With about a week and a half left before my husband returns home from working overseas, I find myself reflecting on our last camp and off-road trip, while the air was still warm and there was no snow in the forecast.

A few weeks before I started this substack, and really the catalyst for starting to write here about my experience as a woman in off-road, we guided a trip of friends and acquaintances through the high mountain passes of the San Juan Mountains in Southwestern Colorado.

Off-road Barbie?

This time, we hosted a photographer and videographer from the No Roads app on the trip to help them make content for their new community-based off-road mapping app.

It is always a wild card situation when people you don’t know show up for a couple of days on a camping trip.

One of the things we worry about when grouping off-roaders is whether their personalities and style of camping or exploring mesh well together.

Our Travel Party, and I Mean Party

My husband constantly tells me I can’t just sandwich people together from my diverse range of hobbies. Instead, they need a common ground and similar energy.

Maybe I get that from playing with all of the different Barbies growing up? Aren’t they all friends with different hobbies?

High Country for Old Men

The majority of our exploration party was fifty and above, with well-set-up vehicles, a love for experiencing harder off-road obstacles, and joyful at camp in the evenings with a few choice beverages.

Justin and the Professor in Baja, Mexico

The common link among us was a friend we made on our 17-day Baja honeymoon years earlier, whom we nicknamed Professor.

Ken is the kindest of men, a scholar, and a gentleman who knows how to have a good time and be cool while doing it.

He was open to deep conversation around the many campfires we had on the beach, and generally had great ideas. And so he earned the nickname of Professor, not unlike the professor on Gilligan’s Island.

Does that nickname age me or what?

The professor worked to set up this group among his friends Dave, Jon, and us since we were out of Colorado. Our friend Chase, the photographer Matt, joined us.

We also can’t forget the very special, butter-loving, and stealing K9, Doug, who accompanied the professor as well. Every hero needs a sidekick.

We went into the trip not knowing two people, and we weren’t sure how we would get along, but the group was sad to depart when we had to turn the wagons west in the middle of the week for Overland Expo.

This is How We Life

In normal off-roading fashion, we were furiously working on prepping meals, packing, and working on our vehicles the day before the trip. I gladly spent most of my time in the kitchen prepping meals while my husband, Justin, spent time on the vehicles.

Chase and Matt arrived in the evening bearing a new gift, which I was hesitant to accept with my eyes closed. I have little trust in truly receiving gifts and not pranks from my husband’s friends.

We were gifted a No Roads-branded hatchet for our trip that was nicely etched, sharp, and shiny. I have to say I was relieved by the genuinely nice gift instead of something sinister being placed in my hands.

We went to dinner as a group, minus one trip member, and were given our first slogan for the journey.

Justin, Ken, and Dave Adding a New handle to our Axe

A month earlier, my husband’s friend had brought him a t-shirt from Japan that had all of the essential Toyota camping vehicles on it.

The shirt had a slogan that read, “This is how we life.” I am sure they meant live, but the poor English translation made the shirt more authentically humorous.

Justin wore the shirt to dinner, which he promptly got sauce on it and I noted I would have to treat and wash the stain before we left in the morning with an eye roll.

The initial slogan was born, which was the anecdote at the end of many of the stories told at dinner, not to mention on the radio the following day.

What’s in a nickname?

It is common practice in the off-road community to name your vehicle, have a radio call sign, and even be given a personal nickname from experiences on the trail.

They are a right of passage.

Sometimes you get to pick your call sign or nickname, but most of the time you are bequeathed it.

This trip was no different.

$20 is $20

$20 is $20

The Kansas City Vehicles, Dave and the Professor, and the No Roads crew, Chase and Matt, all left from our Colorado Springs home with a twinkle in their eye about the start of the trip as we made our way down to Pueblo and over towards the western portion of the state.

We stopped a few times for gas, bathrooms, and snacks along the route, which made it an easy time to add our newest addition of off-road tradition to our party’s vehicles.

On the professor’s truck, we lovingly put a magnet that read, “I am not gay, but $20 is $20.”

He drove unknowingly for the majority of the day, only to discover the newest addition to his vehicle’s decal collection in Creede, Colorado.

