Peenie Wallie

On the ascent, beavers construct dams on the creeks, providing homes for schools of brook trout and swarms of mosquitos. It's about nine miles from the campgrounds up to the summit. I'd read that it was a difficult 4wd trail, but by about half way in, I had convinced myself it was a cakewalk my grandmother could easily negotiate in her car. But about halfway up, the trail twists ominously skyward. I climbed straight up the face of the mountain all four tires spinning wildly.

This is when you're on the balls of your feet, leaning forward, praying you don't accidently bump the handlebars and downshift into neutral. Once you commit to climbing this stretch, there is no turning back. Each rock is a malevolent obstacle, with the ability to send you tumbling back down the mountain. No way out but continuing straight up into the sky until the trail levels off.

When it does level off, somewhere around 12,000 feet, the trail is all sharp rocks and boulders. A slow first gear crawl with two wheels in the air about half of the time. You have to pick your line through the rocks delicately. Once, it started to flip over and I caught it just in time and stayed on top. Once it starts rolling, it's going to tumble 400 feet into the snow-melt creek below.

On top, the weather changes incredibly fast. The climate is crazy once you get above 2 miles over sea level, even in July. It went from dead calm to gale force winds in about 30 seconds. I was huddled behind the ATV trying to keep my backpack and helmet from blowing down the rock face.

After descending back to the campgrounds, I ran down U.S. Hwy 285 about a mile, and went onto FR810 on the north side of the highway. This connected into FR809, and, eventually, I found myself in the south Park County whistlestop town of Jefferson.

I bought a coke and asked the guy if he thought I should take the highway back to my truck up on top of the pass.

"Oh sure. You won't have any problem."

He'd called my bluff, so I headed north on 285 for about 5 miles, back up and over Kenosha Pass, like a snail in the Indy 500. I climbed the mountain on the paved highway going 44 mph, chasing my growing shadow. Long row of returning 4th of July vacationers piling up behind me. I'm sure they were thrilled. I don't blame them. But, hey, I had to get back to my Tahoe somehow...