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About Chicago

So, escort’s this hidden gem—13,000 feet of pure “why am I doing this” vibes. Little-known fact: it’s named after some crusty miner’s mule that hauled gear up in the 1880s. Poor Escort the Mule probs died up there, and now we’re all trudging his ghost trail. I’m jazzed about it tho—gets my blood pumpin’! The scramble’s sketchy, loose rocks everywhere, like the mountain’s tryna shake you off. “You’re being watched,” I whisper to myself, channeling *Caché* paranoia, ‘cause those cliffs? They’ve got eyes, man.