The Dirt Field

When I was younger, I wanted to live by the sea. The thought of settling down in a land-locked state like Colorado seemed claustrophobic and confining. Mountains were for other people who liked cold weather and skiing and plaid. This might be the time to mention I’d never seen the mountains.

Now, after three days of living in Aspen, I realize that there is nothing claustrophobic about this place. When I stand outside and see peaks in every direction and endless sky, it feels expansive. It’s a forceful reminder that the Earth is three-dimensional. Also, in the dry mountain air, my hair spends less time being a frizzy animal, which is a selling point against the sodden rainforest that is East Coast humidity.

The last few days have passed in a blur of riding, eating, and sitting around. I’ve made it into downtown Aspen a few times, sampled more than I should have from various bakeries, and paid dearly for non-Starbucks hot drinks. (Today’s was a matcha latte from an Aussie-influenced cafe. As I ordered it, I thought, “gosh, I feel so exotic and experimental.” As I drank it, I thought, “I paid $6 for a cup of milk and some crushed-up dead leaves.”) The riding around here is incredible – there are a lot of long climbs, but the views completely distract from the effort. I could ride for a day and never get bored of the scenery.

After a few nights in a host house by Snowmass Village, my two teammates and I moved to a place closer to downtown Aspen last night. Host housing is a strange experience: you show up at a stranger’s place and settle into their lives with your bags, bike, and heaps of groceries. I’ve been lucky to stay with wonderful people who have lovely homes, but it’s still weird to be a houseguest of people you don’t know. This season has taught me how to live out of bags, to find ways to settle in comfortably and preserve certain routines from home while remaining flexible about others, and to live in close proximity with new people. Since I’m an only child who used to hover over every toilet except those in her own home and refused to unpack toiletries in strange places, this is a big change.

The bike is a nice constant. When I set out on a ride, whether in Minnesota or Georgia or Colorado, there is a sameness that is reassuring. From the view of my bike, just about anywhere can feel like home.

But I think here would feel like home no matter what. My trip is going by so fast, but with each moment I think more and more about coming to Colorado permanently. The DC area has its charms, but I can see where my life is going if I stay there and I’m not sure that’s a great destination. This place makes me think there’s another very different option worth exploring.