Its a Friday evening. I’m just home from work. I make some dinner and crack open a beer. Thinking of things that I have to do over the weekend, it occurs to me that… I don’t really have anything that important going on. Nothing that couldn’t wait. I could go climb a 14er. I could just do it. So I do the dishes and pack a bag. All of the typical “just in case” survival stuff, some good trail food, and the warm layers of non-cotton clothing. The next morning I get up at 4. I fill the big 100 oz camelback bladder and grab my trekking poles. At just shy of 8:00 I get to the trailhead of Mt. Shavano. It occurs to me (almost too late) that I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. I call two friends and leave messages on their phones and then hit the trail. The beginning of the trail is heavily wooded, cool, and covered in loose river cobble. A stream intertwines with the path. Makes me wonder if the trail-builders have me crossing it 3 times just for fun. After traversing the base of the mountain and deep into a south-facing couloir, I switch back and the trail begins climbing in earnest to the East, toward the town of Salida. I feel myself gaining altitude rapidly and my breathing begins to outpace my footfalls. Gradually, the trees grow shorter in stature and the thick evergreen canopy begins to open up. I come around a hairpin turn and I’m jolted by an explosion of scenery. The entire Arkansas River valley sprawls out before me and the Sangre de Cristo Range holds it inside a jagged, mighty wall to the South. Just above tree line the sun’s rays are unforgiving. I pass a large group of people eating and taking pictures. Proper trail etiquette dictates we must greet each other, and we do. Their food reminds me that I haven’t eaten breakfast, so I stop and grab an energy bar and my camera. The group passes and more small talk is exchanged. I look down at the compressed greenish-brown goo that I am chewing on (and rather enjoying) and think about how food never tastes so good as when you’re on a trail. I think that if I were in my car this would taste like crap. I snap a few pics, suck on my water tube, and resume climbing. I learn from passing and repassing the same group that they 12 friends from Kansas. One of them has climbed all but 4 of the state’s 14ers. This is not the stereotypical dangerously ignorant group of lowlanders. They are properly outfitted and aware of the inevitable pending danger of the guaranteed afternoon thunderstorms. At the peak, we sit and relax, pass around the register, swap proper introductions and handfuls of nuts. Tom, the 14er guru, asks me if I know a shortcut back to the lot where they are parked. I don’t, but I offer to give a few of them a lift back to their cars if they can make it to the closer lot where my car is parked. He accepts and I start down the mountain, knowing that my bad knee is likely to give me some trouble and slow me down. I pause several times on the way down to take pictures, thankful to have the excuse of needing to wait for the Kansas folk. Finally back at the car, the muscles in my legs are very near to absolute exhaustion. When my new friends arrive, they have recruited another man for a lift as well, so we all pile into the two cars and head out. We start off in the wrong direction and end up on some 4-wheel drive road that my little Kia has no business being on. I’m impressed with her handling of it, but recognize the necessity of not pushing her abilities so far from town with the sky starting to cloud up. We turn around and head back the way that I know. Back at the other parking lot, I am offered a beer and take it. We chat about the mountain and hiking in general. They invite me to have dinner with them in Salida and I accept. They have chosen a pizza joint that I’ve heard a lot about but have never been to. Conversation during dinner is easy and fun. I am reminded of the group that my parents hang out with when they play outdoors and I look forward to my canoe trip with them next month. After dinner we swap emails and hugs and head out into the pouring rain. On the way home I think a lot about the how the simplest choices in our lives lead us down such different roads. On this particular day, I might have mowed the lawn and read a book. I might not have spoken to a single person all day long outside of housemates and neighbors. It’s a good day.