VERONICA KUFFEL

JUNE 16

“Rubble to Rubble” – Wilderado, 2017

Growing up with three active brothers in Minnesota, we tried a lot of different sports and “wiped out” in a lot of different ways.

There’s tubing or wakeboarding in the summer, where a big wave can have you skipping on the water like a stone. There’s also sledding or snowboarding in the winter, where a slick patch of ice can turn you into a rolling snowball.

I’ve had my fair share of wipeouts, but tumbling along steep banks of sand, sending thousands of pesky grains into the pockets and creases of clothes and skin, was definitely not on that list.

I woke up early to grab my sandboard rental and drove straight to Great Sand Dunes National Park. I stopped in the gift shop to get my usual stickers and postcards, and I took a spotty interview propped up on a vending machine near the front doors.

After a quick lunch of a turkey-mayo sandwich and peppers, I hiked out to the dunes.

From the visitor center, there’s a thin road that leads tourists to a beachy parking lot equipped with showers for sand and rustic bathrooms.

One thing they failed to mention in any of the online materials about Great Sand Dunes is how buggy it is. On the trails, bugs will wrap around any exposed skin, and I assume, especially if you’re wearing coconut-scented sunscreen. I had to swat them away every few steps.

Before the dunes, there’s a large flat patch of sand with light streams of water flowing through it. Hundreds of kids and families played in the creek as I maneuvered the flows with my sandboard, which very much COULD NOT TOUCH WATER, or so the outdoor sports cashier said.

I crossed the thin creek in my waterproof Birks, which sank into the sand and anchored me the whole way over. But I had finally made it to the dunes.

Another thing with the sandboard was that you couldn’t wear shoes on the pads–it was either socks or bare feet. Although socks seem unpleasant in sand… let me tell you.

The sand was scorching in the heat, but my socks created cozy insulated pillows with each step. When you have to do it and expect it, it’s pretty comfortable.

With everything in check, I was off. I cut through doughy piles of sand as I soared down the dunes. The first few times my board would catch a thick pocket and I’d bounce down, spewing sand into my clothes and bag. Eventually, I got into a groove with riding and waxing the board.

Every few rides I’d switch to a different hill, but if I’m being honest, I didn’t last very long.

Walie and I are the same in the way we struggle to get up hills at high altitudes (it definitely doesn’t stop us, though). I could hustle up for thirty seconds and then I’d need to rest twice as long. The sand would swallow my feet almost up to the ankle with each step I took.

A storm rolled in the distance, so after a little more than an hour I called it quits. On slopes I couldn’t ride down, I used my board to dig through the sand and propel myself forward. I eventually made it back to the van and drove back to the sports shop.

All of the hustling up and down that sinking pile of sand made me hungry. Ferociously hungry.

I stopped at a Maverick Gas Station and grabbed a big honkin brat with all the fixings. I paired it with a classic Monster Zero Ultra, my road trip and Home Depot drink of choice, and a Legendary Cinnamon Pop Tart (gotta get that protein).

I scarfed that dog with a gorilla-like intensity. There was no time for pictures, I hope you can understand. But it was beautiful. There’s something so pure about exerting yourself, whether it’s a sport, manual labor or some sort of delirious fun, and spending so many calories that your body craves sustenance.

It’s one of my favorite parts of skiing, hiking, or crazy stuff like sandboarding. Each bite you take of whatever you’re craving almost brings you to tears.

To me, it’s one of those times I feel a real connection to my body. Cravings tell you exactly what you need, and you fuel accordingly. There’s a sense of euphoria you just can’t beat. And in a lot of ways, I crave that feeling.

After my victory meal, I drove out to Pueblo and stopped to get gas. By now, the storm had churned into a severe thunderstorm warning. But I checked freecampsites.net and found no safe options to spend the night, or at least in a large storm.

I made the risky decision to drive the last hour to Colorado Springs, and it paid off.

Dodging additional warnings of severe hail and flooding, I made it to a suburb of the city. The weather died down, and I washed up in an Anytime Fitness before settling in at the local Walmart.

The next few days marked a turning point, the halfway mark of my road trip. After so many wonderful days of trains, drive-ins, sand boarding and the best company, I was heading into the major cities of Colorado.

For a few years, this region was my next destination, the golden valley where I’d settle into my next great adventure. I closed my eyes that night, feigning excitement to revisit my future home.

Or, so I thought. Life always has a funny way of changing things up on us, doesn’t it?