The air smells of leather and pine, and the rustling of the wind floating through the tops of trees almost sounds like the beginning of summer rain in Florida. It’s as if the world’s quietest train was passing through to its next stop in the sky. Climbing at least 1,200 feet straight up on a mountain, at an altitude of over 10,000 feet above sea level to begin with, is not something you forget (or do) easily. My dad and Matt and I carefully watched our footing as we hiked over sprawling tree roots and masses of rocks, laughing and literally out of breath along the way. There were times on our six-hour hike where just a few feet away from us, was a sharp, terrifying drop down. I remember seeing a woman ahead of us cover the side of her face so she couldn’t see it. It’s in these moments where you get a true sense of nature’s incredible beauty, vastness and wonder—and that we are powerless and small in comparison. In Colorado, the …