Tombstone Ridge

Traversing the Continental Divide I got a wee Glesga Kish! I walked out on the pass, listened to elk bugle in the valleys, I watched snow turn to rain, I saw blue gentian and sky pilot on the tundra, pure magic. And then I tripped and fell on my nose right before I go back to the car. Let's just say the Rockies made a real impression on me face with a murderous left hook. I now get why people use walking sticks on uneven terrain. Just call me Rocky Graziano. Singing Paul Simon's The Boxer right about now...

I busted up my nose hiking on the Continental Divide. My blood spilled on both watersheds. Not a place where I wanted to take my last stand, on Tombstone Ridge. Believe me, I was calling myself Maureen the moron on a glacial moraine, I didn’t need extra help from Neil in the chastisement department. I had it covered. I yelled at Neil to get me some ice from the cooler. He was useless in a crisis. No EMT potential there. So, I was really on my own on that long walk back down the ridge to the car park.

It was a long half mile back to the car. As I walked, I tilted my head back, propping my neck and head with one arm, pinching my nose with my other hand. I was trying hard not to swallow blood, the last thing I wanted to do was hurl, my stomach was bilious. It was a challenge to avoid all the little fucker tombstone rocks jutting up on the trail, using peripheral vision to navigate, as I couldn’t hold my head upright without gushing blood.

Not the first time I’ve busted my nose, I know the drill. Alas, I found out that Neil was useless in a crisis. So ironic as this is where we entered into this relationship, me administering first aid to him, possibly saving his life, when his nose and face were busted up in a car crash, when he was gushing blood. 

It didn’t help that we were fighting all the way up the pass. I was so glad to get out of the toxic environment of the car, and to be at one with nature, and then the landscape punched me. Irony, much? Such capricious gods of fate. I guess it’s payback time. I won't mention the buckets o' blood sacrifice I left in Colorado—which means red. Duh. No need for metaphor, here. Too literally inclined, I guess. Erm, make that—declined. Reclined? 

 

Home, now, mirror is not my friend. You might say that I’m working on the lying Pinocchio/unicorn horn look. Maybe this time I really will have to get my nose fixed. Not. Lots of ice on the hour & Advil every three hours like clockwork. Not too bad looking now. Some raccoon eye, and weird blood tracks under the skin, but not too bad, considering... just can't touch my nose or sneeze. 

I spend my days icing the schnozz. I have this really good idea for a kickstarter—a svelte patch you can contour to your injury and freeze it. Like a fleecy molybdenum ice pack. The commercial ones are awful. I made one out of a flannel bath mitt. I soaked it and then froze in in the shape of my nose. Pure dead brilliant. I've been diligent with ice and heat. I don't look too bad, considering. Just can't wrinkle my nose, etc. Upper lip is no longer swollen, it's itchy. Lower lip still a bit swollen. My big honking nose saved my front teeth, I'm sure. Clean bill of health from the doctor. No concussion, but it's like having a hangover. Light and noise are excruciating.

Day 10—My nose is still swollen, looks a little crooked too, but at least the black raccoon eyes are gone. I can wrinkle my nose a bit, but it still feels like somebody else's face is super-imposed on mine. I made the mistake of taking a selfie with a smacked nose. Agh! Think I'll crawl under a rock. Definitely not ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille. It's hard enough to take decent selfie w/o looking self-conscious or like you're in a prison line-up. (some of it's because of parallax issues with the 2.2 wide-angle lens). Think I should go back to my squirrel portrait on Facebook. Or maybe a rock portrait. After all, that's how I got into this mess. OOF! Icing my nose now. Off Advil since Mon. as I was having issues with it and didn't want to barf!

Someone suggested that next time I land on my can. I don't have a lot of padding on my bum, or my nose either. At least I managed to protect my injured knee, next time, I'll happily choose the bad knee to fall on, trust me...

from a Facebook memories post, revised and rearranged for clarity, added 9/21. I was glad to find this particular post because I could not focus, or write coherently about it after the fact.