Cold Mornings, Quiet Trails, and Curious Creatures
I had a great night’s sleep tucked into my sleeping bag as the temperature dipped near freezing. The cold air was no match for the cocoon of warmth, and I slept long and uninterrupted, waking refreshed just as the sun began to rise over the horizon. Eventually, I crawled out of the back of the truck to stretch and greet the morning.
Truck camping has its quirks, especially in a setup like mine. The SmartCap offers protection and storage, but maneuvering in that tight space requires a lot of crouching—and more than once I’ve banged my head. It’s a small price to pay, but it does keep me humble.
The crisp mountain air called for a hot cup of coffee. I pulled out my camp stove and instant coffee only to realize I had forgotten both matches and a lighter. Just when I thought I’d have to start my day caffeine-free, I remembered my get-home bag in the back seat—always ready, always stocked. Sure enough, a small firestarter kit saved the morning. Soon I was sipping hot coffee, eating cold oats, and listening to the birds announce the day from my camp chair.
With gravel roads stretching in every direction through San Isabel National Forest, I was eager to get out on my bike. But not long into the ride, I discovered that my rear derailleur wasn’t working. A bit of troubleshooting revealed the culprit: a dead battery in my electronic shifting system, and of course, the charger was back in North Carolina. Lesson learned—don’t leave without the charging cable.
So, I pivoted to a hike instead, which turned out to be just as rewarding. The sunshine filtered through the pines, and the peace of the forest grounded me again.
Later, I drove into Buena Vista to walk through its charming downtown—just a few blocks of restaurants, coffee shops, and stores nestled at the foot of a mountain, with the Arkansas River rushing by. It has a relaxed, welcoming vibe that’s hard not to like.
While sipping coffee, I pulled up my map and scouted out a few properties I’d been curious about. I drove out to see them, but again found myself unimpressed. All were built in the 1990s—an era of construction I’ve grown skeptical of. Something about the aesthetics and materials just feels off. One red flag in particular: EIFS stucco exteriors, essentially synthetic stucco layered over foam, which is notorious for moisture intrusion and mold issues. I’ve learned to steer clear of those.
After some wandering, I explored south of town and stumbled upon Chalk Creek, which flows through Grouse Canyon and up toward St. Elmo, a ghost town that once housed 2,000 gold and silver miners in the 1880s. The old railroad is long gone, replaced by a rugged gravel road that now leads through National Forest land dotted with seasonal campgrounds—still closed for now, but incredibly scenic.
By evening, I returned to my dispersed camp in the National Forest. Despite my concerns that the weekend might bring crowds from the city, it remained quiet and peaceful—just as I’d left it.
As I sat eating dinner, I spotted a bizarre creature hopping across camp—something between a rabbit and a squirrel. It had long ears like a rabbit but the body of a squirrel, and it was jet black. My first thought? Mutant. Maybe the result of some nuclear backwoods experiment. Robin did a quick search and claimed it was an Abert’s squirrel, native to these parts. I chose not to believe her. It’s more fun to imagine a post-apocalyptic wildlife mashup wandering the woods. Maybe I’ve been reading too much dystopian fiction lately.
Camp with awning, chair, and potty
Abert’s squirrel (image from the internet)