The Tale of Dave and Bob
There is something special about being on the road, particularly when you have no expectations and try to be present in that time and place. This is the story about how I met Dave and Bob.
A few summers ago, I was longing for something, I felt somewhat stagnant and as if my fire was slowly burning away. The word adventure kept crossing my mind—naturally, I decided it was time to pack my little truck with the essentials and hit the road for a week.
Before starting, I had to preestablish some ground rules for myself. It was important to me that I didn’t rush on this road trip, I didn’t want to feel like I had to get from point A to point B on a certain schedule. I intentionally wanted to slow down. I wanted to be able to appreciate things along the way, pull over to the side of the road and admire the creeks, the trees, and all the interesting rock formations. No real plans, no schedule to follow. I only knew that I wanted to leave Arizona behind, go somewhere in Colorado and hike up a mountain. With all this in mind, I stepped into my little 2001 Ford Ranger.
It was late August, I remember having this feeling of uncertainty inside of me that kept me on my toes, it made me want to leap forward into the wide open spaces, and the long and endless winding roads. By the time I gained some elevation I realized it had been some time since I had seen so much green. The tall grass, the flowers, and the trees heavily populated each side of the road. The terrain changed as I kept driving towards New Mexico, and by the time I crossed the state line, one of my rear tires blew out. I pulled over and I just stared at it.
Almost immediately, somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear something my cousin used to say: it’s not an adventure if the unexpected doesn’t happen. After staring at it for a while, I jacked up the truck and put the spare on. I drove on it with the intention of getting a new tire soon.
I drove through Malpais National Conservation Area. It was raining, I could barely see and I was surrounded by flash floods—it was beautiful and scary all at once. I was caught right in the middle of a small flash flood and decided to just send it to get out this particular road. I went straight to Laguna Burger and ate the most revitalizing burger ever. I sat in my truck enjoying every bite. I still can’t tell if the burger was really good or if I just needed some food to fill me up after my eventful first day on the road. After some more driving, I made it to Raton, New Mexico. I found a church parking lot and a spot under a tree to sleep. I was worried I might get kicked out but I was too tired to look for a different spot. I passed out for the night. The next morning, I was greeted by an orange sky as the sun rose. I headed into town and, as I waited for my tire to get replaced at a small shop, I decided to walk around. I was back on the road eventually and headed straight to Colorado. I was struck with awe the second I laid eyes upon the mountains.
I relied on maps to figure out where to go next. I saw a promising butte that I wanted to check out and potentially camp by. I set my navigation and did not think much of it. I was on a dirt road
and the directions said to cross over a cattle guard. I kept driving, saw some cows and suddenly I was in front of someone’s ranch house. I immediately spun around and darted out of there. Almost at the cattle guard, I looked through my rearview mirror and noticed a woman in a pink wrangler shirt chasing me in a 4-wheeler. I stopped and rolled down my window. There and then, the first words that came out of my mouth were “I’m SO sorry. I was just following the directions and it said to drive through here”. I pointed at my phone, and looked confused. I did not want to get shot at that day or get in any kind of trouble for that matter. I noticed she relaxed when she realized it was an honest mistake and I wasn’t trying to trespass. I even showed her my phone and told her I was just trying to get to the butte. She explained how all the land around the butte was privately owned.
Feeling like I was out of luck I drove away and set to find a place to rest, and potentially where to hike the next morning. That is when I noticed the Spanish Peaks. There was a campground right at the beginning of a trail that went all the way up to the West Spanish Peak. It was decided—I would sleep there and go “hike up a mountain”.
It was kind of a rainy evening, I was at the campground making myself one of the many PB&Js I ate on that trip. This man in a Toyota Tundra was parked next to me, he approached me and asked me if I was ready to hike this thirteener. I remember thinking to myself “what in the world is a thirteener?”. Back then I just didn’t know what a 13er or a 14er was. A mountain that stands 13000 feet or higher at its peak. In this case 13,631 feet. “I’m Dave, by the way” he said and headed back to his truck.
The following morning I started hiking just before 7am. Dave was still getting ready to leave. I walked my way through the treeline and onto the scramble. At one point I felt like I had gotten off trail but I convinced myself otherwise, I could faintly see a path on the piles of rocks and kept on walking. I stopped and realized I wasn’t really gaining elevation. I turned around and noticed Dave was behind me, cruising along the rocks with his trekking poles. I decided to wait for him and we soon realized we had both gone the wrong way and had missed the cairns showing the trail. We felt like it was going to be too much work to go all the way back, so we looked at each other and decided to start going straight up. Yes, straight up. In hindsight we probably should have just found our way back to the trail but I have no regrets. Climbing up was definitely a work out on my legs and my lungs. We hit a few false peaks but we pressed on. We crawled on our hands and knees, trying not to fall down as the rocks rolled away. Eventually we made it. This was the highest I had ever been before. I can still recall Dave’s voice “I have reached the peak now, it is time to get to the treeline, make some coffee and smoke some weed”. I smiled. The way back was a lot easier, as we made sure we followed the actual trail back.
