The Last Word On Nothing

Two canyons loom large in my life right now, and have for the past year and a half. This is not a metaphor for something, although maybe it could be. One canyon I visit on purpose, for joyful hikes with my baby, my older daughter, and sometimes a friend or two. The other canyon is, shall we say, less full of joy. It is a beautiful canyon, but I am having difficulty seeing it this way. This canyon is a cleft in the mountains that I must transit so I can get from point A to point B.

The first canyon features a winding, narrow road that fills with tricky shadows no matter what time of year I visit. It has a bubbling creek, which provides cool breaks on hot summer hikes and a good 10-degree temperature drop in winter. It is full of fir, spruce, pine, aspen and oaks, and carved with hiking trails from top to bottom. This canyon is probably my favorite place in the city, and I visit as often as I can.

The second canyon features a winding, narrow road that fills with shadows any time of year. It has a rapidly coursing river, the Arkansas, which provides plenty of spots for fishermen and float-tubers to slowly pull off or rejoin traffic, slowing me down either way. It has a good general store halfway through it, which sells tasty fresh sandwiches, but that’s about all I can say in its favor. It is full of pine, rocks, and bighorn sheep, for which it is named, and which I have almost hit on more than one occasion. It is one of my least favorite spots in southern Colorado, and I have to go through it any time I try to go skiing or camping.

I thought about this contrast the other day, while driving through Canyon A so my toddler could sleep in the car. The shadows made it hard to see and I kept flipping my sunglasses down and up. A mountain biker appeared out of nowhere, slowly inching up the road on the icy shoulder. Plenty of Sunday looky-loo drivers went too fast, too slow, or too close to the middle, but I didn’t find this annoying.

I had driven through Canyon B earlier that week, for a short ski day, and it pissed me off all the way to Salida. Then a few hours later, it pissed me off all the way back from Salida. The road was in terrible shape after a snowstorm the night before, which really didn’t help, but it was also the shadows and the other drivers that made me so frustrated.

I feel like I should not have such disparate opinions about two places that are otherwise very much alike. Both are made of granite, both are cleaved by bodies of water that start in the mountains I love, both are actually very pretty, both take me places I feel so lucky to wind up. Why should I feel such animosity for Canyon B?

I think it’s as simple as this: Canyon A represents a destination, while Canyon B represents a journey. When I said that to myself, while driving in Canyon A, I almost gasped. By God, those insipid wooden placards they sell at tourist shops are right. “Life is a journey, not a destination.” I don’t like when pablum makes a point, but I will be mindful of this the next time I go through Canyon B.

I will visit Canyon B again very soon and I decided to make it a promise. Canyon B, I will try not to be mad at you. I will look for your namesake sheep, and I will appreciate the icy Arkansas. I will stop at the Cotopaxi General Store, I will wave at the Lone Pine Recreation Area, and I will try not to resent you. I will try not to yell with relief as soon as I hit Salida. The journey is what counts and I am, as ever, trying to remember that.

—

Photo 1: By Bob Wick, BLM/CC-BY-2.0 ; Photo 2: By the author