Climbing Capitol Peak
My first recollection of being inspired by mountains was as a 10-year-old in elementary school seeing a documentary of Martin Luther King eloquently speaking of having been to the mountaintop. I think it was his last speech before his untimely death. Later, I kiddingly told my dad that a buddy and I were thinking about driving to California. We were almost 17. My dad laughed and walked away, but a little bit later he came back and said, “Are you really interested in driving out to California?” He offered to let us take one of his painting company’s old cars to the West Coast, and we quickly accepted. All kinds of visions of the mountains, valleys, deserts and other landscapes went through my head, and it was almost too much for my imagination to bear. We drove the southern Route 66 to San Diego and then came back via the northern route up through Sacramento, through the mountains where the Donner party had their disastrous run-in with the snow, and then across Nevada and along the route many of the wagon trains took westward. The ruts are still visible over 100 years later. But it was the mountains, in Colorado, that I liked best.
September 23, 2020
