Blog Post by Linda Paul
As the trip winds down, euphoria and melancholy gather like the Muses’ faces on stage. Euphoria is nourished by new friendships, great stories, rides, scenery, and food, not to mention a week spent offline and blissfully ignorant of the latest grim headlines. Melancholy stems from the reality that all joyful adventures must come to an end, and soon granite peaks will give way to shrieking red and blue loyalists.
The trip began inauspiciously. Nearly half of the original participants were missing thanks to a shit storm of bad luck, including a car wreck. My adventures began, as a guest of Janine Townsend, with a short (how short, I had no idea) scouting trip from our campsite to Stanley Lake. First to arrive and set up camp, we were eager to explore. This was my maiden voyage aboard Bubba the Mule. We rode alongside a road that was far too busy, then worked our way down to the lake, scouting future swimming sites. Transcending a ridiculously steep embankment, we offered the animals a drink, but they were more interested in grass than in water. On the way back up that embankment, Bubba the Mule and I encountered a parting of the ways. Despite my grand efforts to hang onto at least one rein, I ended up holding a hank of leather attached to nothing but air. Injured pride aside, I tied the remaining rein into a very short roping rein, remounted Bubba and we headed back to camp just in time to greet the newest arrivals.
