Chatfield State Park

Chatfield State Park is a 400-acre state park nestled next to the foothills, an hour southwest of Denver. The park surrounds Chatfield Reservoir, which the Army Corps of Engineers created by damming the South Platte River in response to the disastrous flood of 1965.

The lake has several marinas and four campgrounds, each within walking distance to the lake. Activities in the park include boating, bicycling, hiking, and horseback riding.

After saying our good-byes and dropping Lolo off at the airport, I was once again a solo traveler.

I had no plans at this point, and wasn’t really sure what I should do next. Between the mixed feelings of Lolo and the boys’ departure, and the lack of a restful sleep at the Flying J, I didn’t think I was capable of making any major decisions. In fact, I didn’t even want any minor decisions, so I pointed the RV to the nearest Walmart and settled down for an attempt at a few hours sleep.

Between the morning sun, and the rumbling of diesel trucks any sleep I achieved was fitful at best.

I was torn. I could head down to the desert southwest and once again enjoy some of the most incredibly beautiful natural attractions in the world… Or, as Lolo had mentioned, if I started back east within a few days I would still be able to help Andrew and Lolo move into Andrew’s new apartment in New Haven. I knew they could do it without me,,, but also that there would be quite a few issues where my presence would be appreciated.

I split the difference, and found Chatfield State Park a few hours south where I would rest and regroup. The park was fine, but unfortunately I have no photos. (All photos from this point on were lost when I inadvertently synchronized the photos with the home server in the wrong direction. By the time I found out, even the previous backups were overwritten. Since then I’ve changed my backup methodology.)

After a few days rest I realized I had reached that point in the trip where there were no really compelling choices. To continue onto the Grand Canyon, or Lake Powell as a solo traveler would only have stirred up the “ghosts” of the previous trips there I had shared with my family. Anything I could do by myself at this point would pale in comparison.

Also Lolo had continued to “hint” that it might be nice if I could help with Andrew’s move into New Haven.

It was not without considerable ambivalence that I once again pointed our Lazy Daze east, and headed back to my role as a responsible spouse and father.