upon reaching the pavement it seemed as though I had gotten out in no time at all.

At this point, my body had only committed to getting me down to the highway and once I’d reached the road my biological systems crashed, reducing me to fervent prayer for a quick ride that was not to come.  I was light-headed, my equilibrium unsteady, I felt nauseous, and I was gutted with no more energy left to expend.

I sagged down onto my pack by the side of the road, waiting for any sign of life to appear on the roadway, but after only a few minutes I was shivering and too cold to stay put any longer.  With tremendous effort I re-shouldered my pack, which felt like it had doubled in weight since dropping it five minutes earlier, and started lumbering down the side of the road.

I walked for two hours and in that time only two cars materialized, both passing me by. Eventually, I came out to the open, sagebrush plains just west of Poncho Springs and I could see the tiny town sitting off to the east.  Cold, steel-grey clouds hung over the valley and seeing the town consumed me with thoughts of getting warm.

I was in a warped, almost desperate state of mind and tried to keep my eyes down on the roadside gravel because every time I glanced up at the town, still a few miles distant, I would fall further into despair, certain I wasn’t going to make it.

For some reason, the phone poles stringing off toward town stood out with uncharacteristic prominence, phone pole after phone pole after phone pole.  Enduring another tortured hour of struggling down the road, and as the distant phone poles appeared to sway and bend before what now appeared to be only the mirage of a town, a truck finally - finally - pulled over, offering me a ride into Salida.

Climbing into the truck was like entering a cocooned sanctuary.  It was warm inside the truck and I melted into the cushioned seat, dozing-off almost immediately.  In the instant it took me to doze-off we were suddenly in Salida, which was only 6 or 7 miles away, and the guy was poking me in the shoulder to “wake up”.

I checked into a motel across the street from where the guy let me off and could hardly believe I had actually made it to town when at long last I collapsed in the room.  I pulled off my boots, and without undressing, climbed under the covers, curled up in a ball, and fell asleep.

Somewhere in the night I got up and pulled off my outer layer of clothes and at another point I got up to go to the bathroom and through the drawn shades it appeared to be daylight outside, which was confusing for as long as it took me to go to the can and get back in bed.

The next morning, or whatever time of day it was when I finally awoke, it was clear I wasn’t going anywhere and I was also pretty sure the motel had only charged me for one night.  Before I went comatose again, I figured I’d better get out of bed and go down to the office to pay for another couple of nights. (This pre-dated motels keeping a ‘card on file’).  At the office I told the clerk I wanted to stay two more nights and gave him my credit card to pay for the extra nights.

The guy ran my card and handed it back to me along with the receipt but as I started to walk away I noticed he had charged me for three nights, so I turned around and pointed this out.  The guy looked confused and asked, “You said you wanted to stay for two more nights, right?” “Yes,” I replied, “but you charged me for three.”  Seeming to clear-up the misunderstanding he said, “The third night is for last night.”

Now it was my turn to look confused, “But I paid for last night when I checked-in” I protested.  “No,” the guy replied patiently, “you paid for Wednesday night when you checked-in.  Today is Friday.”  Huh?  “Friday?” I asked incredulously, to which he nodded and pointed to a newspaper sitting on the counter.  Sure enough, Friday, November 11th. I’d slept through an entire day and night without even knowing it.

I ended up sick in Salida for nearly a week and a half.  Early on, I went to the market and bought some ramen and crackers and I was four days in bed before I felt well enough to go out and have toast and coffee at the café. Even after I started feeling better I was weak, I’d lost weight, and my appetite was lite.

For several days after being bedridden, I had enough coughing, hacking, difficulty walking around town so as to make the prospect of shouldering a heavy load and resuming my winter backpacking trek unthinkable.  I would have to wait until my bronchial tract cleared and my strength returned, at least somewhat.
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So, it wasn’t until after a prolonged stay in Salida, the first half of which was truly miserable, that I finally felt well enough to pull my supplies together and leave town on the next leg of my journey.  Thankfully, the next leg to Creede would take less than a week and nothing about the terrain looked to be difficult, at least according to the maps.

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Go to Part 75

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The CDTC was founded in 2012 by volunteers and recreationists hoping to provide a unified voice for the CDT. Working hand-in-hand with the U.S. Forest Service and other federal land management agencies, the CDTC is a non-profit partner supporting stewardship of the CDT. The mission of the CDTC is to complete, promote and protect the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, a world-class national resource. For more information, please visit continentaldividetrail.org.

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