Field Notes from the Road — Day 3: Lunch at 13,000 Feet

Field Notes from the Road — Day 3: Lunch at 13,000 Feet

We kicked off Day 3 with a familiar stop: Coffee on the Fly. Our go-to cold brew — with salted caramel and vanilla — doesn’t even have a name, but it should. Sweet, smooth, and strong, it’s become the kind of tradition that makes us feel at home in Creede. Breakfast was from a little bakery in town. The adults enjoyed it — flaky, buttery, and delicious. The kids? Not so much. Let’s just say their taste buds weren’t quite ready for “sophisticated” pastries. After a quick grocery stop for sandwich fixings and water, we loaded up Sherman, our side-by-side, with kids, dogs, and lunch — and headed out on the Bachelor Loop. Bachelor Loop Bachelor Loop is one of the calmest trails we’ve done — perfect for families and especially good with little kids. There are some steep stretches, but mostly it’s a quiet road winding through aspen and evergreens, rich with history. Last year we stopped at the Last Chance Mine, which I highly recommend if you’ve never been. Not only is it fascinating, but the owner sells handmade jewelry — bring some extra cash, you won’t regret it. This year, though, we skipped it. Energy was limited, and we had our sights on the summit. Lunch at the Summit We pulled over at the top, unpacked sandwiches, and sat with a view that felt like it belonged on a postcard. The kids plopped their booster seats right on the ground and dug in like it was the fanciest picnic in the world. Bread a little squished, chips a little crushed, but the taste? Elevated by 13,000 feet of pure mountain air. Snowball Fights & Happy Dogs Then came the Continental Divide. Snow in July is magic. The kids launched right into snowball fights — squealing, slipping, pelting each other with icy handfuls until their fingers ached. Stover, our golden retriever puppy, sprinted straight into the drifts. Snow exploded everywhere as he dug, rolled, and discovered his new favorite element. Taytum, our twelve-year-old golden, wasn’t about to be left behind. She galloped over, flopped onto her side, and rubbed herself head-to-tail in the snow like a puppy again. By the end, the kids were soaked, the dogs were exhausted, and the meadow around us was alive with laughter, paw prints, and melting snowballs. Ten out of ten recommend. The Long Way Out If you’re tempted to keep going to finish the loop, here’s my tip: turn back. Unless you need to check the box, save yourself the wear-and-tear. That side of the trail is bumpy, jarring, and long — the kind of ride that tests patience and suspension. Zero out of ten recommend. Still, it wasn’t without charm. On that stretch sits a rusted, half-buried boiler — a relic from the mining era. Deacon, our train expert, swore it was part of a steam engine. Not quite — but close. The same technology powered both trains and mines. Standing there, grass creeping over the iron, you could almost feel the weight of history. Eventually, we made it back down, noting a few promising campsites for the future, dusty and ready for dinner. Dinner & Ice Cream Dinner was at a local Mexican bar & grill — the perfect end to our adventure. Nathan ordered chicken tenders with BBQ sauce and announced it was “the best thing he ever ate.” Cody and I split fajitas, and everyone was happy. We wandered through Creede, stopping in a few shops before treating the kids to ice cream at a little shop downtown. Cody and I passed, too stuffed from dinner, but once we got back to camp, the kids splashed in the Rio Grande while we relaxed in our chairs. As the night cooled, we packed up what we could to make morning easier. And then? I decided I was ready for that ice cream after all. Back into town we went. Moonlight Reflections That night, sleep came easier. Stover did let himself out once, but thankfully came back. And I decided not to let “what-ifs” keep me awake. I braved the dark for a middle-of-the-night trip, and I’m glad I did. The cliff face glowed like a black-and-white photograph under the moonlight. The Rio Grande shimmered silver, water soft against the rocks. It was absolutely soothing. Not a bear in sight — at least, none that I could see. It was the perfect end to a great day. Wandering Wisdom Sometimes adventure is snowball fights and happy dogs. Sometimes it’s chicken tenders and a late-night ice cream run. And sometimes, it’s finding peace in the quiet glow of a moonlit river. Scripture for the Trail Psalm 121:1–2 — “I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.” On the divide, by the river, under the moonlight — He was there. Thanks for wandering with us. You can find photos, tips, and more stories at taborswandering.substack.com, and follow along on Instagram @tabors.wandering for the rest of the journey. Coming up next: Day 4 in Ridgway — cactus views, burger surprises, and a stomach bug that tried to derail us. Until next time, keep exploring — even when the trip starts sideways. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit taborswandering.substack.com [https://taborswandering.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

