Yesterday, we ventured into Rocky Mountain National Park. Ventured seems like such a minut word when I think of the misery that ensued! We drove up a one way old passage to the very top of the Rockies. It was a 9 mile drive that took about an hour and a half, ascending to over 14,000 ft. The view was amazing, but after we reached 2 miles above sea level, the turns, winds, and certain-death gravel road began to take a toll on me. I was so sick from the altitude. I couldn’t breathe, and I kept checking to see if my nose was bleeding.  I could not stop drinking water. There was no option of turning back and no bathrooms, so I did like any good adventurer would do. I winged it. Right there on a rock for all the elk, squirrels, rabbits, and insects to see.  It was the only good feeling I would have all day! 
Once we reached the ridge of the mountain, and I was able to get out and walk some, I felt no better. I wanted DOWN, but I didn’t want to get back in the car, either. I felt trapped up there. The anxiety, lack of oxygen, and almond butter and crackers about finished me off.  

The scenery was more than I could have ever dreamed it would be. I stood just a couple of feet from the largest bull elk I have ever seen, and Maggie finally got to touch snow. But, all my brain could think was, “Flat land, get me the heck to flat land. I miss home. I want gumbo and heat and humidity!” This is how I know I had officially gone crazy! Who would crave 100° weather, and life-sucking humidity? Me- in the Rocky Mountains. 

We made it back to the apartment at 10:30 last night, and every muscle in my body hurt. I am sure the tension of repeatedly imagining falling to my death off that slippery slope had set into my bones. The kids did have a good time, so I am glad we went, but now that I have pictures, who needs to ever go back? Not me- at least not until I can’t remember the beauty of the landscape.