It may have been New
Years Eve when my friend and I decided to take the famous burro ride to the top
of Pikes Peak. We were
living in Colorado Springs, working
at Second Air Force
Headquarters. World War II would soon end. It turned out to be a very
long, all night, harrowing ride. Someone had talked us into it without
divulging certain particulars of said ride.
It was only done at
night which should have been a clue, but we took the bait, had a cook out
first, and then, wearing a Colonel friend's long handled underwear for warmth,
straddled the famous burros for the ride of our lives. Fortunately it was
too dark to see how narrow the trail was and how steep and deep the fall would
be if the little burro were to take a wrong step.
It was a long,
harrowing ride but we finally reached the top as planned, just as the sun was
rising. I, for one, was too sick from the altitude and gripping fear, to
eat the prepared breakfast or to fully appreciate the marvelous view. We
stumbled around a little trying to recover and act brave, and then it was time,
no escaping, to ride those brave little burros all the way back down. It
was time to be startled and amazed at the narrow winding trail we had come up
and would now descend. Yes, I had a prayer in my heart, and we lived to
tell the tale. It was categorically a once in a lifetime experience.
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