A couple of weeks ago, my husband Dale and I went on my favorite Colorado hike. It’s an 8.4 mile roundtrip up the South Boulder Creek Trail to the creek’s headwaters at Rogers Pass Lake, and then on over a small saddle to Heart Lake. Thanks to record snowfall this past winter, this summer’s wildflowers have been more plentiful than ever - and in the James Peak Wilderness that’s saying something. In fact, this hike has all my favorite features: lively streams and waterfalls, prolific flowers, an uphill workout that’s not a painful trudge, a combination of shady trails and sunny meadows, craggy mountains circling glacial blue lakes, and nary a view of town or road.

The trail starts at the East Portal of The Moffat Tunnel at about 9,211 feet and climbs to 11,310 feet. To reach the trailhead, take Rollins Pass Road west from highway 72 at Rollinsville. The 8.2-mile dirt road dead-ends at the tunnel. Check out this two-and-a-half-minute video to see why it’s worth the trip:

Hiking to Heart Lake - James Peak Wilderness, near Rollinsville, Colorado from Cara Lopez Lee on Vimeo.

“Endings are hard.” That’s what my friend Eileen once told me. She writes sitcoms, but I find that her quote applies to just about anything. When I got around to writing about the final week of my book tour for They Only Eat Their Husbands, I was already home and couldn’t bring myself to finish.

The road trip itself was difficult to finish. As on many treks, I was tired but not ready to stop.

The road trip itself was difficult to finish. As on many treks, I was tired but not ready to stop. As with many stories, I knew it had to end, but wasn’t sure what it all meant.

Let’s see, shall we?

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On every journey, I pick new things up and leave old things behind: belongings, attitudes, friendships. I love Alaska so much that it wasn’t until after my talk in Bellingham, Washington that I realized something had dislodged inside me on my last visit to the Last Frontier.

I had fun talking with the small but enthusiastic group at Village Books.

I had fun talking with the small but enthusiastic group at Village Books, yet my insides felt chaotic. I wondered why. Part of it was due to something I normally wouldn’t talk about here, but then, I suppose this is the perfect place to talk about it…

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If I were a visual artist, I’d draw my book tour for you in a series of sketches: half-finished lines and curves full of electric highs and exhausted lows, the faces of old friends softened by nostalgia, the faces of new friends clarified by discovery.

My friend Angie and I became rock ‘n roll groupies for Lukas Nelson & The Promise of the Real.

Thursday night in Seattle, my friend Angie and I became rock ‘n roll groupies for Lukas Nelson & The Promise of the Real. Off my itinerary, I was headbanging and swaying like a smitten teenager, as Lukas and his band tore up The Showbox.

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This story ends at the Seattle talk show New Day Northwest, where I appeared right after musician Lukas Nelson, son of Willie Nelson, and a unique talent in his own right. I’d never heard him before and I was impressed:

Lukas Nelson is the son of Willie Nelson, and a unique talent in his own right.

How did I get here?

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I’m not doing this right. Every time I travel, that thought occurs to me at some point. I woke up yesterday morning at 7:30, and was ready to go by 9:00, which made me feel so grownup and responsible. Then I remembered I hadn’t yet checked the driving directions from Cheyenne, at the southern end of Wyoming, to Lovell, at the northern end. I regretted my lack of a GPS or smart phone — though I don’t know how I would have swung that, when I had neither enough cash nor credit for this trip until a couple of days before it started. Ah, panic: sometimes I rationalize that this is what adventure is made of.

It was a gorgeous second day of spring, but wow, I’d forgotten how windy Wyoming is!

I copied the directions off Google Maps, then decided to call the Fort Causeway Hostel for specifics, because I might arrive there at dusk. I thought I had the phone number, but I didn’t. So I checked the website, but the number wasn’t listed. Odd. I thought I made my reservation by phone – how did I do that? I gave up, and hoped to arrive before dusk. So, I left at 9:30. No problem. Google said the drive would take about six hours, 45 minutes. I had budgeted eight, including a lunch break, gas breaks, and a few stops for photos. Plenty of time.

