Colorado was a lot of things. 

1. I was liberated from the van, but its torment stayed with me. 

In the final months of Mexico, every aspect of the expedition was put on hold to prioritise progress and safety. 

This meant that once I was out of the desert any time I had for rest was consumed by catching up on tasks that had been shelved.

When I thought I would experience a shift back into normality, what I actually experienced was an increase in workload.  

I had fallen months behind in storytelling (the funding stream of the expedition), and had been forced to put logistics on hold, threatening my legal status in the US. 

The safest move was to try and get through to Canada before that happened, but the timing was unlikely to be feasible. 

It felt like I had summited a mountain, and could see all of my surroundings clearly. But at altitude, it seems like there’s an abundance of air, yet it’s hard to breathe. 

I had made it through one of the hardest sections of the journey, but it felt like I had failed — sending me on a difficult journey to forgiveness. 

Mostly with myself.

2. I was also flooded with gratitude 

The matrix of work required to put together a support crew is immense. 

Without time to seek guidance, mistakes were made and the list of lessons learnt is extensive, however… we did it. 

With the support of many more hands then what should ever have been necessary, I made it through a section that was said to be impossible… and later said to have been reckless (there are always critics). 

Despite the exhaustion, sleep deprivation, and safety concerns — our biggest achievement is that we did it with grace. 

We sought help. Found allies. Built a community. Shared the achievement.

Among feelings of sabotage, we persevered and something unexpected came out of it:

In Colorado, every win felt special:

• Having established trails to follow. Win
• Realtime trail condition information. Win
• Access to outdoor shops. Win
• A low-stakes conversion. Win
• Being able to use my stove again. Win
• The existence of light weight freeze dried meals. Win

I was so happy I was content. 

Returning to normalcy was so appreciated that I had gained enough scope to realise that catching up on anything other than progress was a lost cause. 

My focus switched from racing through a desert to racing my visa… a decision triaged with one focus: protect the expedition. 

So I left storytelling on the shelf and conserved energy for the trail and the journey ahead. And despite the ramifications it would have to my funding (haemorrhagic):

I gave it up. 

3) I returned to independence and gained a renewed sense of autonomy and control. 

Sharing a project and achievement is one thing. Relinquishing ownership, entirely another. 

While this was only a light touch, when I already felt on fire, interference of any kind felt like an attack. 

In Colorado, I regained my autonomy and no longer felt as though I had to play diplomacy… I was reminded that “the expedition doesn’t exist without you, but it can exist without them. Choose your people more wisely.”

Learning to have parameters for who I invite in, has always been a struggle, but one I hope to master.

Yet this isolation (of autonomy) forced me to be in my head more.

4). I was alone, again. 

Purpose will guide me along the most difficult trail, in the worst of conditions, even when I can not see through the mist. 

However, perspective shows me that an achievement does not belong solely to the one who earned it. 

What it means to the victor, and what it means to another does not necessarily intersect, and its value will never truly be measured in its entirety. 

Even so, the pursuit is worthwhile for reasons that may very well stay rooted in the mist. 

I don’t know why you’re following, but it is likely there’s a reward waiting for you that I’ll never truly appreciate. In spite of that, this imperceivable reward also contributes to why I see worth in continuing. 

5. I walked into hunting season. A nod to changing mindsets 

Towards the end of Colorado was the first time I was exposed  to hunting-for-meat first hand and could truly appreciate it for what it is.  

This is quite a leap from my childhood experience of loving animals for their aesthetics… which when I write it like that seems as limited a view as people who hunt only for trophies: short sighted and extravagant. 

Past me, would have taken these words as a slap on the face… perhaps future me will come to understand trophies. 

But in that is an undeniable truth:

Learning is a journey I have grown increasingly resistant to in avoiding the discomfort of rejecting my own views, and I fear there is so much I will never see because of it. 

If you want to follow along properly — broken stoves, three kilos of unnecessary water, and crème brûlée eaten on a roadside toilet in a hailstorm —  join Entangled. It’s my inner circle and it’s where the real story lives. Or if you just want to shout me a warm-up-coffee or a self-pity-hot-chocolate to keep me moving: same link.