We set out from Tehachapi last Sunday, our packs laden with seven days of food, determined and eager to conquer the final one-hundred-fifty miles of desert leading up to Kennedy Meadows and the Sierra Nevada. We hiked aggressively despite 90+ degree heat and the bleakest, most barren stretch of rock and prickly, shade-miserly shrubs we’ve yet passed. Gummy Bear was with us when we left town. Together we completed 25 miles on Sunday. 22.7 miles on Monday. Tuesday morning Lisa and I limped 5 miles and had to stop. Gummy Bear had to go on. Younger, stronger, and seemingly impervious to thirst, Noah has his own hike to hike. Lisa and I are utterly exhausted and my feet have expanded beyond the capacity of my boots. Monday night, the little toe on my right foot was painfully blistered. Tuesday morning the skin at the root of my toenail was swollen and red and additional blisters formed a crusty rind around my heel and ankle. Each step drove my toenail backward into the toe. I hiked without a sock hoping to free up some space for my poor little piggies but the pain was too much. We decided to rest until evening by a spring-fed cattle trough and miss out on the heat of the day. That evening we made our way slowly into the night, spotting our first kangaroo rats (headlamps render them directionless idiots) and keeping an eye out for the scorpions that supposedly come out in the dark. We covered an additional 8 miles before midnight, slept for six hours, then hiked another 11 miles before noon on Wednesday. With morale low, we took a siesta beneath some scraggly pines atop a jagged, windswept peak overlooking the desert. After some debate, Lisa and I decided to head to Lake Isabella, order some new boots from REI and wait for my feet to heal. I say feet because favoring my sockless, wimpy little toe had caused new blisters on my opposite foot and strained my left knee as well. Despite that, we ended up completing 23.5 miles by Wednesday evening and another 9 miles to the highway on Thursday. A lovely pair of trail angels, out replenishing a water cache, picked us up and took us to Lake Isabella. REI is overnighting a pair of new, larger pair of boots but because they weren’t shipped until today (Friday) Lisa and I have to lie around a small motel in this faded, one-horse town until the package arrives sometime on Monday. We’re a little concerned about the expense we’re incurring but at the same time we’re giving our muscles a rest while completely indulging in the ice machine and pool. The motel has a sun-bleached, great-place-if-you’re-on-the-lam-vibe, although it’s evident that the owners do their best to care for the place and keep its lovely little gardens and shrubbery vibrant and trim. The manager is a congenial fellow, although he seems surprised to have hikers show up this late in the season. He keeps dropping hints that we’re behind and I’ve found myself several times defending our progress, arguing that we’ve covered 600 miles in a month and that we regularly pass other hikers. He doesn’t seem to believe me. When I added three more nights to our stay I could it see it plain in his face, his belief that Lisa and I are a pair of lollygaggers.

Our home for the next few days.

Kittens of the night, perhaps judging us for hiking so late in the season.

I’d post a picture of my foot but why worry anyone? Honestly, it’s already heeling up nicely and the new boots will feel like stretch limos as we cruise out of here Monday evening. Parental units, do not concern yourselves.

The last hundred miles have not been all doom and gloom. Actually, there was additional gloominess not associated with my feet that I should relate. On Tuesday we encountered a gentleman enjoying an illegal dirt bike ride on the PCT. He rolled up behind Lisa, revving his engine indicating his desire to pass. We tried ignoring him for a while in a petty attempt to teach him a lesson, but realized we were being silly. When we did finally step off the trail to let him by, he drove up alongside us and a civil and intelligent conversation ensued, and by civil and intelligent, I of course mean hostile and worthy of Fox News. He insinuated PCT hikers were selfish for not wanting to share the trail, we mentioned that his presence was illegal, dangerous, and damaging to the trail itself. He countered that that merely was our opinion before tearing off down the narrow trail, flying around the corner toward our good friend Gummy Bear. We chased after him, yelling for Gummy Bear to watch out although, really, the sound of the dirt bike was its own clarion call. G.B. stepped out of the way well before the rider reached him. Then, rendering our argument even more pointless, the PCT joined an official dirt bike trail for the next four miles. We didn’t see any more motorcyclists, but I assure you, the ironclad diatribes laced with hilarious zingers that I formed in my head would have made them instantly repent, jump off their dirt bikes and cast them off the mountainside.

