VERONICA KUFFEL

JUNE 17-20

“Pressed Flowers” – Jack Stauber, 2015

Since completing my first big road trip, my eyes have been set on Colorado.

Growing up in a Midwest suburb, Colorado was the place to go for adventure. Mountains as far and as high as the eye could see; rivers clear and rapid and blue; on every corner and behind every bush, an explorer on their next journey.

Well, that’s what I pictured, anyway. Soon after Arizona, my energies were focused on the rocky mountain state.

So here I was in Colorado Springs, preparing to close my voyage of the state. I did some travel maintenance: cleaned my car, did some laundry, charged my battery, etc.

I finished my regular work routine in a coffee shop a block away from the laundromat. It was still raining, and at one point I looked out to a pouring hail storm.

There are a handful of cool museums in the city, but I chose to visit the Olympic and Paralympic Museum. My dad is a prosthetist and works with amputees, and now and then he’d share some bit of news about the few Paralympians in Minnesota.

I gawked at both exhibits equally, but it was a cool new angle to see how prosthetics help people achieve their dreams.

I grew up visiting my parents’ office and looking up at all the mechanic and computerized legs that lined their walls. Years later, it was something special to see the familiar running blades and other limbs in glass cases around me.

After the museum, I drove about an hour through the plains to see the Painted Mines, with no designation by land formation that I was getting close.

Even at the entrance, there wasn’t a sign, only after hiking out do you start to see them. To put it plainly, it’s a large hole with paint-like mud splattered throughout it.

There are a lot of signs that say no climbing and for good reason. Even in the places where they let you walk, I’d grab thick socks of red scarlet muck with my boot.

Bright pale hoodoos stood firm on their fragile piles of hardened, sunset-colored mud. I, very carefully, goofed around the trails, taking silly pics and videos as I walked.

I drove back to Colorado Springs to catch the Garden of the Gods at sunset and then back to my Walmart.

The next day, I set out for Denver. Funny thing–I had time to drive around the actual city part and came to realize it was more industrial than I imagined.

Who would have thought, Denver was similar to any other city–not some crazy outdoor mecca that I thought it to be; no trees or shrubs growing out of buildings, no rapids to kayak to work. I mean, the REI is pretty cool, but that’s about it.

Even Boulder kind of lost its magic for me, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I discovered very quickly that the Denver metro wasn’t the only place to find the adventures I was searching for.

This time around, I planned to spend an afternoon in Fort Collins, the northeast-most major city in the state. If I ever thought the capital was impressive, Fort Collins was almost angelic. I began my tour with a stop at Alleycat Coffee House where the chai flowed like water.

Artists and outdoorsmen blossomed out of the wood–in front of me, a group of graduate students discussing poetry. Behind me, two girls planning a thru-hike of the PCT.

I decided to spend an extra day, exploring the city, the college and any traveler-inhabited bush.

I stopped in the Wolverine Farm Public House, another cool coffee shop with an added beer garden and literary nonprofit. Books lined the walls and even made a Roman arch entrance to one of the rooms.

I was completely entranced by the town’s eclectic, dirtbag magic. So much so that I added Colorado State University to my list for grad school (whenever I end up going).

It was the perfect end to my week in Colorado. Almost too perfect.
I didn’t want to leave. I could have stayed there, parked at a Walmart or local coffee shop, writing articles and eating turkey sandwiches, spending my evenings in town or in the mountains. I could mingle with artists and outdoor lovers, go to school and start some sort of career.

But that afternoon I got back on the road, heading for South Dakota and completing my journey. The last I could see of the mountains disappeared in my rearview. I would miss them, but I knew it wouldn’t be too long before I could see them again.

Maybe it won’t always be Denver or Boulder, and as much as I enjoyed it, maybe it won’t always be Fort Collins. Dare I even say, even Colorado. But it’s nice to know that new places continue to surprise me. With that in mind, I can’t wait to see what’s next.