‘‘The Rocky Mountain Hotspot’ is among the dwindling sites that remain unrecognized by state and federal governments and, therefore, remains unmarked and difficult to find. This non-acknowledgement contributes to its quirk, which is that it’s only feasible to pinpoint ‘The Hotspot’s’ exact dimensions with sensitive infrared equipment or to arrive after a storm when it stands out in the snow. The deep volcanic warmth at the center of this mountainous field keeps it warm and relatively dry during mid-winter blizzards and veils the area in a charming mist that freezes on beards and eyelashes as soon as a visitor leaves its borders. The effect is difficult to recreate digitally and so it has become a destination for the hardier brand of travel-flavored social media influencers in Colorado’s kinder months (October and November, specifically).
Few spend the night directly over ‘The Rocky Mountain Hotspot,’ though it would be, by all accounts, a novel experience. Those who have tried claim the mist becomes claustrophobic in the dark, that it fills up tents and makes the air too thick for human lungs. Others cite the unbearable warmth of the earth below or say that the grass seems to squirm silently under the fabric of their sleeping bags. Still others recount the sighting of beasts that come in from the cold to sleep nearby- things that eye them with wide pupils, things that could kill them if provoked.
Whatever the story, ‘The Rocky Mountain Hotspot’ exudes an otherworldly sense of taboo with a dark horizon. Though there have been no reports of fatalities in the fields as of this entry, nobody will be particularly surprised at the first.’
I experience a suitable amount of regret when the last embers of sunset extinguish, though there is little choice left but to remain. The long, cold drive has exaggerated ‘The Hotspot’s’ ambient temperature and, when the wind scours the field, I realize how damp my clothes have become and how dangerous it will be to suffer the night. The storm arrived just after I did. It would be impossible to navigate the bike back down.
Another hour passes before I submit fully, laying directly on the earth to expose as much of myself to the warmth there as is humanly possible. Even now I rotate at ten minutes intervals or whenever my upward extremities start to numb. The mist is dizzying even in dim light but when I switch it off something shifts in the dark, breaking sticks and huffing like a tired mule. I close my eyes and roll circles around my electric lantern on its lowest setting, counting the seconds till morning.
-traveler