On Tuesday, just as my foot was truly becoming a bother, Lisa and I stopped at a spring where we met a new hiker. We’ll call her Clover, and she sat down beside us, looking for friendly folks with which to vent her frustrations. Clover had started the trail back in April and had repeatedly injured her ankle. Her most recent injury was not the worst but Clover was simply fed up with the heat, her discomfort, and sluggish progress. She was quitting the trail. Lisa and I both tried to console her, commending her for the huge section she had completed, the longest and arguably most challenging stretch of the PCT. Clover nodded politely but she really just needed someone to listen to her own thoughts. We asked if she needed assistance getting to the next road/campground but she assured us she could hobble there on her own. We never saw her again although we met several trail angels the next day who rather overzealously mounted a small search party equipped with SUVs and ATVs until Clover finally emerged from the woods.

Quitting has not truly entered our minds, although Lisa and I joke about taking our funds and catching a cheap flight to Hawaii, taking up surfing and living on the beach instead. Seriously, what’s the use of sand without the ocean to go with it? That said, we certainly don’t blame Clover for her decision. Pain sucks the joy out of the hike, especially when every other footstep hurts. We keep meeting hikers only to see or hear about them hitching around large sections of the desert. When we reached the highway leading to Lake Isabella we learned from a hiker about a party of ten or so others that had simply decided to hitch around the last fifty miles before Kennedy Meadows. It’s hot as hell out here and the scenery has gotten old. We get it. But at the same time, Lisa and I are proud that we’re sticking with the desert. I just hiked thirty miles on mangled feet! That’s an accomplishment, right?! Maybe not, but reaching the Sierra Nevada on our own feet will be, and while we might be delayed in town, we’re not giving up on the desert. We’re going to blast out of here Monday night, rejuvenated and with sweet new footwear. “These boots are made for walking, and that’s just what they’ll do.”

On June 10th, Lisa and I completed our first month on the PCT. We also passed the 500 mile marker on that day although we had not quite hiked five-hundred miles. There have been a few trail closures, two stretches bypassing fire damaged areas and one circumnavigating some endanger toads and their habitat. PCT officials have laid out detours that include road walks. A lot of hikers hike these detours while others are uncomfortable hiking on roads. Lisa and I have hiked some of the detours and skipped others with too much traffic. Purists would no doubt scoff at us but we don’t feel like risking becoming hiker-pancakes. That’s my new term. Feel free to use it.

Since leaving Wrightwood, we’ve been hiking a lot with our good friend Noah, who finally has his trail name: Gummy Bear. One guess on what his favorite snack is on the trail. Lisa and I also have trail names now but more on that later. Gummy Bear, our Orange County native and guide to all things southern California, shares camp with us at night, wakes up after Lisa and I have taken off in the morning, then blasts by us around midday and beats us to the next campsite. His brother periodically drives up from Los Angeles to bring Gummy Bear his supplies. When Gummy Bear needed to replace his shoes and pack, his brother arrived and took us all to an REI in North Ridge, LA. It was quite a shock to go from the empty desert into the teeming edges of this packed metropolis. Inside the REI store alone were more people than we see in a week. Gummy Bear took us to an In-and-Out Burger where we devoured burgers, fries, and shakes while I quoted lines from the Big Lebowski in my head and marveled at the dozen workers crammed inside a tiny shack, toiling shoulder to shoulder over deep fryers to stay ahead of the lunchtime rush. Lisa and I have been discussing a move to Los Angeles after we complete the trail but our little sample of the urban sprawl has left us a bit daunted. That said, many thanks to Gummy Bear for letting us ride along, load up on some much needed calories, and replace some holey socks.

Gummy Bear and me, getting ready to stuff our faces.

