My Coldest Night Ever-Response to My Mother (I've Heard of a Popsicle, but not a Momsicle).

Thanksgiving night 1995 was the coldest night of my life. While working for the YMCA of the Rockies in Estes Park, Colorado, a couple of friends and I decided to camp atop Emerald Mountain , adjacent to the YMCA property. The 30 minute hike to the top after dinner was refreshing and fun. The following 8 hours was not. Once we reached the summit of the "mountain", more of a foothill, we found a relatively flat spot among the reclining outcrop of granite. In an effort to stake our tents, we discovered the normally loose, sandy soil was actually frozen. We bent or broke every stake we had. The concerted effort among the three of us would have been comical in normal conditions, but the temperature was quickly falling into the teens and snow had begun to fall. By the time we resorted to using the biggest rocks we could pick up to anchor down the nylon loops around the edges of the tent, the wind had kicked up to nearly 40mph with gusts approaching 60mph. The pine trees helped cut the wind, like an umbrella in a swimming pool. Just as we thought our fingers would fall off from the constant hammering and rock hunting through the snow, we decided our tents were as secure as they would get. If one of us ended up against a tree, so be it.

As I lay in my not so expensive one man tent tent (that I sold before leaving Estes Park to conserve space on the trek home to Louisville), the sound of the tent walls violently rippling in the gale was deafening. I am convinced being inside the tent and fully zipped in my sleeping bag would have been easily bearable had it not been for the hour and a half struggle to make camp. As I lay in my bag listening to Mother Nature go all Big Bad Wolf on my little abode, I concentrated on getting the feeling back into my fingers, face and toes. I think I fell asleep (passed out?) around two or three in the morning for a brief amount of time. About an hour before sun rise, we collectively decided it was breakfast time. We scrambled out of our partially snow submerged tents and headed down to the cozy, familiar Pondo for breakfast where I had the usual: a waffle, Cocoa Krispies, a cup of yogurt and a mix of cranberry and apple juice.

I guess I can't compare Mom's story to mine because she didn't have much of a choice. We were just under equipped (physically and mentally), and consented to the ill-advised testosterone check. But, it was one of the experiences in life I will never forget and I am glad.