Fire on the mountain

 "I have a treat for us on Tuesday 11/8," he texted about four weeks ago. "We'd need to leave work early. Can you do it?"

I could. Even though he wouldn't tell me what the treat was. 

A couple of weeks later I asked what kind of clothes I would need. The answers ranged from "little black dress" to "something warm, and make sure you have your ice axe and crampons." 

He also sent me this:

I laughed. He knows me well enough to know not to schedule a night of sleeping in the snow. 

The day we were leaving, I asked, "what's the sleeping situation? What should I bring to sleep in? What about toiletries?"

His response was "toothbrush. Kindle. Scratchy wool negligee." 

So unhelpful.  

Finally I threw some winter boots, warm socks, underwear, PJs, and a sweater into my backpack, and hoped for the best. 

We drove west towards the mountains and turned off to Evergreen and got on the road heading up to Squaw Pass (the same road that killed me in the Triple Bypass). After about 12 miles, we turned off to a very rocky road, bumped along for a bit, and parked in a little clearing. He gave me a big backpack that looked to have a sleeping bag in it. I put on my boots and sweater, took the backpack, and we started walking up the mountain path. I still had no idea what we were doing.

After about a mile and a half, I saw the top of a fire tower peeking over the rise. 

"Is that where we're going? Cool!"

He tried to fake me out again by suggesting that we would be camping on the ground below the fire tower. I put on a game face before he finally acknowledged we were going into the tower.

"You're a good sport," he said.

"That'll be on my tombstone. 'She was always reasonable, fair, and a good sport.'"

What followed exceeded my expectations (a low bar, considering I had no idea what to expect at all). The fire tower is a historic structure maintained by the U.S. Forest Service and they now rent it out to the public. Reservations get booked up months in advance. Greg had been going on the website with the intention of booking something for next year, but then saw that someone had cancelled and there was an opening for November 8. Election night. With a full moon. I was thrilled.

This is what it looked like inside. It was delightful. And the views were insane.

Looking east as the sun sets

We watched the sun set behind the mountains and the moon rise over Denver. We listened to music and drank bourbon and ate onion crackers with stinky cheese and prosciutto. He taught me to play cribbage, which has random, confusing rules. We looked at the stars and the planets (Jupiter was particularly bright). We talked and laughed.

We celebrated being off the grid and off our phones on election night, meaning that if our democracy as we know it was going to be destroyed, we could at least have a last romantic night of blissful ignorance. 

"Like Schrödinger's election!" I said. 

The only wrinkle was the wind. It was blowing extraordinarily hard, whistling fiercely and rattling the windows and keeping me awake. But in the morning, the colors of the sky were gorgeous, and it was worth it.  

And later, when we made it down the mountain and had cell service again, we discovered that the cat was still alive and our democracy would survive. All in all, another perfect night when I didn't want to be anywhere but where I was.