For a pair of New Englanders, the novelty of hiking in the desert has all but worn off. The mountains seem so brown and lifeless under the unrelenting sun, although in truth, the landscape is not that much more barren than where we started the PCT near Campo. We’re now at mile 558, with only about 150 miles left before we reach the Sierras, and I am restless to escape the desert. We long for the shade of trees and water sources that are more than stagnant puddles or muddy trickles down hard-to-reach canyons. One thing we can’t complain about (actually, we have the luxury of hiking across the country so we really can’t complain about anything) has been the weather. While we have had a few days were temperatures rose above 100 degrees, for the most part it’s been unseasonably cool. We had rain for the two days during which we cross a corner of the Mojave. Rain in the Mojave in June!! I will often sigh a breath of relief whenever a cloud blots out the sun, especially while I’m chugging up a mountainside. When it rains, I’m in heaven.

Gummy Bear, Supertramp, and Laughtrax hiking under a rainbow through the Mojave after a light shower.

Every night, camping is a new experience as our home is constantly changing. The last several days have been more fascinating than usual. Our first night out of Wrightwood we camped illegally in an closed campground with picnic tables and unlocked privies. The next evening, we slept at a KOA campground crowded with boy scouts and weekend campers, bought ice cream and soda from the camp store and ordered pizza from town. The following, we cowboy camped under the stars in an empty lot next to supermarket in Aqua Dulce. We woke up before dawn and set a personal record when we hiked 24 miles to Casa de Luna, the home of famous trail angels Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. The Andersons and their renowned hospitality deserve an exclusive blog post which I hope to get to later. It was here that Lisa and I settled on our trail names, Rebel and Laughtrax, respectively. Rebel because Lisa carries a Rebel SL1 camera that to most weight-obsessed hikers would seem a ponderous and annoying load. Laughtrax because I often surprise hikers with random bouts of laughter while I’m hiking. The laughter is not because I’m maniacal or crazy, or not just, but because I often listen to comedy podcasts while hiking. After Casa de Luna, Rebel and I returned to camping at the usual little patches of flat ground near the trail. Last night and tonight, we’re recuperating at a Best Western in the town of Tehachapi.

It’s late and tomorrow we’re setting out on a seven day stretch to Kennedy Meadows and the conclusion of the desert. So much more has happened that I want to write about but it will have to wait. Lisa and I are healthy and safe and excited for the high peaks of the Sierras. They’re only 143.7 miles away. No sweat. Or lots of sweat.

Looking down at Cajon Pass and beyond at the San Gabriel Mts.,

Since last I posted, you read, Lisa and I reconnected with some hiking buddies, missed out on a party at some natural hot springs, ate at our first L.A.-style fruit stand, experienced Del Taco, and traversed the desert at night. It has been very hot out, even in the higher elevations, and water has been in short supply. As I tend to go a bit insane when there’s no water in my pack (picture Humphrey Bogart coveting gold toward the end of Treasure at the Sierra Madre) Lisa and I have both been very meticulous in plotting resupply and making sure we stay hydrated. No descent into madness has occurred… yet.

We left the San Bernadino National Forest and are now in the Angeles National Forest, although the “forest” is in short supply below 8,000 feet. Radiating rocks and clay, hot white tributaries of sand, and stubby and shadeless bushes are plentiful. It’s been in the high eighties and a surprising number of hikers have been hiding out in towns or hitching rides around some of the longer, desert sections. We’re frankly a bit surprised by how often this occurs. Folks we have passed on one day will appear the next, usually by a watery oasis or a patch of civilization. Everyone has their own idea of what a thru-hike is, I suppose.

