Meet Us in the Mountains

We had crossed paths a few times before ever really speaking. He thought I was intimidating. I thought he had perfected the “don’t talk to me” expression. We rode in the same truck once, both of us quietly nervous and pretending not to be. It wasn’t until we ended up on the same trail him in his truck, me in my Jeep that something shifted. We still barely said hello. In fact, when I saw his rig, I said there was no way he was taking “that tow rig” onto a real trail. Before we even made it to the trailhead, I blew a radiator hose. He didn’t hesitate. He helped patch it together so I could keep going. We eventually made it to the Dusi Ershim trailhead. Out there, I started to see him differently. I saw the spark in his eyes when the obstacles got tough. I watched his leadership take over. I saw him light up in a way I hadn’t before. And somewhere between the rocks and mountains, we both softened. When I tore apart my front end later on the trail, he walked back toward me with a welder in his hand, hat on, smiling like it was all part of the adventure. That’s when everything shifted. On the final day of the trail, part of the group realized they were running low on gas. Some packed up early, others went off to refuel. Neither of us seemed ready for it to end. I may have mentioned that my Jeep was suddenly “running low” as well just to buy us one more night under the trees and one more chance to talk. That night, with the mountains quiet around us, he asked if he could share the rock I was sitting on and we finally slowed down enough to really get to know one another. And for the first time, we truly talked. What started as stubborn assumptions and sideways glances became something steady, grounded, and unshakable. The mountains had always felt like home. That night, they became the beginning of ours.