The Storm on Cinnamon Pass
We are at 12,640 feet and I won’t get out of the vehicle on account of the snow and lightning.
Literally, frozen slush fills the air as lighting illuminates the entire sky. I’ve never seen anything like it.
As the white particles accumulate I consider my motivations:
- I want a picture of myself and my Ford Explorer next to the summit marker. (Facebook glory)
- I don’t want to die.
The choice is more difficult then it should be, but I stay in the car. After hours of navigating rugged roads and harrowing exposures I will not set foot on the summit.
Brian snaps an iphone photo of the Cinnamon Pass sign from the passenger seat and it’s time to go.
I switch to 4×4 low and start to ease us down.
We evacuate the pass summit and descend towards tree line and calmer conditions. Not too far and we stop next to a 12 foot snow wall hugging the road. It appears that summer has yet to conquer these heights.
We continue down the mountain. Two hours, and several testing miles later, we arrive in Lake City. The town feels sleepy and unimpressed by our recent expedition.
I am drained by the time we open the front door of Ryan’s cabin. After hours of intense concentration my body aches for a nap.
I know the journey has marked me, but much more than the surreal storm, it is the entirety of the weekend that has made an impact. Three days of adventuring in Colorado’s majestic ranges has humbled me.
I find myself softened in some way by the scale and beauty of this place.
Truly, the mountains have a way of reaching deeply. And I am grateful.