Day 6: Salida, CO To Poncha Springs, CO

I envisioned today's excursion as a leisure walk. I looked forward to strolling through quaint Salida neightborhoods. I pictured myself with a large coffee thermos in hand, brimming with coffee, acting as carefree as possible. I also intended to eat at one of the many restaurants located on Highway 50, perhaps lunch at Girasoles Mexican Restaurant in Poncha Springs to reward myself at the end. To show how casual I planned today's hike, I even made an appointment to see my hairdresser at 11 a.m.

The worst was surely over, I thought. After all, my destination is Poncha Springs, only five miles away. And I will be walking on sidewalks and pavement, which means my ankles (which recovered nicely overnight) won't take a pounding. These were my expectations as I embarked on this sixth day of my Chaffee County walk.

It is 27 degrees at the F Street traffic light when Omar Richardson shuttles me in the heart of Salida.

The cold weather feels harsher than usual, and strong inhospitable winds are blowing from the west. A weather report early in the morning called for 30+ mph winds and intermittent snow flurries throughout the day, with the higher mountain elevations to receive plenty of snow.

F Street, commonly the most busy street in downtown Salida, is oddly deserted on this weekday at 8:45 a.m. Not another person is walking on the sidewalks, and vehicles are scarce.

Massive gusts of wind roar like a freight train through the street. The winds blow so hard that litter and debris whip across the roads and sidewalks. I quickly step inside the entrance of an old-style storefront to regain my bearings. So much for a casual walk in Salida! My legs, covered only with the thin layer of my hiking pants, are shocked from the cold. I am not wearing my cycling pants underneath today, which I frequently use as long johns, because I didn't think I would need them. They are in my backpack, however, and I will put them on as soon as possible.

I battle the wind for another block and reach Alpine Park, a square block with trees, a basketball court and swings for young children. Usually this park is filled with the sounds of teenagers playing and mothers and their small children entertaining themselves. But today, there is no one but me.

I guard myself behind a thick tree trunk to briefly escape the wind. From my backpack, I add a third shirt to make it three layers for my upper body. To put on my cycling pants would require me to strip down to my underwear, and I will have to do that in private, and definitely not here.

My cheeks are stinging from the wind. Stepping forward into the blistering winds is annoying and weakens my morale. I am not having fun, and this was supposed to be my "easy day" of hiking in the county. My frustration turns inward: This is a really stupid day to be walking. What am I doing?!?!

The elements prompt me to make a decision. I will have breakfast at the Country Bounty ... anything to be inside. Forget about rewarding myself with lunch in Poncha Springs. Just get inside now!

I order a pancake, eggs, sausage and toast. My coffee is hot and steamy - so hot that its hard to taste the coffee's flavor. This very well might be because my nostrils and smelling senses are in distress from the weather.

I make phone calls. I create audio files by speaking into my cell phone describing the morning so far. I continue having refills of coffee with my inadequately small coffee mug. The cup is too small and requires the waiter to refill it many times. I don't mind though, and neither does he. We exchange conversation, but I don't tell him about my long walk.

Suddenly a man in his 20's with short hair close to his head approaches me.

"Excuse me, are you Steve?" he asked, "I'm Rob and I know you from Twitter. My name is @r0bmarine."

"Oh my goodness! I know you!" I exclaim.

Rob lives in Buena Vista and we've tweeted occasionally. His profile is empty with no background photo, avatar or short biography, but he's directly replied to me a few times that indicate he enjoys my Colorado website.

"Wow Rob, I really thought you were older. Being that you live in Buena Vista and you don't have a photo of yourself. I figured you were some retired guy who occasionally goes online."

We talk for another minute and he returns to the booth diagonally from me with his wife, young child and friend.

I enter the chamber and feel like a wild man as I take off my hat and gloves. A woman is sitting at a desk in the corner, and a man with silver hair and a thick mustache approaches me. I inquire about the Salida Museum, and he regretfully informs me it is only open during the summer.

When I learn his name is John, I introduce myself. It turns out we have already communicated by phone and email in the past, as he is acquainted with my websites that promote the region.

We connect. I tell John about my Chaffee County walk, and how I had hiked on railroad tracks for five days from Granite to Salida. I begin telling him about today's winds and wind chill factor when he interupts me.

"Well change your outlook." he said matter-of-factly.

"No, you tell the weather to change it's outlook! It's cold and crazy out there." I snap right back at him. We are standing near the door and I point outside. Trees make an eerie rumble as its branches absorb the brunt of the wind. Some small trees are shaking violently.

"Come on, this is Colorado. What do you expect?" he asks.

I put my head down. "Okay, I know. Believe me, I know. You've just got to believe me, for five days it's been cloudy and pretty windy each day and all I wanted was a peaceful walk in Salida. Just one day."

John lets up on me. We talk about what I'm doing, and the look on his face makes it obvious he is supportive.

"How many people say they want to do what you're doing, but never do?" he replied, "That's cool."

Somehow the conversation reverts back to today's weather, and John maintains Colorado has become "wimpified." He uses this word frequently to describe how whinny many Coloradans are about winter weather compared to the old days.

