With the week o' sickness we're having here at Casa Schafer (flu for me, pinkeye for my son, and now my husband's throat is sore...), it's nice to think of healthier, happier times tromping the mountains. So for this Thursday's adventure, I offer up Mt. of the Holy Cross:
|Mt. of the Holy Cross (Sawatch Range, Colorado)|
|Me on the summit of Holy Cross|
Having spent my formative years in cities like D.C. and L.A., I dutifully locked my car doors before settling down inside to sleep. At about 2am, I woke up, drowsily thinking I'd like to crack a window and get more fresh air in the car. Since the Subaru has power windows, that meant turning on the car. Too bad I forgot that locking the doors arms the car's security system. The moment I stuck my key in the ignition, the car alarm went off: blaring siren, flashing lights, and all. And the shock left me so discombobulated I couldn't remember how to turn the damn thing off. I think I actually dug out the manual from the glove compartment; meanwhile, I could see annoyed, shadowed figures sitting bolt upright in all the other cars.
Finally, I got the alarm shut off. Sadly, my hiking partner and I had agreed to meet at the car at first light, which meant I couldn't creep away so early none of the other trailhead campers would see me. When I slunk out of the car at 5am, my friend stomped out of the forest and announced, "God, I hate trailhead camping. Did you hear that racket last night? Some utter moron set off their car alarm!" I cringed deeper into my goretex and muttered, "Yeah...what a loser," and prayed none of the other car-campers stuffing gear into their packs would point and give me away.
Thankfully, nobody did. And embarassment soon faded in the beauty of the day and the determination needed to scramble over acres of ass-kicking talus. But I confess I've never slept in my car at a trailhead again (I find nearby spots where a tent can be pitched, instead).