dREAm iN CoLoR: The Hitchhiker.

The Hitchhiker.

Traveling out west is unique because you expect to see mountains for the length of the drive, but instead you drive through flat land virtually the entire trip. It isn't until you hit Colorado that the mountains appear in the horizon. I remember my first roadtrip there, and how exciting it was to see the mountain peaks in the distance for the first time. They seem so far away at first until you are suddenly a part of them, driving the switchbacked road across and up, turn, across and up, turn. This particular trip, I was returning to a place I used to call home in order to tie up a few loose ends. This roadtrip marked a significant transition in my life as well as a reinforcement of independence. I decided to leave a day early because I couldn't wait to again travel west. I hadn't decided what the extra day would consist of, until I arrived in Denver.

I had been living in Wisconsin for a year after deciding to go back to school. It was a tough decision to make because I had already spent the majority of my life in school, without focus. I have never lacked ambition, it was just the commitment of a career that made me apprehensive. Since the move, I abandoned my minimalist culture for one surrounded by buildings and traffic. On the day I drove into Denver, a realization struck that there were still buildings and traffic surrounding me had I decided to stay. After looking at the map of Colorado, I noticed a town. It was as though fate were calling my name. After all, the town was named, "Meredith". I headed straight for the mountains and left with enough time to make it there before the sun set.

Driving through the mountains can be difficult because the map fools you into thinking point A and point B are closer than reality. My first attempt at reaching Meredith ended short once I found out that the road leading to Meredith didn't physically exist like the map said it would. It forced me to go back through Leadville and towards Aspen. It was a detour that added an additional 2.5 hours to the trip. It was a detour that would dramatically change the trip.

Once I was on the right route towards my destination, I noticed a man standing at the intersection with his thumb pointed up. I passed him without hesitation, as I was alone in the car and didn't know if I could trust such a stranger. I observed him in my rearview mirror as I sped away, eager to continue. But, something caused me to stop the car. I pulled off the road and watched the curious man on the corner. Other cars had passed without stopping to pick him up. I consider myself to be good at judging character, and there was something special about him. I decided to turn around and ask him where he was headed. After explaining he was en route to Aspen, I told him to jump in. He wore jeans that were torn at the knees with hiking boots, full of dust. He was tall, standing at 6'3" and towering over my small 5 foot nothing stature. His face looked young and he spoke with an accent. He tossed his large backpack into the back seat and climbed in. His name was Jacques.

As we drove up the mountain, he explained how he had arrived at that intersection. He described his decision to leave his French homeland during his summer vacation. He had just graduated high school at a young age of 17 and wanted to see America. He bought a seat on a plane, destined to land in New Jersey. He had decided on hitchhiking across America for two months before starting college in fall. Although he had an accent, he spoke and understood English very well. Before we knew it, Aspen would be approaching any minute and our conversation hadn't stopped since he sat down. I told him about my destination and that he was welcome to join me if he was interested. He answered, "definitely" without hesitation.

We wanted to make it to "Meredith" before the sun set and so our visit to Aspen was brief. According to the map, we had to turn right onto a dirt road, which would lead us to our destination. As we drove, we passed a beautiful reservoir surrounded by mountains and filled with yachts. The windy road seemed to be neverending as we approached the end. When we arrived, a sign posted the population of Meredith to be 25 with a question mark at the end. It consisted of a few scattered houses and a post office/general store that seemed to have been deserted. The yards separating the houses were filled with used boats and cars, and not a soul appeared to welcome us.

I posed for a few pictures, with Jacques clicking away behind my camera. Although the town itself was nothing to be admired, the beautiful reservoir surrounding it was luscious and vital to the surrounding wildlife. Most people in town didn't even know there was a Meredith, CO. Including a park ranger who I had asked for directions earlier in the trip. It was great to enjoy that moment with Jacques, who wasn't a stranger to me anymore. We cracked a cold brew as we drove out of town, and laughed about the nature of our final destination. It wound up not being about the destination at all, but instead the journey there that made it so memorable.