"There was no such thing as snow days when I was growing up, and I've lived here for 50 years. It's different now." he contended.

"Kids don't play in the snow anymore. Before kids used to go outside, wear as many layers as needed, and they played for hours."

I suggest this is more the case on the Front Range, as I constantly read online comments from friends in Denver or Colorado Springs who complain about snow.

John agrees. "It's worse there for sure, but Salida having snow days was unheard of. Now if we a few inches of snow, they're closing the schools. People in Colorado have become wimpified."

"I think part of it is the fear of being sued. It's our litigious society." I said. (I am proud of myself for pronouncing "litigious" correctly.)

John is so endearing. He is the kind of guy you want over your house for a poker game on Friday night to make things interesting. It is fun to listen to him rant.

John begins talking about another topic, and I turn to the woman at the desk with a big smile, "Do you put up with his opinions like this all the time?"

"I've learned to block it out." she said.

It is time to leave and I request a picture with John. Again he encourages me, like an older man offering a blessing of wisdom before resuming journey. "So many people want to do what you're doing, and you're actually just doing it. Remember that."

Walking on the edge of a busy highway makes me feel humble and small. I am a minority as a pedestrian traveling by foot.

Across the highway, a man is walking with a large backpack in the opposite direction. I wonder about him. Who is he? Is he a hobo? A wanderer without a home? Naaaaah. Maybe he is a skier or snowboarder. Whoever he is, I feel a kinship with him.

I stroll on Highway 50 and reach a stretch of hotels, motels and shopping malls in proximity. An array of signs on the right fill the view, and I make effort to photograph it just right. This section of road is what is great about America: You can go bowling, buy whiskey, get your taxes done, have your dog groomed, get saved, have an espresso and buy firearms ... all within one block of your motel room! :)

Amber grew up north of Buena Vista in a home close to the railroad tracks during my walk on Day Two. I thought about texting her on that day, but I shyly did not want to bother her.

"We didn't play near the tracks much. The trains were running when I was a kid." she said.

Amber washes and examines my hair for split-ends. This young woman is my trusted hairdresser; I don't allow anyone else to touch my hair! Last year, I made a decision to get serious about growing my hair long. I have long, naturally curly hair, and it requires so much hard work to maintain on a daily basis. Amber's best advice was to refrain from using elastic ties to make pony tails, which I did not realize damaged my hair. So far, her help has equated into substantial hair growth. It is difficult to notice much of its growth when my long curls are down. Only when it's wet and straight can one notice its length.

Amber and I go to the front counter so I can pay her, and we both look outside. More snow flurries are coming down. Honestly, the cold is bearable, but the wind has a haunting whirl sound and loose debris and sand loose and sweeping in the air. It looks chaotic out there! Yet I must go. My car is waiting for me in Poncha Springs anyway.

When less severe, the wind is a nuisance that makes the cold feel colder. When it is intense, it is wild and wreaks havoc. Ahead a large circular bowl of rotating wind, the circumference of the five lanes of highway, is coming toward me. Sand is swirling within it, outlining the size of this monster. The wind grows stronger and I turn my back and walk backward. Then I can feel the dust hitting me. It is a fierce 20 seconds of scratchy sand hitting me. I scrunch my head down and close my eyes tightly to avoid being ambushed.

I reach the Poncha Springs sign and pull out the tripod. I am not sure if the wind will blow over the tripod, and so I wait for a 30 second period when it is not terribly strong.

I take one photo. Then a second. I go back and check the camera and realize the pictures didn't turn out well. A nervous voice within me says I shouldn't be too picky. Something could go wrong. It's too cold and windy and the thick white sky above indicates it will probably snow again at any moment.

Then I hear a woman's voice.

"What are you doing?"

A woman in a white vehicle is stopped in the fifth middle lane of the highway.

What am I doing? Her question reverberates in me because those have been the words on my conscience today. I look at her confused. I am not sure who she is.

"Are you okay? Do you need water or food?" she shouts.

Then I recognize her. She is the woman who works with Amber at the hair salon who showed interest in my journey!

"Oh my goodness," I exclaim, "I'm fine. I'm just getting a picture."

"Okay. It's so cold and windy. How much farther are you walking?"

"Thank you for asking. I'm done walking today. Really, I'm fine." I said with a smile.

I don't know if she can hear me because of the wind. I make it clear through my waving and smiling that I'm okay. I appreciate that she was willing to stop to boldly inquire about my wellness.

The winds grow stronger. I can hear them rumbling in the mountains. And so I snap one last photo of the me with the Poncha Springs sign. I don't bother to check its quality. Now is not the time for perfectionism. Just take the picture and go!

I capture the view of Girasoles Mexican Restaurant and the Shell station, and my camera doesn't capture the snowflakes.

TOP: A neighborhood in Poncha Springs.

SECOND: The Poncha Springs Town Hall building.

Inside my car, my windows are up and the heat is on full blast. Such common luxuries haven't felt this good in a long time!