The day after departing Big Bear Lake, Lisa and I caught up to some friends, Reid, a mechanical engineer from Blacksburg, Virginia, and Noah, a recently retired marine from Orange County, CA. They’re a great pair of guys, very different from one another but excellent hiking buddies. We rejoined them in the morning at some hot springs along the trail. Sleepy hikers, both local and thru-, lay about after what appeared to be a hard night of partying. Lisa was sad to have missed out on soaking in the springs while I was rather relieved. After a week of unfamiliar faces, Lisa and I were pleased to join up and hike with Reid and Noah for the next few days. Noah in particular is excited to introduce us to anything remotely associated with southern California culture, including a fruit cocktail near Interstate 15 in Cajon Pass. Stopping at a food cart with a bright, rainbow patterned parasol, Noah insisted we order the works: chunks of pineapple, watermelon, cucumber, mango, cantaloupe, coconut, and (totally new to me!) jicama, all of it doused in chili sauce and lemon juice. Delicious, although Lisa was not into the chili sauce. The rest of the afternoon was spent at a gas station/Del Taco restaurant, gorging on fast food and watching traffic on the highway nearby. Some people pulling into the rest stop eyed us askance while others asked us where we were hiking. A surprising number knew of the PCT.

Reunited with Reid and Noah at the hot springs of Deep Creek. Lisa enjoys a brief soak before we start hiking again.

Fruit Stand in Cajon Pass

Reid decided to stay in a hotel at Cajon Pass. He let the rest of us use his shower and rest in his room for a bit. Noah, Lisa, and me ventured out under a waxing moon, under the highway and beneath some very active railroad tracks, and climbed for five miles into the night. The moonlight threw our own shadows onto the sandy trail, which glowed like a white ribbon and was so bright that we did not need to use our headlamps. For long stretches we would hike along narrow ridgelines with large drops into darkness to either side, the electric ooze of thick traffic on the highway below appearing strangely foreign and unreal. The hike was thrilling but at the end of a long day we cut the evening stroll short and made camp by a water cache on the San Andreas Fault.

The water cache near where we camped after our night hike.

A visitor to our campsite.

We’re now in the mountain town of Wrightwood. We’re more than halfway done with the blasted desert. I’m counting down the miles. Sun without shade and water is not much fun.

The experience of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail is an ever-changing one and the last five days (86 miles) feel like a new chapter. Lisa and I have fallen out of sync with most of the familiar hiker faces while also pushing ourselves to walk longer and greater distances. I’m shedding weight faster than Jeb Bush while Lisa, who has no excess weight to lose, is succumbing to hiker hunger and slyly petitioning for restaurant stops at every opportunity. We’ve also encountered some extreme terrain and weather, not to mention a reptile or two, that I’d love to tell you about.

We tried to wait out some bad weather in Idyllwild so we could take an alternate trail to the San Jacinto Peak. When the cold and the clouds did not abate we took a shuttle from the hotel with Bushwhacked and a young hiker from Florida (trail name: Apache) to the head of the Devil’s Slide Trail. As we started up the steep set of switchbacks zigzagging up the side of the mountain, a cold mist buffeted our rain gear and numbed our hands. Bushwhacked, usually the fastest hiker in our cohort, never passed us. We suspect he had his fill of the weather and went back to town. Lisa and I kept pace with Apache, climbing into the clouds and joking about the marvelous views hidden in the clouds all around us. The higher we climbed, the stronger the wind and the deeper the cold. We climbed to an elevation of over 9,000 feet. Higher, actually, as Lisa and I took a wrong turn and took the ascent trail toward the top of the mountain for half a mile before checking our GPS and realizing our mistake. When we rejoined the PCT and began our descent from Mount San Jacinto into the San Gorgonio Pass, the pine trees around us were coated in ice and patches of snow covered the ground. The wind in the pass was fiercer than on the other side of mountain so that descending to lower altitudes with their higher temperatures were counteracted by increased wind chill. After covering sixteen frosty miles, Lisa and I made camp in the first little nook that offered respite from the wind. It was a good thing we had picked up our winter sleeping bags in Idyllwild the day before.

