The Continental Divide Trail: Parkview Mountain and the CDT’s Steepest SOBO Climb

airplane mode

«Maybe there’s a beast… maybe it’s just us.»

— Simon, Lord of the Flies

tThe troublesome Pass lived up to its name. Darkness came and we walked into the night. The explosions started slowly but quickly became some of the worst we had seen. The tiredness that had been plaguing me returned and I grumbled over and under branch after branch as Ice Cream and I trudged toward the road. We didn’t make it that night and camped in a tent under some trees that miraculously hadn’t fallen.

The next morning we headed up Parkview Mountain, supposedly the steepest climb SOBOs encounter on the entire trail and one of the steepest climbs in the Triple Crown. I remember it being beautiful up there in retrospect, but I hated it then. My face was a mask of angry pain under the shifting clouds. A sparrowhawk flew with the wind. A hiker doing NOBO approached. He was strong or cool, because he wore a muir ecstasy mask and smiled as he passed. I looked at him like I wanted to murder him and his smile dissolved into confusion. I often think about moments like that, when the only time I see someone, the part of me they see isn’t representative of who I’d like to be, but to them that’s all I am, assuming they remember me.

Then Parkview started getting serious. I tried to like it, I failed, and I accepted the hate. Welcome to the Dark Side. The trail angel with the hard oatmeal cookies had been an omen. I attacked the mountain with new energy born of annoyance while Ice Cream stayed behind, hands on hips, slow and steady as ever until she disappeared beneath a rock outcrop. When I reached the top of Parkview, the wind was howling at the top. Not too cold and balanced by the warm sun, but I was hoping for a respite from the wind. Parkview wears a sad little concrete shack as a Shriner’s hat. The cabin had peeling white paint and a defective plywood door. Built in 1916 as one of the highest fire lookouts in the country, it had not been used as such since 1948. Inside there was dust, pieces of trash, and an old closet, but nothing else. No benches or chairs. This was no hiker’s rest. Perhaps a place to escape unexpected storms.

Finding no comfortable spot, I went back out to the lee of the cabin and watched the shadows of the clouds billow across the mountains below. In the distance, on the other side of the narrow strip of black road, was a column of rock that looked tiny from so high up. Later we would pass through those thorns. The largest were more than thirty meters high.

While waiting for Ice Cream, I remembered hitchhiking through Colorado after high school. They drove me to Denver and I vaguely headed toward Estes Park. I had been on the outskirts of town for a few days before entering Rocky Mountain National Park. Later, I remember reaching the alpine tundra and feeling the urge to drive off the road into those mountains. I was an idiot. Here I was, more than two decades later, finally in those mountains and, now, a certain past had made the right decision to stay on the sweet American asphalt.

The road below began to call me. I knew what was on that path. September sun and golden poplar leaves. Quaint mountain towns with overpriced sandwiches. Less pain, greater enjoyment. But I didn’t have to worry about that now. Today we were going to the city. Ice Cream’s cousin, Bjornrad, had come to Colorado on vacation. We would meet him downstairs, go to nearby Silverthorne and sleep and eat at a B&B for three days.

Ice Cream appeared around the corner of the cabin. She sat down. «It’s nice.»

«Very.»

He pointed the way. «I think that’s the way Bjornrad is taking us.»

«Great. I can’t wait.» I waved my hand over the hills. «You know, I don’t think I’m going to want to do another one of these anytime soon. I’m almost done. I could see this view from a plane. Why drag my butt over here to see what I could see from a chair?»

«Yes, maybe so. What do you want to do instead?»

«The same thing I always want to do. Roads, cities, occasionally mountains and nature. Relive the good old days.»

His face tightened. «Well, maybe we’ll talk after the B&B.»

I nodded, knowing there was some flexibility in the CDT for us. But even for me, who is more comfortable with alternatives and paths, I couldn’t just change course. We were walking towards Mexico and to do so we have to cross Colorado. «Yeah, I’ll have more energy after the break. Maybe I can find a dremel or something to get more of these ingrowns out. They’re killing me again.»

Ice Cream nodded and said something comforting. We got up, shouldered our backpacks and headed down the mountain. The wind continued until we were below treeline. We found Bjornrad sitting in his rental car at the trailhead. Greetings, smiles, hugs. I took the backseat while Ice Cream and his cousin chatted about Taylor Swift, their home, and whatever else. I watched the once small, now towering thorns I had seen from Parkview pass effortlessly by.

***

The Silverthorne City Market serves as a local grocery store and gladiator arena. The three of us went to stock up for our three-day stay at the B&B only to find a wild herd of people going in all directions. We had to dodge shopping carts, people huffing and puffing impatiently behind us as we chose our vegetables. In the milk section, we stopped to read some labels and a young woman pushed our shopping cart out of the way and walked past the face of Ice Cream to grab a gallon. “I just want this one here,” the woman said in explanation. Another man ran over Bjornrad’s foot with his car. While he was looking at the bacon and eggs, a frail old woman approached Bjornrad. “Excuse me,” he said. Bjornrad was ready for another assault when she continued. «I can’t reach the almond milk on the top shelf. Would you be so kind as to help me?» This was the humanity we needed. A redeeming voice in the desert of the hallways. Björnrad smiled. “Of course I will.” Like Ice Cream, he was tall and the top shelf was no match for him.

We did some more tasks. Ice Cream got his first pair of new shoes, another pair of Olympus 6s. They would last him the rest of the way to Mexico. I never found a dremel and was stuck cleaning my toenails with the sanding sheets I had bought in Lincoln, MT.

Then it was home, sweet home. An artistic and modern apartment hidden on a hill. We cooked, we ate, we slept in beds. Charlie Kirk was murdered. She wasn’t sure who he was; I had mistaken him for the guy who changes his mind. As I read about him and the circumstances of his death, I began to worry about what might be festering at the heart of the American culture war. I thought about The three body problema Chinese novel by Liu Cixin. That book began with a historical view from within the Chinese Cultural Revolution, and I wondered if the United States was now following a similar line.

I hoped not. Maybe he did want to go back to the mountains after all. Sure, I could see those views easily from an airplane, but at least if I walked in them I could turn on airplane mode and leave it at that.

This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any products or services you purchase using links in articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price they would otherwise pay, and their purchase helps support The Trek’s ongoing goal of bringing you quality backpacking information and advice. Thank you for your support!

For more information, visit the About page of this site.