Fall Colors & Mountain Views: A Colorado Adventure in Our Renovated Camper

Stacey and I love our Truck camper, however we at times need to stealth camp. With the pop up it makes it hard to stealth camp. A number of times we were asked to leave or that there is no camping there. When we either just had the top up to make food or to hang out for the day. With a bittersweet farewell, we sold our ultra-light pop-up, and embraced a new chapter: a 1996 Lance hard-side, ready for our personal touch. so of course a renovation was in order, a reflection of our style, that's a story for another blog.

To christen our newly transformed camper, we set our sights on Vail, Colorado, to visit Ryan, Stacey's son, a ski/snowboard instructor. This mid-September journey promised the vibrant We were about to use our new stealth abilities to camp just off the highway in Iowa. in an open parking lot. Not the camping we like but we can rack up the miles doing this kind of camping. Able to pull over, get some sleep and back on the road. It's a good 19hr drive before any stops.  hues of peak fall color in the West.

Stealth Camping Iowa

Before Vail, we paused in Colorado Springs, to see my brother Jon. While he worked, we explored the Garden of the Gods, The Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs is a stunning natural landmark, renowned for its dramatic red rock formations set against the backdrop of Pikes Peak. This registered National Natural Landmark offers visitors a chance to explore miles of trails, engage in activities like hiking and rock climbing, and learn about the park's rich geological history at the visitor center. The park is a gift to the public, remaining free to enter, and provides breathtaking views and a unique outdoor experience. If you are anywhere near the area it's a must see. 

After Jon's shift, we shared dinner at my niece and nephew's taco bar, a vibrant spot. They have since moved on to a new venture, Agave Lounge, which I eagerly anticipate exploring. We spent the night catching up, the warmth of family a welcome respite.

The next morning, Vail beckoned. I, ever the scenic route enthusiast, chose the southern path, bypassing Denver. Through Woodland Park, Fairplay, and Breckenridge, we journeyed, hoping to catch Ryan before his offseason and second job, delivering pizzas. The life of a ski instructor, we learned, isn't always glamorous.

We found Ryan amidst the rhythm of his mountain life, sharing moments on a sun-drenched patio, the air alive with the scent of pine and mountain wildflowers, before the aroma of wood-fired pizza drew us to his evening's stage. We met his friends, their faces tanned and windswept, shared laughter that echoed against the stone walls, and then, as twilight deepened, casting long shadows across the valleys, we ventured into the mountains, seeking a secluded spot. The theme: finding two-tracks with a view, a panorama of starlit peaks. Darkness fell, and the roads grew treacherous, winding ribbons of gravel and rock. Thankfully, our four-wheel drive and sturdy tires, their treads gripping the uneven terrain, proved their worth. Once settled, a short walk with the dogs, their paws crunching on the dry earth, revealed the thin mountain air. My heart raced, a frantic drumbeat against the stillness, the vast silence broken only by the rustle of wind through the pines. The altimeter confirmed the truth: we were perched at 10,267 feet, where breaths were treasures, each inhale a precious gift.

Dawn unveiled a hidden sanctuary: a small lake, its surface mirroring the sky, cradled by mountains and embraced by the scent of ancient pines, their needles a soft carpet underfoot. The world awakened in hues of emerald and sapphire, the air crisp and clean.

We enjoyed coffee, its warmth spreading through our bodies, and mountain views, a tapestry of peaks and valleys, before meeting Ryan for an ultimate frisbee game, the disc soaring against the azure sky. Later, another pizza place, its oven radiating warmth, another friend of Ryan's, more laughter, more stories, each one a thread in the rich tapestry of mountain life. And then, back into the mountains, this time with daylight guiding our way, revealing the breathtaking vistas.

We found a closed National Park cabin, its weathered wood a testament to time, its parking lot a perfect, flat campsite, a luxury for any wild camper, a smooth surface under our wheels. The only absence, a campfire, a crackling blaze against the cool night air, due to the summer burn bans, a reminder of the dry season's fragility.

Another lazy morning, coffee, reading, mountain views. The chill kept Stacey indoors, admiring the majestic mountains from the warm camper. This was our last day with Ryan. A five-mile hike was planned, a trek through wildflower-strewn meadows and rocky trails, but Stacey's altitude sickness, a throbbing reminder of the thin air, cut it short. Though the hike was abbreviated, we still explored Vail Village, a curious blend of mountain spirit and refined elegance, where the free-spirited soul, clad in tie-dye and worn denim, mingled with the echoes of luxury, the clinking of champagne glasses and the soft murmur of conversations. Dinner was good, but the drinks at Vail Brewing Company, with its balcony overlooking the bustling village and the warm glow of the fire pit, were exceptional, a perfect end to a day of exploration.

Before leaving Vail, we decided to say one last goodbye to Ryan, stopping at his apartment, a cozy space filled with the scent of pine and the echoes of laughter. Then, we sought out the sketchiest road yet, a pass, not a road, a true test of our off-road prowess, a winding track carved into the mountainside. Thankfully, aired-down tires, their grip enhanced, made the journey possible, smoothing the bumps and dips. We discovered a hidden haven, a place where time surrendered to the rhythm of the mountains, the wind whispering through the trees, the silence profound. The day unfolded in quiet contemplation, the turning of pages, the gentle sway of the camper, the world fading into a serene backdrop.

The next day, halfway down the rocky, cliff-edged pass, a Lexus sedan, filled with elderly passengers, their faces etched with worry, passed us, barely, the tires teetering on the edge. I waved, tried to warn them, but they seemed to dismiss me, a stubborn defiance in their eyes. I can only hope they made it safely, their journey a testament to the unpredictable nature of adventure.

Leaving the backcountry behind, we headed towards Rocky Mountain National Park. I wanted to drive Trail Ridge Road, hoping for wildlife sightings, the flash of elk antlers, the swift movement of a mountain hare. We took our time, stopping in Winter Park for dinner, Realizing the sunset was approaching, we hurried to the Alpine Visitor Center, the road winding upward, each turn revealing a new vista. We crested the summit just as the sun dipped below the horizon, a magical moment, a tapestry of fire and twilight, the sky ablaze with color, the world bathed in a golden glow."

After the golden light show we continued the Trail Ridge road back down the mountain seeing all kind of wildlife from Elk, deer and even a black bear. Finding a place to camp in Estes Park was not easy. It was not glamorous but it was a place to sleep for the night.

The following day, the familiar expanse of I-80 stretched before us, an eighteen-hour journey eastward, carefully timed to navigate the complexities of Chicago's traffic. And so, another adventure reached its conclusion, leaving us with memories and the quiet anticipation of what lies ahead.

Check out my other Adventures https://www.beardedadventures.net/blog I'm also starting ton film my Adventures on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/@Beardedadventures1016