Clear Creek Trail

Pete’s call woke me a minute before my alarm went off. “I don’t think I can hike today” came his words and the little bit of information to indicate he was dealing with another bout of Fletcheritis. Backpacker and author, Colin Fletcher, invented the term to describe the constant pre-trip sickness that always cropped up for him before a long journey. In Pete’s case his Fletcheritis has been activated by trail marathons and 50k’s this year. In a sense, I was honored that my planned 30 mile walk on the Clear Creek Trail could cause the same emotional distress as running 26 or 31 miles. Unfortunately, it also meant that Pete was doubtful about finishing the big 42 mile hike we have planned in a couple weeks.

Still groggy I tried to absolve Pete’s guilt for standing me up two days in a row and then put down the phone to finish my own prep for the day. At least doing the hike on my own would be good mental practice. Coffee drunk and food packed I left my door step at 6:02 for the several block walk to the Clear Creek Trail.

About one mile from home I stopped to take a picture of the lights of Denver and the Coors factory as the sun was working on breaking the horizon.

I spent the first several miles thinking about the hike I was training for and working through the logistics of water resupplies, elevation gain and food required. Redwing blackbirds called my attention to the morning light on South Table Mountain.

I only saw 4 people by the time I hit Prospect Park after 5 miles. The park looked like the scene of a safari as tens of photographers brandishing huge telephoto lens crowded the pond shores. I hope they were after photos of something more exotic than the canadian geese.

A previous training hike had taken me 7 miles from home to the far end of the park (and then I did a couple repeat laps of the earlier portion of the trail). Today I continued on the Clear Creek trail through a few neighborhoods and over a bridge near my mile 8.

The next seven miles grew silent as I moved away from Prospect Park. Only a few joggers and bikers were using those trail miles that danced with I-76 and ended when I hit a small bridge past Pecos St. I stopped to stretch and loosen a too-tight left shoe then turned back, right on my time estimate of 10am.

A few more bikers were out now and the day was really warming up. Stripping another layer my packed seemed to be full and functioned as a reminder to leave every thing extraneous behind in a few weeks. However, my left foot reminded me that ibuprofen and a minimal first aid kit for blisters should have been in my pack today.

Eventually I beat my complaining extremities into submission for at least a brief period and the miles rolled on as I re-entered Prospect Park. North and South Table mountain still looked too far away but I knew home was only another 6 miles.

I’d started jogging brief segments as that form of movement broke up the repetitive pounding on my heels and actually felt better than walking. A female runner I’d seen before caught up with me and asked what I was training for – I guess the stuffed day pack and and sighting 6 miles ago was a clue. I tried to explain my adventure to come and she was preparing for a run of the Boston Marathon. Then she speed ahead.

The last few blocks home were the worst – uphill on my cramping legs but I managed to jog a few blocks and reach my door after 7 hours and 59 minutes.

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