(Continued from the last post...)
Around and around the mountain we go and where we could stop, we did not know.
"I still think you should turn around," pleaded Tracy as we slowly worked our way around another switchback.
"I think we missed it," I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "Unfortunately babe, I think the only way out now is through."
So we continued up Trail Ridge Road. Of course it was beautiful. At one point all the cars stopped on the road because two magnificent giant elk were grazing in a meadow right by the side of the road. Eventually, we continued onward on the narrow, winding highway, up to 10,000 feet, then 2 miles above sea level, then up above timberline at around 11000 feet.
Under darkening skies, we decided to stop at the Visitor Center near the summit. It gave us a chance to stretch our legs and maybe take a few pictures. There was a marmot--a small mammal that looks a bit like a cross between a beaver and a wolverine that is about the size of a German shepherd--that was hurriedly scurrying among the rocks apparently looking for a place to hide. (Tracy took a picture that apparently didn't save because of low battery power.) We would soon understand why the marmot was scurrying for cover.
As the first thunderclaps echoed over the next range of peaks, it was then that we decided it would be a good idea to get off of the mountaintop. We were making our way slowly along Trail Ridge Road when suddenly, every car in front of us came to a sudden dead stop.
"Are they serious?" asked Tracy aloud. "That mountain over there just got struck by lightning!"
"Calm down...maybe its an accident?"
Only it wasn't an accident--there was a herd of elk less than fifty yards from the roadside, grazing on the alpine tundra. As the first significant raindrops began to pelt our car, we sat there dumbfounded while people GOT OUT OF THEIR CARS and began lining up the side of the road to take pictures of the elk.
Then came the hail. So much pea-sized hail it began to pile up in Biblical proportions (see picture above). The road disappeared beside us and in front of us in a pile of, as Tracy called it, "white slushy." The elk ran for cover, coming uncomfortably close to our car. Lightning flashed above us, sounding like it was exploding mere feet above our car. I drove the car almost blindly at five miles per hour, aware that as much as I wasn't sure where we were going (is that a cliff over there behind the hail or merely a grassy berm?), there also wasn't exactly anywhere to pull over, so it seemed like driving blindly in the slushy was the lesser of two evils.
Finally, the heart of the thunderstorm passed and we dropped below the timberline into relative safety. Tracy and I each took a deep breath and then she said (uncharacteristically, I might add), "Those people who stopped on the road were motherfuckers! What were they thinking?"
"People don't think any more," I sighed, "they just do and worry about the rest later. Hey, look at the bright side."
"What bright side?", she asked.
"We're still here, you got some cool pictures and we got our money's worth at the national park."
I'm not sure Tracy completely bought my argument, but she smiled and we exchanged "I love yous" as we drove back down towards Denver from probably the most traumatic picnic either one of us had ever had.
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Coming soon, more about Michael Jackson, Sarah Palin and proof that maybe the comic's life is not for you.
Peace...
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