I knew we had a great group when Matt had $20 cash ready to hand to the professor upon his noticing the magnet for the first time.

Snow Cream

We met our final member to join the overlanding party at the post office in Creede, and then made a needed stop for a snow cream sundae, and then headed to the gas station for our last bit of civilization for a day or two.

Justin in Creede, Colorado on his way to procure snow cream

Snow cream uses real snow to make an ice cream-like dessert. Don’t worry, we didn’t order the yellow flavor.

We ordered a mint Oreo shake, and it was life-changing. It was so good, there are no photos of it.

If you would like to try it for yourself, Creed Main Street Creamery is a must-stop.

The Great Creede Gasoline Spill of 2025

The gas station in town has only two pumps, making the locals and our party circle the gas station like buzzards over new road kill.

It took some time for our party to fuel up, and many of us used the time to visit the gift shop and the facilities.

As Justin and I exited the gas station, we saw Dave fueling his rig at the pump, and we distracted him with a brief conversation about the restrooms.

At this point, I don’t even remember where the conversation trailed off to but Dave had begun telling us a story in his enthusiasm about the trip, and then we began to try to stop him mid-sentence as gasoline poured out and over his vehicle.

The pumps were so old that there wasn’t an automatic shut-off.

Taking advantage of the situation, I very dryly asked Dave if that was the first time he had ever pumped gas in a vehicle, and I was immediately given a death stare and an unkind hand gesture.

I walked back to our truck, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

As we climbed into our rig to wait for the others to finish, I made a mention to Justin that we should call Dave BP since he had a spill.

Leaving Civilization as a Complete Off-Road Group

He laughed at the idea, as he commonly does not do with any of my jokes. That is how I know when I am actually funny.

As we pulled out of the gas station, he announced Dave’s nickname over the radio, which was met with angry silence by Dave.

I reminded Justin that I was practicing reading the room and probably would wait until later in the trip to call him by his new moniker.

Off to a Great Start

Not far from the spill of 2025, we hit dirt and stopped to air down and mingle for the first time as a complete travel party.

Honestly, this was the moment I had anticipated and waited for all summer. We were leading, having fun, and on an adventure.

What more could I want for our last week together before Justin headed off for nine weeks?

The discussion on the radio welcoming Jon to the group was light-hearted as we started our ascent on the Silver Thread Scenic Byway.

A Freak for the Creek

That evening, we hit camp before sunset, weary from our long day of travel, at a dispersed camping spot on the Rio Grande River.

We descended from the main forest service road, because Justin has the curiosity of Lewis and Clarke put together.

Dave being a Freak for the Creek

If there is a track that offshoots on the map, we are likely going to see what is down that road.

We found a flat area where we packed three vehicles into along the river and two more parked above on the hill.

As the professor came down the hill to the spot by the river, he just nonchalantly rolled over a large boulder, looking confused as to why he was off camber, and then proceeded to drop a short distance.

Dave, Jon, Justin, and I laughed as he came down haphazardly, and I remarked, “Look at full send, Ken.”

And that, my fellow travelers, is how nicknames and legends are made on the trail.

We set up camp quickly, grabbed our camp chairs, and headed down to the icy water of the Rio Grande to spend the last couple of hours left in the day enjoying the sound and soothing nature of the water and our newfound camp company.

Doug made sure everyone got an equal share of the shake off as he visited his captive audience.

Doug the Butter Stealer enjoying the Rio Grande

We noticed shortly into our lazy river side relaxation that Dave had disappeared up the river, only to return with knowledge of how the river had a deeper hole up above us.

He described in detail how lovely the river was, the features of the river, and how much he loved rivers, on repeat for much of the evening.

Every river or creek we passed on the trip, we made sure to remember that Dave loves a good river on the radio.

New Camp Crew, Who This?

It was just two days into the trip, and we already had so many nicknames, slogans, and reminders that we were coming together as a great little travel party and that the adventure unfolding would be easy, hilarious, and form bonds for a lifetime.

My soul rested a little while we made dinner our first night, as our group bonded.

While the track on off-roading trips and life is the stage, the camp characters and those whom you choose to share the campfire conversations with are what make your adventures rich.

Of course, our adventure didn’t stop there. Stay tuned to hear the story of how I earned my latest trail nickname, and how it inspired me to share our off-road adventures with you.