Field Notes from the Road — Day 2: The One with the Great Escape

If you missed Day 1, we rolled into Amarillo sick, tired, and holding enough Buc-ee’s mints to cover a season of The Bachelor. It wasn’t the smoothest start, but a Texas sunset at our little barndo Airbnb reminded us why we set out in the first place. Day 2? Well, let’s just say that at 3 a.m., with a dog, a hole in the tent, and a whole lot of cold air, things got interesting fast. And the funny thing is… that wasn’t even the most memorable part of the day. 3 a.m. Chaos It was sometime around 3 a.m. when I heard the zipper. Not ours. Just a soft zip-zip and a low swoosh — the kind of sound that barely registers unless you’re sleeping beside a bear box, your kids zipped up like burritos, and your breath turning to fog inside the tent. The air was freezing, slipping through the zipper of the sleeping bag. I remember needing to use the restroom, but being too afraid to step out into the dark night. Then I heard a noise — a shuffling outside. I didn’t move. I just listened. Bear or wind? Bear or wind? Please, Lord, let it be wind. Turns out — it was neither. Cody had stepped out to… well, do whatever it is you do outside a tent at 3 a.m. Normal stuff. But just before he unzipped the tent to come back in, Stover — our seven-month-old, seventy-pound golden retriever — panicked. In a heroic but poorly calculated attempt to reach his human, he dove headfirst through the zipped tent door, tearing a massive hole in the bottom. I remember thinking, “The heck was that?!” Cody whisper-shouted, “He tore through the tent!” I looked up to see Cody crouched outside, holding Stover mid-launch — keeping him from barreling down the ravine and into the Rio Grande. Big head out, body in, zipper somehow still fully closed. The kids? Completely undisturbed. I scrambled off our slowly deflating air mattress, grabbed Stover by the haunches like a wild animal, and dragged him back inside while Cody, teeth gritted, shoved the dog bed over the gaping hole and muttered, “If he leaves, he leaves.” Reason went out the door that night. Literally. And possibly downriver. But that wasn’t how the day started. Let’s rewind a bit. Earlier That Day We woke up in better spirits — sniffles fading, energy slowly returning — and decided to fuel up before heading out. That’s when we found Butter n’ Beans in Hartley, Texas — a little building tucked into a neighborhood that turned out to be a hidden gem. Highly recommend the Happy Texan and any of their breakfast sandwiches if you ever pass through — hearty, flavorful, and exactly the kind of breakfast that makes you feel ready to take on the day. With Butter n’ Beans in the rearview, Pepperdust, our trusty SUV, carried us down long, open stretches of New Mexico highway while the kids invented a game called Mountain or Volcano? Every bump, rise, and mesa became a hot debate. They were all convinced they could spot Capulin, a dormant volcano we’d hiked the year before — but none of us could remember exactly what it looked like. Apparently, when you’re ten and under, every hill has volcanic potential. Eventually, we spotted it for real. There was no dramatic gasp — just all of us going, “Oh yeah! That’s it!” And then, just as quickly, the excitement fizzled. The volcano was in the rearview, the road stretched on, and someone asked the inevitable: “Are we in Colorado yet?” Somewhere during that came the coffee stop. I won’t name the place, but it tasted like misery — the kind of coffee that makes you wish you’d just eaten the grounds instead. We’d been disappointed there before, debated giving it another chance, and this visit cemented it: never again. After an hour of Mountain or Volcano? and one very regrettable cup of coffee, we finally reached Marshall State Park just as the sun began to dip. Camp Setup at Marshall State Park Marshall was as remote and primitive as they come — vault toilets, no water, no electricity, no showers. Just the Rio Grande flowing next to us, a steep cliff face, and that sense of being really out there. The river was crystal clear, running over smoothed rocks with slick stepping stones breaking the surface and creating soft rapids. Mostly ankle to shin deep, with a deeper stretch across the way. Perfect for rinsing off dirty feet and shoes from exploring camp. You could see fish darting past, and fishermen in waders upstream — the kids swore they were Sasquatch. We set up our tent facing the water, just a few feet from the drop-off. On the other side, huge evergreens climbed a mountain, with the sheer cliff face wrapping around the bend. We missed the moment the kids first splashed in, but they were quickly soaked from the top down. Blue lips, teeth chattering, but absolutely thrilled to be out of the car. Cody and I tried it too. It was ice water — straight out of the freezer. Just an inch, then two, was all I could take before the splash to the face stole my breath. I mustered one more splash and called it good. The freezing water seemed to wash out the remainder of runny noses and soothed coughs. Cody and I could both feel inflammation going down. Definitely worth the freezing discomfort. As the sun dropped, the air turned crisp. We layered the kids like lasagna — Snuggies over pajamas inside sleeping bags — and zipped them up for the night. We climbed into our own setup: a shared sleeping bag on a slowly deflating air mattress. We knew it was leaking. We just didn’t talk about it. Denial was the only insulation we had left. And a few hours later… well, you know what happened next. Wandering Wisdom The chaos of that night absolutely made for a core memory. Sure, it was the absolute worst after a long drive and the exertion of setting up camp at high altitude. Add in the stress of not knowing if bears were nearby, and trying to figure out Stover even before he broke through the tent… it was a lot. But we’d chosen Creede because we love the little town, and we were thrilled to be back. Dinner was from The Yard — a food truck with truly great burgers. Nathan had a tough time with the altitude, and for a moment we worried he was getting something worse than the bug we left Louisiana with. The nearest open medical facility was an ER two hours away. Cody gave him a hit of oxygen, and he perked right up — especially after playing in the river. We didn’t pack extra tent fabric. We didn’t bring a backup mattress. We packed our people. And somehow… that was enough. Scripture for the Trail “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.” — Psalm 4:8 Even in the chaos — cold, deflation, and canine rebellion — we were held. He kept us, half-asleep, half-deflated, with a hole in the tent and all. Coming Up Next… Day 2 taught us that sometimes, the wildest parts of the trip happen when you’re not even moving. But Day 3? That was a whole new kind of adventure. Think snowball fights in July, coffee worth writing home about, and mountain views that made us forget we were still a little sick. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit taborswandering.substack.com [https://taborswandering.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

