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|Stopping for Joshua Bell - Page 9|
Now I must say this: Jan and I vacation in different Colorados. Jim and I like to backpack into a wilderness area, find an isolated spot near a creek and stay out of range of humans as long as we can. Jan likes hot showers, coffee shops, soft beds and shopping.
Copper Mountain reminds her of family ski trips, whereas, with its crowds, shops and music piped through the trees, it reminds me of a mall.
We arrived Sunday night, and Monday we acclimated to the altitude. Tuesday, July Fourth, we rented bikes and rode around Lake Dillon. As we biked through Frisco, we came upon the helipad where Jerry had been life-flighted to an ICU in Denver. The shock of that sight almost knocked Jan off her bike and, for some time afterward, left her speechless.
On Wednesday, we woke early and drove over Berthoud Pass to the Indian Peaks Wilderness Area. We parked at the Monarch Lake trailhead and hiked through aspens past the blue mirror of the lake into the pines and snow-bent cedars. We followed tumbling Cascade Creek with its waterfalls cut through cathedral-sized boulders.
At first we talked about the natural beauty and about the possibilities for bears, rockslides and mountain lions, but as the day progressed we grew quieter. We spotted trout in the creek's dark, clear pools and hiked by columbines the size of saucers. We picked tiny strawberries and admired the wild roses, mountain asters, the Indian paintbrush and salmon-colored pasque flowers. Flowers dotted the meadows like jewels on a soft green shawl, and butterflies flew from one flower to another as if to call our attention to each one's particular beauty. Hummingbirds buzzed us.