Before I get into this story, I want to acknowledge something important: I won’t be sharing exact camp spots or GPS coordinates here. As much as I want to inspire adventure, I also want to protect the places I love from being overrun or misused. If you ever truly want the details, message me directly.

That being said, as my mind mulls over the beauty I was exposed to this weekend, I can’t get a small place on the map out of my mind.

The Nature of Social Media

If you live here in Colorado, or if you follow the practice of leaf peeping in the West, you might have heard that the entire town of Georgetown was overrun with peepers looking for the Instagram-worthy fall foliage that the Centennial State is known for.

I know you can’t see me, but if you could, you would see the largest eye roll and smirk on my face. I have a love-hate relationship with nature’s relationship to social media.

Yes, I love seeing where other people have explored and following travel accounts. But I cringe at the thought of those social media users who dress up and travel just to take a photo for more followers, without ever enjoying the great outdoors.

There are so many other beautiful places in Colorado that you can take in the vibrant fall colors, but the best are more off the beaten path.

Last weekend I traveled with some family and friends over to the Crested Butte area. This town is known as the Wildflower Capitol of Colorado and has the same issue that Georgetown has in the fall with the wildflower enthusiasts in the spring.

Snagging a campsite in the spring takes extreme planning, and likely taking a day or two off work to go in the middle of the week to snag a campsite early.

As we climbed out of Buena Vista and over Cottonwood Pass, the fall traffic seemed to die down. We made our way past Taylor Reservoir and down a two-lane highway that follows the Taylor River.

The scene reminds me of the roads that chase along the Salmon River in Idaho. The Aspens were Golden, and the leaves were starting to fall over the black asphalt. The lack of traffic and the yellow greeting confirmed what I hoped was true.

Crested Butte

Although out of the way and admittedly harder to get to than Georgetown, Crested Butte, and a secret little town nearby, it has to be one of the best places to peep leaves in Colorado.

As you pull into Crested Butte, the town reminds you of a hallmark TV set. Walkable streets, people walking from mercantile to mercantile, and Victorian and rustic style homes gathered together to make up a small city grid. We passed through town in pursuit of making camp and hopefully dinner before dark.

A friend of ours had staked a campsite the night before, up in the Paradise Divide area. They were waiting for us to arrive at camp with much-needed firewood, a can of brake cleaner, and some shared meals.

The Road through Pittsburgh

The road through and above Pittsburgh, Colorado, is not for the faint of heart. If you aren’t used to the shelf roads that Colorado exposes the overlanding community to, this one can be a bit nerve-racking. This is the kind of road that make new comers swallow hard and hold on to the handles inside of the fourbie. I have to admit, I knew the route from our spring trip and wasn’t looking forward to it, but after what I faced in the San Juans recently, this road seemed like a piece of cake.

While in the valley portion of the track, I pointed upward to the ridgeline to my cousin, who was riding with me. I think he thought I was joking when I said, “That up there is where we are going.” He was a good sport and seemed to trust me as we started the ascent.

We arrived at camp in plenty of daylight for my Uncle to fanboy over my friends’ overland rig setup. He had followed them on Instagram a long time ago, not knowing we knew each other, and then one day saw a video with all of us in it together. You can follow them here: Rocky Trail Roamers

We ate dinner as the sunlight faded around the campfire. We had Fried Sausage and Pepper Orzo. (Link to come soon) It was hearty, warming, and a great choice for a cold fall evening. As the sun faded, the chill became downright cold, and we all went to bed early to get warm under our sheets.

Schofield Pass and Emerald Lake

The next day, we packed into the GX and I drove my Uncle, Aunt, and Cousin down the mountain through Schofield Pass. The Paradise divide area had the loveliest red cinnamon color ground cover in the valley, and climbing up the sides of the mountains. As we reached the area near Emerald Lake, a swarm of fall foliage enthusiasts was taking photos over the lake’s almost mini-golf course blue water.

Earlier this year, we swam in that cold alpine lake after driving a road that is somewhat submerged under the lake after the snowfall melts and fills the lake above the graded area.