We went our separate ways, I continued my road trip and got to Saguache, Telluride, in Colorado, then Utah and back home. I got to know more about Dave on this journey to the peak.
It was interesting to connect with a stranger, someone older than I was, and I feel like I learned a lot just from talking and hearing his life experiences. I will never forget thinking “he gets it”. He reminded me a few times how important it is to “find something that turns you on, man”. He told me I have good energy and that I should follow my instincts and trust those feelings.
A few months later, I headed out to southern Colorado once again. I was in the Durango area and I hit up Dave to hike another mountain. Unfortunately he was out of state but he told me I should contact his friend Bob who just purchased a cabin in the Pagosa Springs area and I could probably camp within his property. I was skeptical at first, but after failing to find a good spot to camp I decided to reach out to him. Sure enough, Bob was more than happy to have me there. Now, I know what you are thinking. Who in his sane mind goes to a stranger's cabin? Me. I mean, after all, this was Dave’s friend and I just wanted a place to sleep in my truck. I got there later in the day so it was kind of dark. Bob welcomed me and gave me a short tour of the lower level. If I had to guess, Bob was probably in his 60s. This cabin was absolutely loaded with taxidermy from wall to wall. There was a bear, an antelope, a few deer and elk mounts, and a whole mountain lion in a crawling position with its mouth showing its teeth. The previous owner was an avid hunter, and I guess he shot that same mountain lion through his kitchen window.
I spent two nights here. This worked out perfectly. His backyard faced the San Juan National Forest and connected to it through a logging road. A creek flowed through the bottom part of his property. The first morning I packed my backpack with some snacks and trekked up the logging road. I took my time exploring and following a small trail. I was surrounded by pine trees at all times. When I came back I pulled out my guitar and sat on Bob’s porch for a while. I know this all sounds idyllic, but honestly it kind of was. Bob came out and wanted to show me around town and take me up to see Wolf Creek Pass. The next and last day, I heard a thud from within the house, but I didn’t make much of it and chose to ignore it. He made me an omelet that morning. It had some cheese, peppers, onion, and mushrooms. He sat across from me on the round table in his kitchen, with his hand on his head leaning on his bent arm as I looked out the window thinking about that poor mountain lion’s fate, forever frozen in that cabin’s living room.
I tried making some small talk and expressed how grateful I was. I heard him mumbling back but could not make out any sense of what he was saying. I suddenly took notice of what the hand on his head was covering. Blood. Suddenly, I recalled the thud earlier that morning and couldn’t help but wonder if that was it, if maybe he had fallen and hit his head. I immediately asked if he was okay but he kept repeating the same word with different inflections, as if he was trying to communicate. I could tell he was trying to say that he was fine and that it was nothing. I was worried, so I asked if I could take him to a hospital. “Indian indian indian”, he said. “Come on, hop in my truck and let’s get you checked out. I’m worried something might be wrong even if you think you are fine”, I replied. He was stubborn. He couldn’t communicate it with words but I could just tell how he just did not want to go see a doctor. I was planning on leaving that
morning after breakfast, but I couldn’t just leave him there like this. I said goodbye and thank you. I turned on my truck and pretended to leave and drove far enough to where I had cell reception within his property. I dialed 911 and communicated my concerns about Bob and how I suspected he might be having a stroke or some kind of concussion. Soon enough the ambulance showed up, I let them into the property through the gate and led them into the house. They found Bob and it took a few minutes until they could make him come downstairs. One of the three paramedics came out and confirmed my suspicion “yeah he is having a stroke, it is a good thing you called”. He handed me what I assumed was a defibrillator, and asked me to help him carry it back to the ambulance. They pulled him out in a stretcher and off they went to the nearest hospital.
I followed them to the hospital and asked about him. I guess they could not tell me much since I was not related to him in any way. Although the lady there did let me know they were planning on transferring him to another facility. I called Dave and told him what happened. He mentioned how glad he was that I was able to be there, or else maybe things could have gotten worse for Bob. Weeks later Dave updated me on Bob, I guess he had no recollection of what happened and did not remember me at all. He ended up going to a stroke rehabilitation center.
To this day, Dave and I exchange texts randomly. Usually around the holidays, or whenever we think back on hiking up the West Spanish Peak the way we did. I haven’t heard from Dave since before summer, but I trust he is doing okay. I am glad I was able to be there as well as being open to stepping out of my comfort zone. I am uncertain as to what would have happened if I had decided against staying at Bob’s.
I find myself thinking about the wide open road often and how I long to be out there, appreciating what the road has to offer. The uncertainty, the places it will take you, and that little something that just makes you crave any sort of adventure. I am grateful for the people I have met and the people I will meet down the road, small town diners, gas and snack stops, fast food, pb and j sandwiches, camp meals, and the great outdoors. Every time I go out I feel like the fire inside me gets fueled and I just look forward to my next outing. To put my own twist on Dave’s words: whether you like to ride mountain bikes, hike, climb, or whatever it is that turns you on... do it. It is worth it.
