Great Sand Dunes National Park is surreal in the way only America seems to produce without apology: mountains behind, desert floor, then dunes rising like someone imported a beach without the ocean. We camped at Pinon Flats, leveled with confidence earned from past humiliation, and walked the sand until my calves filed a formal complaint.
Biscuit loved the creek. He did not love the hot sand. I carried water like a responsible adult and still forgot one of my own rules: close-toed shoes exist for a reason.
At sunset the sky went pink and gold and I remembered a Greek ferry decades ago, diesel and salt, no phone, just horizon. I am older now and travel with a house on wheels and a dog who expects dinner at reasonable hours. Both versions of me were lucky.
Pack electrolytes. Start hikes early. Let the overlooked parks humble you gently.