There comes a time when we must admit we enjoy something that is a stunning bore to others. Whether it’s stamp collecting or archiving gum wrappers, we have some pretty dull thrills. Most of the time, I wouldn’t wear my “born to be mild” side on my sleeve but I’m going to put one out there: I love frozen forest access roads.
It was one of my childhood thrills to wander the overwhelmed streets of my small New England town, knowing full well the plows were helpless to push through the swirling powder. Here in Colorado, I seek out those snow-burdened roads less known to snowmobilers and cross country skiers to bask in the solitude, silence and seclusion. Throw a couple of dogs in the mix, a thermos of hot tea and no obligations to return to and I have a little slice of backcountry euphoria.
I’m especially fond of the lower segments of mountain passes, those places we normally speed past on our way to the high reaches of lofty peaks. Winter is a welcome agent of change and to notice all the intricacies and details by the side of the road is a special treat. I love watching my border collies rip off into the deep powder, knowing they can’t wander too far (and if all goes well, they may tire themselves out for a few hours). I love the distant peaks looming like frozen giants over the white and pastel landscape. I love the mysterious animal tracks fading into the forest. I get a giddy thrill like I’ve just snuck backstage as I pass semi-buried road signs and trail markers.
There’s hundreds of these roads to be explored, everywhere from the Front Range to the Elks, the San Juans to the Sangres. Usually there’s no destination, just a journey. My normal modus operandi is if there is a summit that can be reached, it must be reached. But winter roads aren’t like that. They twist and weave through the forest into seeming infinity. During a good snowfall there’s a serene sense of safety, for the road is easy to retrace and yet, there is something intimate and wild in the stillness. It’s a behind-the-scenes look at the world in negative, stripped of clutter and cryogenically sealed.
I used to be bummed when I couldn’t recruit many friends to join me. And I couldn’t really blame them; there’s only so many free days in the winter and there are mountains to ski, icefalls to climb and terrain parks to shred. But over time, I’ve grown to embrace the solitude, the canine camaraderie and the Zen-like experience of cold roads to nowhere. What can I say? I’m too antsy for Yoga, too tightly wound for meditation and too restless for devotional reflection. Frozen roads induce a seance that calms my mind and eases weeks of tension in only a few hours. It’s a plain, seasonal meditation but for me it’s welcome therapy knowing I have miles to go before I sleep.
