Sonder

1,066 feet. 7,522 feet. 9,485 feet.

Home. Estes Park. Wild Basin trail.

Turns out elevation changes are a bigger deal than we thought!

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/hi8vZToSq1Uv3dr57

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June 17th, 2023- Rocky Mountain Day 2

Very hairy buttcheeks. There they were, resplendent in concrete glory outside a donut shop in Estes Park. The Bigfoot statue glared at us. He obviously didn’t enjoy being the mascot for “Squatchy Donuts,” a Sasquatch-themed bakery. Maybe he dreamt of life in the forest. Maybe he just wanted some pants!

A sugary glaze drifted across the air, deliciously tempting. I was starting to regret the bison chili-topped omelette I’d just finished at the Big Horn Restaurant next door. Donuts sounded so good, especially from such a quirky Bigfoot-themed menu! I had plenty of an appetite for the sightseeing though! From the moment we stepped inside, we were bombarded with Bigfoot statues, plaster footprint moldings, memorabilia, and old newspaper articles. We browsed, taking a moment for an obligatory photo with another Bigfoot statue. They were everywhere!

By the time we’d finished Sasquatching, the sky was an ominous grey. Our first hiking trail was at the very end of a long dirt road that wound through the woods. It was narrow, mildly perilous, and very pretty. The sky grew darker and darker. Then it let loose. Our car plunged through puddles, sending water flying. We pulled to a halt to let hikers cross, and then gawked when we noticed their pack animals. Trudging patiently though the rain, two llamas heavy-laden with packs were following behind the hikers. Their shaggy coats limply dripped. What a strange sight!

Trapped by the downpour, we disembarked when it slowed to drizzle. The highlight of the trail was the waterfalls. 5.5 miles of trail guides you through dripping pines to the Calypso and Ouzel waterfalls. Fueled by the rain, they were ferocious. The water pounded mercilessly at the boulders, tearing away at tree roots who ventured too close. It seems everything in Colorado is more intense than Ohio. The air is stingy. The rivers are furious. The waterfalls are awe-inspiring. Like the trees, your best chance at surviving Colorado is to root yourself into the rocky soil and hope for the best.

We finished our hike under a scowling sky. We hung out in our car for a bit, eating lunch and people-watching. We had planned another hike for the afternoon, but as we sat, I found myself strangely exhausted. My head was fuzzy and started to throb. I sipped some water. Maybe those four hours of sleep were proving insufficient. Tyler was worn out too, after all. Anticipating the big hike we’d planned for the next day, we decided on something we’ve never tried before: rest.

Curving roads twisted downhill back to Estes Park. On the way, we pulled over to snap a few photos of a stone church on a hill. Its doors were thrown open, spilling out well-dressed people. A wedding celebration, we presumed. The guests seemed cheery, contrasting the severe rock walls and the imposing height of the church. It was scenic and lovely, but I was really starting to feel sick. Colorado’s oxygen-deprived air starved my Ohio lungs, turning my stomach in knots. My headache was a migraine now. Our Airbnb bed was calling my name.

I took the best nap of my life in that Airbnb. When I finally woke up, the migraine had receded to a dull thud. We figured some fresh air might do us some good, so we took a stroll into town. Estes Park is a quaint mountain version of Gatlinburg, TN. There are lots of little shops selling trinkets. Ice cream and fudge shops are also especially prolific. We ate supper at Penelope’s Burgers and Fries, where we were able to try (gluten free!) elk burgers for the first time. They were pretty good!

As we strolled around the town, we walked past a backyard filled with partiers. An upbeat song about love and marriage blasted from speakers. People danced and laughed. It seemed the wedding we’d witnessed earlier had migrated into town for dinner and dancing. Suddenly, the world seemed very large. It was a moment of sonder.

As an aside, sonder is a word I’d just recently learned from the internet. It is “the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.” In the same instant we were taking a leisurely stroll, they were celebrating a new marriage. When I had earlier been sleeping off my elevation migraine, they were saying “I do.” Somewhere else, maybe, someone died today.

Everywhere around us, people are living. Their lives are just as full as ours. Their emotions, their stories, their actions, everyone is just as multifaceted as we are. It’s a vast swirl of color and sound. In the cacophony, we are linked by our shared humanness.

The world is a beautiful place.

Hiking trails: Wild Basin Trail to Calypso and Ouzel Falls