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It was only two hours to Cheyenne, Wyoming - a drive I’ve made before. The first time was just over twenty years ago when I interviewed for a reporting job at a local TV station. I suppose it’s for the best that I never got that job, or I wouldn’t have become a reporter in Alaska. And if I hadn’t gone to Alaska, I wouldn’t have written a memoir about my life in Alaska (and my trek around the world). I passed through Cheyenne again seven years ago, on my way to Thompson Falls, Montana. I spent a month there, cleaning out my deceased grandmother-in-law’s house, and working on my memoir.

Cheyenne was the first stop on my four-week book tour for They Only Eat Their Husbands: A Memoir of Alaskan Love, World Travel and the Power of Running Away.

So, here I was again on a straight stretch of I-25, Rocky Mountains to the left, Great Plains to the right, cringing as my car threatened to rattle itself to pieces at “Speed Limit 75,” actual speed slightly more. Why? To reach the first stop on my four-week book tour for They Only Eat Their Husbands: A Memoir of Alaskan Love, World Travel and the Power of Running Away.

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The day is finally here, the first day of my four-week book tour, and as usual, despite my careful planning and preparation, I’m still running around at the last minute: paying that last bill, printing up those workshop handouts, changing my mind about today’s reading, oh, and breakfast… did I buy gas? Yet I’m happy, excited about going on another shoestring journey to celebrate the book about my shoestring journey: They Only Eat Their Husbands: A Memoir of Alaskan Love, World Travel, and the Power of Running Away. This time, I’m married, but I’m kindly leaving the husband at home - taking him on this whirlwind tour might actually devour him, and in my opinion that would be bad manners.

In about an hour, I’m jumping in my car and heading to Cheyenne, Wyoming, where I’m speaking at the Laramie County Library at 2:00 this afternoon. Get this: parents can send their kids to the Storytime Room for Ice Cream Sunday, then sneak over to the Cottonwood Room to hear me read about how I ended up in a love triangle with two alcoholics in Alaska, and then ran away to trek around the world alone. I even have pictures: of my world tour, not the love triangle… sorry.

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Like many inveterate wanderers, I’ve done my share of couch surfing. But never until now have I asked complete strangers if I can spend the night on their couch. Like many new authors, I have a marketing budget of zero. But how could a traveler sell an adventure memoir and not take her book on tour? I knew I had to hit the road, and the only way I could afford that was to plan a route that would rely mostly on staying in hostels or in the homes of friends and family. A shoestring book tour seemed fitting, since They Only Eat Their Husbands: A Memoir of Alaskan Love, World Travel, and the Power of Running Away is largely about my shoestring trek around the world.  

I underestimated how far I’d have to take that idea.

A shoestring tour seemed fitting, since They Only Eat Their Husbands is largely about a shoestring trek around the world.

I won’t receive the first revenue from book sales until May. Yet I’m going on my tour from March 20 to April 16, right when I’m approaching the limits of my credit. I believe in the power of networking, so I’m not shy about sharing my goals with supportive friends—and it was one of them who suggested, “You should check out the couch surfing website.”

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I had my skis tuned over the weekend, and when I picked them up on Sunday, the young woman who took my money stared at my skis with disdain and said, “Wow, those skis are old. How long have you had them?”

“About seven years.”

“Wow,” she repeated, and not in a tone that suggested admiration. I felt embarrassed, and defensive. Maybe she can afford to buy new skis every year or two, but I can’t. Did I mention I’m a freelance writer? So at our house, we use things until they don’t work. These old skis still work - pretty well, I might add.

These old skis still work - pretty well, I might add.

I thought of an article I read in The Onion in December: “New Device Desirable, Old Device Undesirable.” It lampooned the idea that everyone wanted the “New Device” for Christmas because the “Old Device” was, well, old. One fake quote said of the New Device: “Its attractiveness and considerable value are, by extension, my attractiveness and considerable value.” I wondered if the young woman at the ski shop felt that way about her skis or snowboard. Maybe she thought I was out of touch, and didn’t consider that I might simply be out of cash.

Which begs the question: if I’m low on funds, why ski at all?

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