The ceiling in the hostel bunk room felt like it was inches in front of my face. No alarm was ringing, yet the clock in my brain insisted on my eyes opening. Naturally, I had been trying to sleep in. Damn circadian rhythm.

Last night, after 10 trail miles, a day full of hiker chores, and 5 square meals, I spent a few late hours catching up with an old friend from the Appalachian Trail. Slider (Rick) and his then very pregnant wife Stroller (Bec), live in Leadville and run a small hotel with their young daughters. Their eldest daughter, Evie, was still in utero when we summited Mt. Khatadin at the end of the Appalachian Trail a decade ago. It was cool to see the time-gap since my first thru-hike personified in a wonderful little human.

After packing up our things, Fraggles, Point 3, and I met Slider, Stroller, and their daughters at a Cuban sandwich spot. The espresso was strong and sweet, while my sandwich was cheesey, crispy, and stuffed with eggs and ham. I could have eaten three of them. I should have at least ordered a second one, especially while amongst hikers who understand what so much walking does to ones stomach.

Last year, on a trip to Decorah, Iowa I made a quick stop to catch up with Tim (Hawkeye) & Nina (Kombucha) from my 2012 PCT thru-hike. We shared our lives and reminisced about times on trail. As I said goodbye, we acknowledged how good it felt to be in the company of a person who understood what we had done. There must be something about such an intense shared experience that builds strong connections. It was this kind of connection that came up while catching up with Slider and Stroller in Leadville. Though we hadn’t had a conversation in over a decade, it felt like it hadn’t been a month since I saw them in Maine.

As the time to leave town neared, Slider offered to give us a lift to the grocery store and back up to the pass. I hustled to buy food for the 2 day stretch to Breckenridge, packed my food bag in the parking lot, and was back on trail by 11am. My 25 hours in Leadville had come to an end.

The trail quickly gained the divide and I crested Kokomo pass just as the first wisps of ominous clouds poked their tendrils over the ridge. The decision to keep going or bail directly down to treeline is never an easy one. For starters, I’m not a meteorologist. And, well, that’s really all there is to it. With only a few miles to treeline and no thunder heard as the storm approached, we decided to make a run for it. My poncho in hand, I walked as fast as I could but managed to get soaked as a torrent fell upon us in sheets. The dark clouds moved on as quickly as they had come, though I knew they’d be back soon. As the first thunder boomed in the distance, I questioned my assessment of the risk. A few nearby marmots made their opinions about my presence known and I hustled for treeline.

The next morning I woke up with my tarp pitched a stones throw from Copper Mountain Ski Resort. The rain had come back last night, but my ultralight Dyneema Composite Fabric (DCF) shelter had withstood the barrage and my gear was dry. Cold instant coffee, shaken together with a packet of Carnation instant breakfast are the first calories I take in today. The trail begins to climb nearly 3,000 vertical feet, from tenmile creek to the ridgeline above Breckenridge. I’m sore, soggy, and ready to eat food that doesn’t come in individually-wrapped squares. I cover the 14 miles to Highway 9 before 11am and am enthusiastically met at the highway by a free bus.

One hearty bowl of pho, a massive chocolate mousse cake, and a few espressos later and I feel like a human again. A somewhat feral human whose only drive is snacks, yes, but human none the less. The free bus takes me to a grocery store, where I hide from mid-day thunderstorms and buy enough food to get me to Winter Park in 3 days. At 4pm I’m back on the free bus to the trail.

The five hours spent in town feel jarring once I’m back in the woods and I spend the next few hours thinking about the contrast. Somewhat distracted, I had failed to check this stretch of trail for water sources and managed to leave town with only 700ml of H2O. A dozen thirsty miles later I heard the soft gurgle of a stream. It was nearing 8pm and I had managed to walk 26 miles while spending 5 hours in town. Tired.

For the last 300 miles, the CDT and the Colorado trail have paralleled one another. The tread has been smoother, the trail better signed, and there have been a lot more hikers about. Today, as the trail climbed above treeline toward Grays Peak, the two trail split. I laughed out loud. The split wasn’t signed, the trail tread disappeared, and immediately climbed straight up the rocky ridge. Welcome back to the CDT.

The two and a half days between the CT/CDT split and Berthoud Pass are some of my most challenging on this trail, maybe on any trail. We are constantly above treeline and the threat of storms informs everything I do. Added to that is the fact that my left calf muscle has seized up on me. Turns out, 7,000+ feet of vertical gain every day for the last week is hard on your body. As I climb a scree-field toward the summit of Grays Peak, every step feels like my my Achilles is being shredded like pulled pork. The scenery is incredible but thoughts of long injury recovery and quitting are pulling me out of it. When I reach the summit I am at the highest point on the Continental Divide Trail. At least it’s all downhill from here.