The peepers didn’t seem to care that we needed the road to traverse above the lake as they stood still, taking photos. After a few minutes of patiently waiting for the best Instagram photos of the season to be taken, we passed that area and made our way down to one of the coolest, still intact, ghost towns of Colorado to procure coffee.

History Break: The “Ghost Town” of Gothic, Colorado

As you come down the pass, you cross over a cattle guard and a fence line nestled into a grove of yellow aspens. The sign neatly reads, Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory, and it sets a bit of a mysterious tone as you enter what looks to be a somewhat deserted, somewhat occupied small mining town of Gothic, Colorado.

I had been there previously in the spring to inspect the welcome center and gift shop. This is a must-stop if you are in the area, but the town wasn’t overly occupied like before, and it was nestled into the bright yellow foliage that so many of us wanted to see.

Before the town existed, this area of the East River Valley was part of a seasonal hunting ground of the Ute people. The cliffs and dark, brooding profile of the mountain nearby reminded the early settlers of the Gothic Style European Cathedrals, earning the mountain and then eventually the town the name “Gothic.”

In 1879, the town of Gothic took off when an explosion at the Sylvanite Mine sent strands of “wire silver” over the terrain. The drama of the discovery and the explosion drew in prospectors. The small town of Gothic bloomed, and a post office was founded that same year.

Silver Excitement

A notable visitor in 1880 gave the town more prospecting prestige. Recently out of office, former President Ulysses S. Grant stopped in Gothic, attracted by the silver excitement. President Grant commented on the beautiful scenery of the mountain and valley surrounding the town. His presence drew even more prospectors to the area and gave the town a sense of legitimacy.

Here I was, standing in the middle of a town where a president who had served our country almost 150 years ago had once stood and admired the town and the scenery, like I was doing in that moment. I often reflect on the fact that George Washington didn’t even know that Colorado existed when he formed our nation.

That same year, Horace Tabor, Colorado’s Silver Baron, invested in the Elk Mountain Bonanza, the town’s newspaper. He struck it rich in Leadville in the 1870s. He was known for his lavish spending and was part of Colorado’s Gilded Age elite. He also became a U.S. Senator.

By 1881, Gothic was said to have over four hundred buildings, including eight saloons, a newspaper, and a dance hall. Some sources have estimated the population to be around 1,000 people at its height.

As I stood on the dusty dirt road, I tried to imagine the 400 buildings in the vicinity, and then the waving and dancing of the yellow aspens once again took my attention.

Goldbugs and Silverites

In 1893, the U.S. was facing a deep economic depression. In the late 19th century, the U.S. monetary policy was a fierce debate. The question was, should the dollar be backed by gold, i.e., the gold standard, or should it be backed by both silver and gold, or bimetallism? This led to two teams, the gold bugs and the silverites.

The Sherman Silver Purchase Act of 1890 required the U.S. government to buy large amounts of silver every month. 4.5 million ounces a month, to be exact. Since it is an American sentiment to put measurements in random objects, that is about 14 classic yellow school buses or 234 grand pianos. Hopefully, that helps you visualize.

The cost of this silver was around $5.2 million in 1890. Adjusted for inflation in 2025, that would be over $170 million today. The Sherman Silver Act created artificial demand for silver and propped up the economy of many of the boom towns in Colorado.

The Making of a Ghost Town

In 1893, the Sherman Act was repealed, and the silver trade collapsed. Gothic then entered a sharp decline with the post office closing in 1896. By the end of 1914, the town of Gothic was considered deserted.

Rescued through Research

Fourteen years later, in 1928, the town was acquired by Western State College, which founded the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory and began converting the abandoned structures into a field station.

From 1930 onward, students and researchers spent summers in Gothic, founding long-term ecological studies. By the 1970’s special research projects such as David Inouye’s hummingbird and wildflower phenology studies began. Phenology is the study of recurring plant and animal lifecycle events.

The RMBL grew steadily from the 1980s through to today. In 2020, a conservation easement with Colorado Open Lands protects the land surrounding Gothic. The station attracts ecologists, climatologists, and students from around the world.

Today, RMBL is recognized as one of the leading alpine research field stations in the world. It produces over 1,500 scientific publications and hosts around 200 scientists and students every summer. Learn more about the RMBL here.

