The drive out of Silverthorne was uneventful as I watched rugged forests of Douglas Fir turn to rolling hills of sagebrush. Occasionally, I’d spot a herd of pronghorn hiding out in the sagebrush, too far from the highway for me to get a picture. So instead, I’d wait for the signs and telephone polls to disappear before I rolled down my window and shot pictures of the landscape. 

My heart skipped more and more beats the more remote we got, not out of fear but out of excitement. Finally, after over a year of being pent up in the concrete jungle and the immaculate lawns of suburbia, I could be free from that for a few days. Of course, every forty miles or so, there was a mountain town of some sort. But every mountain town we passed seemed smaller than the last. Till we got to Steamboat, of course, which is a town roughly the same size and aesthetic as Breckenridge, and growing. 

A giant crane stood almost in the center of Steamboat while construction workers repaved sidewalks, roadways, and added more and more concrete layers to the skeleton of a soon-to-be apartment complex. Every car coming from every direction was funneled through the town on Lincoln Avenue, which is where we parallel parked in order to grab some lunch. 

As much as I didn’t want to stop, I was getting very hungry and didn’t like the idea of cooking anything once we reached our destination. After covering my camera with several layers of coats and blankets, I ventured out onto the busy streets of Steamboat Springs with Toby and my grandparents. Instantly, I could feel myself getting anxious and irritated by all of the noise and commotion going on around me. It felt much more like walking around the city of Denver on a Friday afternoon than a mountain town on a Tuesday during mud season. 

Underneath the constant noise of construction machines and squealing brakes as a nearby stoplight turned red, I heard my grandma’s voice calling to me, but I didn’t catch what she was saying. 

“What was that?!” I shouted. 

“What should we get for food?!” grandma shouted back over the city ambience. 

“Uhhhh…” I growled as I quickly scanned the area for food. 

Because we had Toby, we couldn’t go to any sit-down restaurant. But, I did spot a Greek restaurant selling gyros directly across the road from where we parked. My stomach growled as I thought about having myself a delicious lamb gyro drenched in tzatziki sauce. 

“Over there!” I pointed across the busy road, “There’s a Greek restaurant and some outdoor tables!”

“That sounds great!” my grandma smiled, “Let’s go there!”

We got to the crosswalk just in time for the red light to turn green again, meaning we had to wait a couple minutes for our chance to cross the ridiculously busy intersection. Again, it felt too much like Denver and not enough like the wilderness getaway I was hoping for, and I was getting increasingly anxious and overstimulated. Thankfully, the gyro restaurant was located on the sunken level of a small shopping plaza, where the noise didn’t travel so far and there weren’t many people. Once we got there, the sounds of traffic and construction were muffled, replaced by a rock radio station playing through quiet outdoor speakers.  

Toby and I hung out in the shade of the building nearby the front door of the gyro restaurant while my grandparents ordered our food. I told my grandparents exactly what I wanted, so I was a little confused when they came out of the restaurant moments later with menus to show me. 

“They don’t serve lamb here,” my grandpa Lyle said, “They only do chicken, beans, and falafel for the protein.”

“Huh.” I sighed, “Guess I’ll have the chicken then.”

“Alrighty. I will get that for ya!” 

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Five minutes later, the three of us were seated in the shade with gyros that were almost too hot to hold, while Toby sat by my side hoping I’d share my meal with him. Unfortunately for Toby, I wolfed that gyro down so damn fast. After all, I just wanted to eat and get the hell outta dodge! But my grandpa, who also purchased a chicken gyro, was kind enough to give Toby some of that delicious grilled chicken.

Unlike me, my grandparents savored their meals, so I was forced to sit in my discomfort for another fifteen minutes or so. It was taking a lot of my energy to keep my anxiety from expressing outward, but when a wasp buzzed by my ear, my resolve failed. 

“Woah there, granddaughter.” my grandpa laughed as I launched myself out of my chair (without trampling Toby) and glanced around wildly looking for that wasp, “It was just a bug.”

“Well… a wasp.” I corrected my grandpa between panicked breaths, “The thing went right by my ear!” 

“Regardless, it wasn’t interested in you.” my grandma added, smiling. 

“Still…” I sighed as I cautiously sat back down, “I don’t like ‘em one bit.”

“You never have.” my grandpa said, “You’ve always been pretty fearful of those little flying critters. I remember the time you nearly took out the entire coffee table because of a little miller moth. Don’t you?”

I knew exactly what my grandpa was talking about. 

“Uhhh… yeah…” I mumbled, “How could I forget?”

“You were trying to be brave by facing your fear of the moth… and you were so close to swatting it with your flyswatter. Then, it took off towards you, and you jumped straight back into the coffee table and broke a glass as you fell onto the floor!” my grandpa reminisced, “You then got up and bolted out the front door, where you waited for me to take care of it. I thought, sheesh, all of that drama over a little miller moth.”

“I mean… at least I tried, right?” I shrugged with embarrassment. 

“That, you did.” my grandpa agreed, “And you were very brave for twelve-year-old-you for doing that. I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt when you rushed into the coffee table so fast.”

“Mhm.” I nodded. 

“Goes to show that it wasn’t the moth that was the problem. Your response to it was the problem.” my grandpa explained, “Same could be said to how you just responded to the wasp buzzing by a few minutes ago.”

“Mhm.” I nodded again, hoping the subject would change. 

Suddenly, my grandma finished her meal by loudly crumpling up the aluminum foil that once held a bean gyro, which made me jump yet again. 

“Oh, Maya…” my grandpa laughed, shaking his head, “You remind me of your great uncle’s horses.”

“Well, I’m ready to get outta here.” I announced as I stood to my feet, “Clearly, I need to get away from the city and anything resembling it. I should calm down then.”

“Ah, so that’s what’s getting you.” my grandma commented as she brushed bits of our food off the table into her hand, “Good thing we’re headed out, then.”

“Off like a herd of turtles!” my grandpa yelled.