Barndo Sunsets & Buc-ee’s Regrets

We didn’t plan on starting our trip with a pharmacy aisle and a prayer. Well, always the prayer, just not this one. The coughing started just after July 4th. Audrey and I were the first down, and we weren’t bouncing back like usual. The kids followed, one by one. The energy we’d spent months storing up for this 11-day road trip was being drained by tissues, late-night fevers, and that kind of tired that makes you second-guess everything. We had originally planned to swing through my grandparents’ house in central Texas — a nostalgic and comforting pit stop. But with germs flying and spirits lagging, we made the call to skip ahead and drive straight to Amarillo. And by “drive,” I mean roll down I-20 in our SUV-turned-coughing-capsule, towing Sherman the side-by-side and our trailer, praying the kids would nap (they didn’t), the dogs would chill (they didn’t), and the air mattresses would hold (spoiler: they wouldn’t). Buc-ee’s, Bless It We stopped at Buc-ee’s on the way out, which — let’s be honest — felt more like a fever dream than a treat. Overstimulated and under-caffeinated, we bought enough snacks to fuel a football team and somehow still forgot the good coffee. This kids stocked up on mints, BBQ sandwiches, and popcorn like it was their last meal. I could build a mint mountain with what we bought. If anyone needs Buc-Toids in bulk… call me. The bathroom didn’t even have a line — because Buc-ee’s runs smoother than a Four Seasons lobby — but the dogs were another story. They were bursting. Stover nearly snapped his leash rocketing out of the car for an emergency pee. All that to say: regrets were had. But spirits lifted just a little. That’s the Buc-ee’s effect. Barndo Bliss We finally landed at a mini barndo-style Airbnb just outside Amarillo. Honestly? It was perfect. Clean, cozy, quiet — and the kind of sunset that makes you pause mid-unpack just to soak it in. The kids scrambled up the loft ladder, faces lighting up at the novelty of a space just for them. We ate takeout from Chuy’s on and curled up for an early night. Even the dogs settled. Taytum, our 12-year-old golden retriever, claimed the cowhide rug in the living room like royalty — make it clear (to Stover) that it was hers, and hers alone. We may have limped into Day 1, but we made it. Together. Wandering Wisdom Sometimes the trip doesn’t start with excitement — it starts with surrender. To slow starts, sniffly kids, changed plans. But even in the groggy beginning, there’s still beauty. That barndo sunset? It reminded us: the trip doesn’t have to go perfectly to be worth it. Scripture Reflection “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” — Proverbs 16:9 We made a million plans for this trip — routes, meals, hikes, gear. But God knew we’d need rest, not rush. And that maybe the best view would be the one we didn’t plan for. Our 7 Roadtrip Survival Essentials Boiron ColdCalm [https://amzn.to/45ljS7C] | Boiron Oscillococcinum [https://amzn.to/4m4qzSC] | Barf Bags [https://amzn.to/3UIxm8j] | Redmond Re-Lyte [https://amzn.to/4fkJ6rj] Thanks for reading! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit taborswandering.substack.com [https://taborswandering.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]