A Breath Outside the Screen
We had been logging more screen time than seems wise. Early yesterday afternoon, Al and I surrendered to restlessness, hopped in the truck, and pointed toward the mountains. We drove in via Tennessee Pass, watching the elevation climb, and soon found ourselves immersed in a sea of aspens—gold, orange, red—like a slow, infinite fire flare against the sky.
The curves were frequent and unrelenting. I cracked my window for photos, half expecting to slam it shut at a gust of chill—but the day held warmth. Here and there, I noticed “bald patches” in the groves, where leaves had already drifted away. As we climbed, Ponderosas thickened, and the light deepened in the forest’s shade.
At one turn, tucked into the slope, we passed an abandoned mining hamlet. It felt spectral, as though dust and memory were suspended in the air. The old foundations, ghost chimneys, rusted remnants of life gave the hills a quiet, haunted echo.
As we neared Leadville, the forest receded, the road opened again, and the town’s altitude felt like a subtle pressure on the lungs and the spirit.
Arrival in Leadville: walking and wandering
We parked (somewhere near Harrison Avenue, the spine of downtown). Our feet became the instruments of exploration. Leadville leans into its elevation pride—with historic plaques, “highest city” merch, kitschy stickers, game-warden–style shirts, and more. They treat altitude not just as fact but as identity.
We sipped coffee, browsed charming antique shops, and took the slow path through storefronts. One of my favorite rituals: hunting for a children’s book for the ranch. This trip yielded 100 First Words for Little Coloradans and C Is for Colorado: A Centennial State ABC Primer (I’ll link those below).
At the church thrift store, I unearthed a little wooden doll bed for $3. It’s rough, but renovation is part of the charm: sanding, painting, a fresh cushion. It feels like a treasure with a story.
Dinner and the uphill return
We found The Grill. Google Maps estimated it was a 15-minute walk. We headed that way, and it really did take about 15 minutes. BUT the walk was downhill nearly the whole way. The return was all uphill and on full stomachs!
The return route & reflection
We drove home over the Fremont Pass. Pretty, but nowhere near as lovely as the Tennessee Pass. Tennessee had flair, contrast, surprises. Fremont felt like the gentle exhalation after inhaling the heart of the mountains.
Driving into darkness, I thought about how rare it is to step entirely away from the screen, to let your pace be set by your steps, not your notifications. This little detour was more than a drive—it was recalibration.
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