Somewhere down there is Taylor. He’s from Loveland, Colorado. He drives a white work truck, has a wife, two kids, and one on the way. He’s a heavy equipment mechanic and avid fisherman. He can cook, or endeavors to, at least for special occasions. That’s just about all I know about Taylor, if that’s even how you spell his name. But I know he’s down there, somewhere.
I met Taylor a few weeks back. He was fresh off a fishing trip that yielded
no fish. He was in a hurry to get home
to his wife. He was prepared to cook
dinner for her since the kids were staying with their grandparents for the
evening. My oldest daughter waived him
down in the middle of nowhere. He
stopped. Had he not, who knows. But he did.
It was pushing 100 degrees along the Front Range that
day. A perfect day for a hike. I had started the El Dorado Trail hike nearly
two years before and hadn’t nearly the time to finish it. So when my work territory expanded to include
Colorado, I jump at the chance to return, this time with the family in
tow.
The El Dorado Trail is a 3.5 mile hike to the summit
complete with stunning views in almost every direction. We descended upon the trailhead around one
o’clock that Friday afternoon, climbed a few steps and with within the first 10
minutes had gained at least 800 feet in elevation. The trail gradient lessened after the initial
climb and we caught our breath and chatted as we made our way along a picture
perfect path.
As faster hikers passed us going up the trail and
returning hikers passed us coming back down, my youngest daughter asked for her
first bottle of water within the hour.
We had brought two for each of us.
Handing her the water, I warned her to make it last. She sipped it slowly before returning it to
me. More hikers passed. Some overtaking
us, some otherwise and soon we were mostly alone on the trail. The last hikers we passed told us of a water
feature at the summit. We couldn’t help
but ponder what it might be... a mountain lake, a waterfall, whatever it was,
we wanted to see it, so we kept going.
We made the uneventful summit in a little less than two
hours. There was no mountain lake. There was no waterfall. A man at the top said there were rapids
roughly 800 feet down the other side. He
said it was a scramble. Make sure you
have plenty of water he said. We did, so
we pressed on.
The odd thing about hiking is it is almost easier to hike
uphill than down. Gravity is a funny
thing so each step is measured to avoid falling. That 800 foot scramble took almost 45
minutes, only to find rapids very similar to the ones you see at the beginning
of the hike. By now, my youngest was
well into her second bottle of water as was my oldest. My first bottle was almost gone as well. But up ahead was a map on a 4 x 8 sheet of
plywood. We took a look. And made a critical mistake.
To call this map a map is an offense to any of the myriad
treasure maps drawn by Jake and his Neverland Pirate pals. It showed a loop that would return us to the
car at least a mile shorter than climbing back up 800 feet and trekking back
the way we came. So we took the
loop. And it started with an opposing
800 foot climb out of the canyon in no more than a quarter of a mile. This was mistake number two.
The climb would tax almost any hiker. It did me.
We stopped, we rested, we drank water, but that climb took what Haegan
had left. When we came out of the
canyon, she was showing the first signs of heat stress. I gave her more water. She soldiered on but our paced slowed to
almost a crawl. I checked my phone. It seemed we were moving away from the
car. But service was scarce and it kept
it coming and going. An hour into the
loop, I checked again. We we’re now six
miles from the car and Haegan was fading fast.
A couple mountain bikers coming in the opposite direction
had told us the parking lot was just about a mile up the trail. Maybe my phone was wrong. We pressed on. We emerged from the trail to a parking lot I
had never seen before around 5:30 in the evening. I figured we had hiked roughly seven
miles. There were a few cars in the
gravel lot though no one was around. We
had no phone service, no water, no food.
Nothing one might need at this time.
But there was a map. The same
ridiculous map that was posted by the rapids. I was done with that map and
there was no way all of us could make the seven miles back to trailhead.
As we considered our options, a white work truck made its
way down the mountain road. Oblivious to
our predicament, my eldest daughter waived him down. He pulled over. He never once acted like he didn’t want to
help. He immediately gave Haegan a fresh
bottle of water while he apologized for how dirty his truck was. He spent 10 minutes rearranging things so we
could all fit inside even though we each would have happily rode in the bed of
the truck.
The ride to the trailhead took 30 minutes (around 15
miles). That’s when I really took in the
gravity of the situation. Here’s a guy
fishing in the mountains, plans to cook dinner for his pregnant wife, on his
way home when he comes across us and not once does he seem disinterested in
helping. Our ride was most certainly out
of his way not to mention the mere fact that we are complete strangers. He asks for nothing while offering us
whatever he had.
I believe Taylor caught no fish that day for a
reason. I believe he left early for a
reason. I believe we crossed paths for a
reason. I believe the lesson we learned
was one we needed to learn. All of
us.
So wherever you are Taylor, thank you. Thanks for reaffirming the goodness in
humanity while illustrating that fact perfectly for my children. And thanks for stopping. It would have been really easy to ride on
past.
But most of all, thanks for teaching me to be vulnerable,
to except help from strangers, and to worry not about making it home late from
time to time because someone needed my help.
And to do all this with a servant’s heart expecting nothing in return.
#everydayangels
#findthegood
#bethechange
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