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survived.
We packed things into Glen s Explorer and headed for
the mountains, passing through Denver in time to be slowed
down by the last of morning rush hour. It wasn t quite
lunchtime when we reached Estes Park, but we stopped for a
slice or two of pizza anyway. It s quite a tourist town and, as
usual, the shops lining the narrow streets were filled with
colorful, happy people in search of fudge and T-shirts.
Seated by the picture window of the restaurant with Glen
and Lila beside me, feeling the uncertainty of the day and
indeed the future, the pleasant bustle outside seemed more
than a bit unreal.
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Beyond the little town of Estes was where the real climb
began. Denver is known as the Mile High City, and Estes is
higher still, but Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National
Park tops out at 14,000 feet. That s well over 4,000 meters
for anyone on the metric system. Glen pulled into a parking
lot before we reached that lofty height, but when we climbed
out to don our backpacks, the air seemed palpably thinner
and the sun extra bright.
Dressed in t-shirts, shorts and hiking boots, Glen and
Lila looked quite used to carrying heavy things on their
backs. Even though Glen had gone to extra pains to adjust
his spare pack for my use, the weight seemed unwieldy and
the straps, though padded, wanted to cut into my shoulders.
Glen plopped a tan canvas hat on my head to avoid
sunstroke, he said and kissed me lightly, his blue eyes now
twinkling with excitement. I took a deep breath of the pine-
scented air, pleasantly, although only momentarily,
distracted from my thoughts by the surge of Glen s biceps
when he lifted and strapped on his own pack. At the rear of
the parking area was a simple wooden sign that marked the
head of a well-used trail. From the map, I knew we would
follow this trail for a while, but soon branch off on our own
to get to the spot Lila and I had pinpointed.
She and Glen had done a good deal of conferring on
what to take besides the necessities for the ritual. Lila had
loaded her spell book and other occult gear into her own
green nylon pack while Glen and I divided the more
mundane items water purifier, cooking kit, small stove,
electric lantern, and a surprising number of freeze-dried food
packets, along with some silver space blankets and other
odds and ends, including my satellite phone. Each of us
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carried our own lightweight sleeping bag. The air was warm,
and I was glad Glen had vetoed my leather jacket.
At most, we d be gone overnight, and when I grumbled,
Glen informed me that we were packing light, even as he
hung a two-quart canteen around my neck. I forbore to ask
what would have constituted packing heavy.
I did my best to balance the unaccustomed weight,
hoping the bulky pack wouldn t pull me over backward as we
climbed some steep section of trail.
The noon sun shone overhead as we set foot on the
marked path, then the trees closed in and the breeze blew
cool and welcome. The trail wasn t too steep at first; it
climbed gradually, twisting and turning back on itself, the
natural rock and earth footholds tamed and supplemented
by an occasional stairstep made from pressure-treated
twelve by twelve timbers, now so overgrown with lichen and
moss that they seemed a natural part of the landscape.
I have never been much of a hiker and was glad now
that I took at least some sort of regular exercise. Without
aerobics and swimming, I doubt I d have made the first
quarter mile. I was glad we hadn t weighed the packs.
Knowing how much extra I was carrying would have been
even more discouraging.
After an hour or so, we stopped at a particularly
enchanting vista forest stretching away on all sides, topped
by a cloudless sky of an elegant blue, its color echoed in a
small lake below.
We turn off here, Lila said, pointing toward a thin
track that led upward into the brush. From where I stood, it
looked much too steep, not softened by the frequent
switchbacks of the tamer trail. Lila led the way and I did my
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best to follow. Glen paced behind me, never panting or even
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