Gothic Today: Science, Coffee, and Inspiration

Today, the little town of Gothic hosts scientists and students but also welcomes the public to their visitor center and coffee shop. The visitors center and gift shop have informational displays and welcoming attendants who happily answer questions about the research and what is currently going on in the community. The items purchased here help raise funds for research, which makes you feel extra benevolent when grabbing a cute t-shirt or postcard.

When visiting the Coffee Lab, the barista humbly bragged that he could make coffee at any coffee shop in the world, but that he was getting to do so in Gothic. His taste in Japanese Jazz probably also had a calming effect on those who were waiting in line. While the line was long, the people there seemed to be happy waiting, watching, and taking in the town.

Gothic Grounded in Purpose

If I could have lingered for longer, I would have. Something about the town turned research facility felt inspiring and calming at the same time. I look forward to visiting Gothic more than I do Crested Butte. Maybe it seems more rare, inspiring, and reminds me that creating a community with a driving purpose is something we are missing.

Standing in Gothic reminded me that a town doesn’t need size to have soul - it just needs a purpose. That’s something our modern communities could learn from.

Driving out of Gothic and towards Crested Butte, I thought to myself that it is rare to find a place that blends history, science, and beauty so easily. As the season changes, the last leaves fall, the snow closes the passes, and the town empties, the stories and foundation linger.

I hope this little gem of a town inspires you to look for places that have a wild soul and an inspirational purpose, wherever the road takes you. Remember to tread lightly and leave it better than you found it.

I recently had the privilege of joining the Solihull Society here in Colorado and will be missing the event of the year in Moab next weekend. I have come to terms that my L322 is not going to be our off-roading vehicle, and it will likely not touch dirt roads often. After purchasing it just over a year ago, I have realized I love it too much to risk the wear and tear that the trails put on our Lexus GX and now our Land Cruiser 100 series.

My friends even commented on how quickly my personality and wardrobe changed with the newfound elegance in ownership of my well-kept, supercharged Landover. Not only is it elegant, but it is capable of almost everything our other off-road vehicles are. It is a genuine pleasure to drive. It reminds me of a made-up quote about refined aggression in the recent “The Gentlemen” television show. The scene briefly describes the reconciliation of the feral with the refined. If you have read any of my other work, you would note that I incorporate this idea in many ways.

The president of the Solihull Society invited me to volunteer to support SAR (Search and Rescue) and the Pikes Peak Marathon by driving our four-by-four up a steep shelf road and up to an area near Barr camp. This road is normally off-limits to the general off-roading community and is only used by Colorado Springs Utilities, the residents that live off of the road, and SAR.

I accepted, knowing that this would be a once-in-a-lifetime invitation, a privilege to use our skills and vehicle for good, and noting how nervous I was about the shelf road description.

Almost six years ago, I almost had a major accident in Yankee Boy Basin in the San Juans. Driving over a snow bank with a four-foot drop off that I could not see on the other side landed me off camber at a forty-five-degree angle, breathing heavily, shouting inside my brain that it felt worse than it was. I made it over, no harm done, but that day created a sense of fear in me about heights, drop-offs, and generally being off camber.

I thought to myself that this was my chance to test my ability to conquer my own fear that the drop off the situation caused six years ago. After all, I was going to get to help people with my knowledge and capability on the trail. Maybe this new experience would reframe my fear. Our GX is so capable and overbuilt that I was confident I would have no issue facing my fears.

My husband does have a flair for the dramatics, but it served me well this last Thursday on the Trail. For years, he has been teaching me the recovery side of off-road so that if something happened to him or if he wasn’t around, I could get myself out of most situations. Reflecting on all of the trail experiences we have had together, I realized how much strength and reliance this has instilled in our relationship.

I met my new friends, Jim and Vic, at the bottom of Longs Ranch Road with a smile and excitement over what we would get to embark on that afternoon. I aired down briefly, and then we proceeded through the red gate, the chain link fence above the residential area, and then started the hill climb along the cliff side of the mountain.

