Page 13 of Shared By the Mountain Men

The inside of my cabin was cozy and quaint; there was a little living space that blended into a kitchen, with a hallway that led to a bedroom and bathroom in the back. It reminded me of the inside of an RV, except that the ceilings were much higher, which gave the illusion of being more spacious.

It was much cuter than I wanted to give Jack credit for.

“Do you want the tour?” he asked.

“I think I can figure it out.”

He slapped the key into my palm. “The camp store is closed now, but it opens at nine in the morning. We have a food truck that parks out front during the day. There’s no maid service, so you’ll have to call the office if you need anything.” He tapped his finger on a laminated piece of paper taped to the wall. “Any questions?”

“What were you going to call me earlier?” I asked.

Jack gave a start. “Huh?”

“At the clinic, you called me an asshole. And you said it was a lot nicer than what youwantedto call me. What did you want to call me?”

Jack stared at me. “If you use your imagination, I bet you can figure it out. Enjoy the bed.”

Even after he closed the door, I could hear his deep laughter as he walked back to the office.

Once he was gone, I dropped all pretenses of being annoyed. This cabin wasadorable. Lots of windows, but with remote-controlled blinds that allowed privacy. One of the walls was decorated with an oil painting of a mountain, painted all in blues and grays. The bathroom had a showeranda full bathtub.

And the bed! Queen-sized, perfectly-white sheets without a single wrinkle, and enough pillows to make a fort. It called to me like a linen siren from a Greek epic.

I wanted nothing more than to fall face-first into the pillows and pass out, but I knew I needed to bathe. I closed all the blinds in the cabin, made sure the front door was bolted, then drew a bath.

I sank into the water, propping my ankle up on the edge to keep the wrapping from getting wet. As soon as I was submerged, I let out a long sigh, and with it exhaled a big chunk of my worries.

Yeah. This was better than sleeping in a tent, even if I didn’t want to admit it to Jack the Annoying Lumberjack.

I passed out as soon as I got under the covers. Jack was right: the bed was as comfortable as a cloud.Morecomfortable, if you could believe it. And even though I was occasionally woken by the throbbing pain in my ankle, I always fell right back asleep.

I hadn’t bothered to set an alarm. When I eventually blinked away the sleep from my eyes, I realized sunlight was streaming through the crack in the blinds. My phone said it was ten in the morning.

That was a lot more fun than waking up at five in the morning to boil water for my freeze-dried breakfast.

Thinking about food made my stomach rumble; I’d skipped dinner last night. I threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and wandered outside. A few people were walking around the campsite, and two little boys rode by on bicycles. I immediately located the food truck Jack had mentioned and headed for it as fast as my ankle would allow. The swelling hadn’t gone down at all, and it hurt like hell when I put weight on it, but I could limp around. Especially when motivated by the smell of real food.

I ordered a burrito from the food truck, then sat on a log by the river to eat. It was a crisp morning in the shade, and there was a trail by the river with a scattering of joggers and bikers. Two men in kayaks went by on the river, shouting happily as they navigated a stretch of rocky rapids.

It was so peaceful.

I heard footsteps to my right. Jack was walking by with a bundle of firewood under one arm and an ax resting against his shoulder. He gave me a satisfied smile in passing.

“Yes, the bed was great,” I admitted.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I can see you thinking it!”

He chuckled and continued on his way. I watched him go, the sunlight playing through his dark hair and making it shine. He would have been hot, in a rugged sort of way, if he wasn’t such a dick.

After wolfing down my burrito, I returned to my cabin and read my book on the porch while enjoying the beautiful day. That evening, I visited the camp store to buy a microwave dinner. Somehow, a bottle of gin ended up in my basket. Half the bottle was empty when I woke up the next morning, and there was a splitting pain in my head to match my throbbing ankle.

A breakfast burrito from the food truck helped dispel my hangover. So did sitting in the rocking chair on my porch and reading my book. After a week of trying to cover as much ground as possible during the day, it was refreshing to sit around without any itinerary. There wasn’t a campsite nine miles up the trail that I needed to reach; there was only my incredibly-soft bed waiting for me ten feet away. My schedule was as listless as my life felt.

Despite enjoying my stationary situation, I didn’t feel like eating at the food truck for lunch. Google Maps said that the town of Crested Butte was just over a mile away, with at least a dozen food options that made my mouth water. I tested my ankle; it was still grotesquely swollen, but I could move around a little better than yesterday. A mile seemed doable, especially since I wasn’t in a hurry. I could take as many breaks as I needed.

The dirt road leading out of camp was forested for the first few minutes, but then the trees gave way to open fields that gave me a better view of the area. Crested Butte was tucked away in a valley with mountains all around, and the foothills were carpeted with wildflowers of all colors. I’d had breathtaking views during the first week of my Colorado Trail journey, but it had been difficult to savor them while trudging along in the wilderness, covered in sweat and grime. Now that I didn’t have any expectations for the day, I was able to truly appreciate how beautiful it was out here. It was certainly better than Ohio.

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