"Now here comes another clown with a scheme for the utopian national park: . . . Your road is bad; pave it. Better yet, build a road to every corner of the park; better yet, pave the whole damned place so any damn fool can drive anything anywhere."
--Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire
Maybe its getting older. Maybe its those necessary adjustments to life with an infant. Maybe its just those necessary adjustments to life with a family, dogs, a house, commitments, and expectations. At some point in all our lives, I think we all must confront conflict within ourselves - conflict between what we want to do and want we can do, between our ideal and our reality. This past weekend, I found myself knee deep in this realization.
The roots of the conflict sprouted nearly two decades ago when I joined the Boy Scouts. At the time, my troop leader was a guy who marched to his own drummer. And when he was in charge, he marched us right along to that same beat. Trails? Bah. Tents? Who needs them?! As long as we had a map, compass, sleeping bag and some good company, we could go damn near anywhere we wanted on foot. There were even a few stream crossings and wildlife encounters that, to a ten-year-old, seemed fairly harrowing.
Aside from a sense of adventure, these activities, rogue by park standards to say the least, instilled in many of us boys a purist and elitist attitude that would make ol' Ed Abbey beam. We did things our way, rules be damned. Our adventures were much more rewarding than strolling some defined trail. The camping experience was only real when you broke away from tent platforms and fire rings. And, related, why on earth would you drive to a campsite when you could find a much better one in a few miles on foot?
I have carried this attitude with me through the years, keeping it tucked away but nurturing it all the while. I will not claim to hold a purist or elitist candle to many things, but there are a few - music . . . beer . . . and outdoor activities. Over the years, I have found myself striving for quality over quantity, passing on some opportunities because they did not meet the bar I had set for my experiences. But life starts to chip away at attitude. That's not to say that I don't adhere to standards. However, when the ideal meets reality, choices must be made.
And that is where I found myself this past Sunday. Typically, if you gave me a late summer day in the mountains with flawless weather, I would choose a hike that from either distance or elevation gain would really get my heart pumping. But that priority did not readily reconcile with another high priority for the weekend - a relaxing day away with my wife and six-month-old. Instead, we chose a scenic drive along Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. Stepping out of the car at overlooks and examining my colleagues for the day . . . well, let's just say that its not the RMNP crowd that my wife and I are accustomed to running with.
But neither our method of moving around the park nor our compatriots bothered me. Rather, I realized that what was important to me is sharing experiences with my family, whether or not the experiences meet the "standards" I've set for myself over the years. I also realized that establishing a positive base of family experiences will set the stage for those experiences to evolve with time. In a year or three years or five years, this day may look completely different. Instead of pulling the car up to a picnic table, maybe we hike in a mile or two to a more secluded dining spot. Soon after that, maybe we hike into a comfortable spot to cook dinner, roast marsh mellows and spend a night out together. What I do not want to change is the sharing of experiences and the chance to instill the same passions and values in my son as he grows.
Maybe I owe Edward Abbey an apology for validating his clown's suggestion to pave the park. Not long ago, I would feel like I owed myself an apology for spending a day driving around the mountains instead of hiking in or climbing them. Not this time, at least not for now. The experiences may be different for a while, but they are just as satisfying, if not more so. I look forward to more of these opportunities to refine and mature my personal perspectives.