If I weren’t white knuckling up the mountain, I would have taken a picture of the steep, mostly rocky, and loose Colorado red dirt road. I remember having to use a calming breathing technique halfway up and wanted to descend as soon as we reached what seemed like the saddle, but I steadied my mind and proceeded to follow the lovely orange Landrover in front of me. Jim and Vic practiced SAR radio calls to use during the actual race as we transported volunteers and potentially injured runners up and down the mountain.

A ravine area on the saddle led to a road where I chose to straddle a large washout on the left side to ease my tense mind and body about being off-camber. We were seventy-five percent of the way up the climb when I heard a loud pop and hiss. I called out on the radio to stop on a more level spot to inspect the damage.

Not only did the wheel debead, but it also had a large gash from a root or rock on the side wall. My soul leaped out of my body, screamed silently, and then returned with a can-do attitude. Mostly because I had no other choice.

I had assisted in many flat tire situations, but I knew that the weight of the tire alone would be difficult to get down from the swing-out. The gentlemen I was off-roading with helped as we dismounted the spare from the swing-out and were patient while I pulled the needed supplies to change out the tire. First, I had to excavate the hidden bottle jack behind the fridge platform and then pull the jack arm components out of the back door. I had seen the bottle jack’s height be sufficient on many other trail changes, but the position this time just wasn’t enough.

Vic and Jim used their high jack along with my bottle jack as assurance, and we proceeded to change the tire. We discussed how important it was to always have the repair equipment and some extra crucial parts in your car at all times. Vic even lamented out loud that he didn’t bring anything with him and that he would certainly do it over the weekend.

We worked tirelessly for forty-five minutes as I changed out the tire that weighs almost as much as I do. After doing a last safety check and feeling accomplished that we were able to change the tire, we continued into the experimental forest and down Bob’s road to the SAR checkpoint.

I felt assured that we were no longer on the cliff road but on a saddle road. How bad could it be? Bob’s road had some major washout challenges that required spotting and constantly being mindful of the trees and their branches leaning over the track.

We reached the checkpoint and took a rest for a few minutes before deciding to head back down. At the stop, I tried to let my fragile nerves relax. After all, I made it up, fixed a flat, and that meant I could certainly make it down.

We proceed down the mountain towards the J pipes, the chain link fence, and then to the red gate, where we were all exhausted but happy after the trail reconnaissance, trail maintenance, and fixing the flat tire.

As I drove to the nearby gas station to use their air compressor, I thought about the stress I endured and just how accomplished I felt. I was so thankful for all the times my husband insisted I learn trail self-reliance. I could hear his encouragement in my head, directing me through the whole process even when he wasn’t on the trail with me.

I have been holding myself back from joining women’s off-road groups because I did not think I was capable of changing a tire by myself. I now know that I am capable and that this stressful situation sets me free from limiting myself.

I took the GX to Discount Tire the next day, but our Kenda tires sometimes take a moment to come in for replacement. So in the end, I wasn’t able to help volunteer this weekend, but I was relieved to know I had time to work on myself.

The questions I had later that evening were, “Do I really enjoy off-roading?” “Would I choose to do this more often by myself?”, “Do I still have the same fears that previously caused me to limit myself and our off-road travel?”

I told my husband on a brief phone call that I wouldn’t choose to do this, but after talking to him, I realized I couldn’t imagine my life without off-road travel. I would be far more disappointed in myself for letting my fear get the best of me.

I committed myself to reducing my fears back to the wanderlust and ambition-filled off-roader I was when we started. I have no idea how I will get there or where that journey will take me, but I will be sharing any treatment, process, or otherwise that might work for myself and others.

Do you ever have these fears as a driver or passenger? Do you have any solution that has worked to stave off your fear? If so, tell me about them in the comments below.

The provided text, an article from "INTREPID" titled "Stuck Between Park and Drive," explores the concept of burnout and the importance of self-care by using the metaphor of a broken car key. The author recounts a personal anecdote about a struggle to fix a stuck car key, highlighting feelings of exhaustion, self-doubt, and the tendency to push oneself despite external skepticism. Through this experience, the article reflects on how constant striving and proving one's worth can lead to emotional and physical wear, much like a worn-out key. Ultimately, the piece advocates for prioritizing healing and "maintenance" in life to avoid becoming perpetually "stuck" in a state of exhaustion, encouraging readers to consider replacing old, detrimental patterns with new, restorative ones.