"The elevation gain is a brutal 7,400 vertical feet, Colorado's greatest vertical rise."
- Colorado's Fourteeners: From Hikes to Climbs, by Gerry Roach
We embarked on the Barr Trail in Manitou Springs yesterday at 6:18am, full of energy and excitement at climbing the 12.9 miles to the summit of Pike's Peak. Heidi did the hike last year with a friend and loved the beautiful, shady trail. I wanted to go but felt nervous anticipation along with the knowledge that I'm not yet up to full strength. After shuffling around the parking lot and hunting to get to the correct trailhead, I feel confident in saying that our total climb was at least 13.1 miles - a half marathon straight up the mountain.
Heidi set a blazing pace and after a while I started to lag behind, allowing the two couples that we had passed to catch up and stride by us. After I took out one of Rob's climbing poles and ate some cashews, I got a second wind and we moved at a good clip up to Barr's Camp, halfway up the trail. Many people climb to this point and then turn around and go down, which gives them a good hike without the trauma of going all the way up or the cost of paying the cog rail fare to come down. It also means that super-fit runners jog past up trail or fly by down trail, murmuring "on your left" and "thank you" as they move their hyper-trained bodies over rocks and other obstacles in their path. I started to resent this super-species of hiker as my left knee threatened to blow at every step, my glutes turned into hard knots and my breathing got ragged.
After 9.9 miles we still had three miles remaining and I felt serious concern about reaching the summit. The only incentive to continue at that point was that getting down was 9.9 miles the other direction. So I took all the chocolate out of my trail mix and ate it, and plowed up the trail behind a rapidly disappearing Heidi. The clouds rolled in and a few fat drops fell, landing on my hat and rolling off my jacket sleeve. With two miles to go we encountered a couple from Texas who had driven in the day prior and immediately started hiking (note to self: NEVER do this). We all looked at the clouds rolling past and obstructing our view, and Heidi and I hurried on again.
The last two miles were epic as the fat drops turned to steady rain and then hail. We hid briefly under a rock as thunder rolled below us but moved on in a short lull. A half-mile from the summit we bumped into a solo runner who had taken our photo a while back - he was headed down with a short-sleeved T and a water bottle for company. He assured us that we were almost to the summit and safety, so we hurried on, even as the thunder got closer and the hail increased in size. Running water poured down the center of the trail and I found a burst of adrenaline-fired energy that had me plowing through the rivulets right behind Heidi. A loud thunder clap sent us running across the 14,110 foot summit right into the tourist center at the top. At 12:54pm, as well-dressed tourists parted in confusion, we threw our bodies into the concrete building and collapsed into a teary, wet hug.
My guidebook notes that "at the summit, you enter another universe." We struggled to find seats in the midst of fudge and french-fry eating, knick-knack buying tourists, who looked at us as if we had invaded from space. The joke was on them as lightning strikes began near the building and enough "graupel" fell that the authorities closed Pike's Peak Highway and called the plow to come clear the way. After shivering for an hour at our table we obtained our pre-purchased cog rail tickets and shivered thankfully back down the cog rail to warmth and dry clothes. Though I did not get the summit views that inspired "America the Beautiful" I won't be going back to the top on foot ever again. Next time I'll be one of the tourists who drives to the top and buys a t-shirt . . .but for now I'm grateful that we made the epic climb.
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