Shadow Mountain takes the prize

“I don’t know if I will ever see anything this beautiful again,” Marc said while starting the campfire.

I understood.

Shadow Mountain is a small mountain just outside of the park in the neighboring forest.  To get there, you have to go down a long narrow road, pass several herds of bison (no joke), and hang a left when you reach the end of the road.  Nearby that turn is a giant house that overlooks the scenery.

“Someone famous lives there,” Marc said and I agreed. The house itself was huge and was walled off with a fence surrounding it. It had a gate that looked a little intimidating and unwelcoming.  So we didn’t try to make any new friends and continued on the road.

Our narrow paved road turned into gravel which turned into dirt which quickly turned into mud.  We moved along the western edge of the mountain, not quite sure where to turn off. We saw the only sign of some kind of organization to the area: a dirt parking lot for mountain bikers.

We continued to drive on the dirt road, dodging dirt pot holes filled with water. We saw a road lead straight up the mountain, but we weren’t quite sure if that was the road we should take. So we wound up at the other end of the loop that goes up Shadow Mountain and eventually selected the right path, of many, to head up hill.

Imagine going up a winding road, making sudden 90 degree turns followed by a 179 degree turn, followed by another 90. Meanwhile, you’re swerving around rocks, dirt canyons eight inches deep cause by soil erosion, and straddling your wheels over deep tire tracks that would threaten your car’s undercarriage if you didn’t pull off the hair raising maneuver.

Then, after you make a sharp turn, there’s a tree. And it’s bent over to form a bow over the road, almost as though it were a welcoming arch.  A bit ways up the road, there’s another tree, only this time you have to drive over the four inch thick trunk. A final tree three-quarters of the way up has fallen and rested on the top of a neighboring tree across the road, forming a perfect 45 degree angle.  You then have to slow the car to a snail’s pace and get as close to the edge of the road without your wheels slipping into the muddy vat that could threaten your good mood.

All this to say: we are very happy we have an all-wheel drive vehicle.

This kind of road is what makes car commercials realistic. Your car gets bathed in mud as it splashes through miniature ponds. You keep it in second gear the entire time because if you go any faster, it would be dangerous.  You can’t help but think that your anthropomorphized car wants to thank you for finally allowing it to show you that it can, in fact, kick ass.

And then you get to the summit.

Wow. And then you’re struck by an overwhelming feeling of guilt. You feel guilty that you can spend the next several hours staring out at this view, watching the sunset. You want to bring everyone here, your parents, sisters, friends, family, but they’re not here. They’re at work.  And then you hear a tiny voice in your head say “SUCKERS!”

So you crack open a beer and marvel at what you’re seeing. No matter how long you stare at it, you can’t believe you’re lucky enough to see it and that it is real.

Yesterday I claimed that our campsite by the river was the best one of the trip so far. It was an incredible site, but looks especially lame when compared to the site we had on top of Shadow Mountain. I doubt if any campsite on our trip, perhaps even in the country, can compete with this one. If it does, I will be very grateful. But if there isn’t a comparable site, I will be just as happy.