San Gorgonio Pass from the side of San Jacinto Peak

The next day was sunny and warm although the winds cutting through the pass were just as strong. In better spirits, Lisa and I hiked like happy mountain goats down from the San Jacinto mountains, dropping 8,000 feet to the desert. At about six or five-thousand feet of elevation, the trees gave way to boulders and scrub oak and chaparral, and lizards! Seriously, the mountain side was saturated with the scaly creatures. Big ones, littles ones, brown, black, blue and gold. Every few feet, one would flit across the trail or scramble gracelessly over a rock and leap into a bush. It was like reverse Godzilla, where a giant, misunderstood, pasty creature tromps across the landscape, sending the terrified denizens scattering. The rattlesnake, however, was less timid. About three foot long, a reddish hue, the serpent was stretched across the trail when we rounded a bend. It rattled its tail ever so slightly but otherwise did not seem particularly distressed. Lisa took some photos from a respectful distance then the two of us bushwhacked a wide path around the creature.

“My trail, human!”

“Mattshu-San! Run for your lives!!”

San Gorgonio Pass was a drab barren plain, bristling with wind turbines, through which Interstate 10 (or THE Interstate 10 as they like to say here) cuts across toward Los Angeles to the west and sandy oblivion to the east. In the middle of the pass is a small town in which live the venerated PCT trail angels, Ziggy and the Bear. This tremendously generous couple, with the aid of their grandson, have greeted thousands of hikers over the years, offering them a place to stay in their carpeted backyard, the use of the bank of porta potties set up in front of their house, showers, an outdoor sink for dishes and laundry, and modestly priced sodas and candy. They also will hold resupply packages for a small fee. Lisa and I stopped in and met the delightful Bear, picked up our package and bought a couple Dr. Peppers. We signed in and were designated hikers #1383 and #1384. We rested for a while on the bright clean carpets spread across our hosts’ backyard oasis but did not stay the night. By the end of the day, Lisa and I had hiked our first 20+ miler on the PCT.

The next two days we kept up the pace by completing 18.7 and 21 miles respectively. We covered the San Gorgonio Wilderness, a hot stretch of winding canyons and creek beds then ascended into the San Bernardino Forest. The unrelenting sun blasting down upon me proved mentally and physically taxing. While Lisa abhors the cold, I prove equally adverse to the desert sun. I felt a profound sense of relief while hiking through the shade of the sequoia and redwood trees of the upper elevations. One minor hitch to the trees, however. Pinecones! Tribbles of the forest, as I call them. Yeah, they’re cute at first, but they quickly multiply and clog the trail, getting underfoot, making you feel guilty every time your heel crunches down upon them, or eliciting a rage when they roll your ankle. I don’t care how pretty they are… enough tree spawn is enough.

Beautiful but eternally sunny.

All worship the shade of the trees!

Darn pinecones!

A much needed lunch break in the shade.

I realize this post has taken on a rambling tone, so I will end it with Lisa’s face to face encounter with another rattlesnake, larger and more ornery than the first. I missed the fun at first, as Lisa was just ahead as we made our way up the PCT. It was only when she leapt back, waving her trekking poles through the air, calling out a sort of “wha-oohh.” Just as surprised was the black rattlesnake just a few feet ahead, bunched up with its rattle quivering high over its wide, arrow-shaped head. Lisa quickly recovered herself and took out her camera, although I urged her to step back even further. Sadly, no clear pictures were taken. The obsidian-hued snake was having none of it. It continued to shake its angry tail while tensing its body. Like reprimanded children, Lisa and I backed down the trail a bit, and the snake slithered to side, then for good measure wound itself back up and issued renewed promises of destruction with its tail. Lisa and I promised with our silence to be good and the snake stretched itself out and made a cautious exit into some ground cover. Objectively, the snake looked to be about forty inches long although my terror gaze knows the beast was probably five feet in length at the least.

We’re now taking another zero in Big Bear Lake, a large tourist town with all the amenities of Julian and Idyllwild combined, but far less charm. That’s okay. Lisa is eating everything in sight and I’m consuming so much Dr. Pepper that I’m thinking of saving time with a corn syrup IV. I probably won’t as that might be a challenge to hike with on the trail.

Playing tourists in Big Bear Lake.

After another five days of hiking and another 75 miles ticked off, Lisa and I are down for another zero day. We’re holed up in another tourist town nestled in the San Jacinto Mountains. It still astounds us that in just a few miles we can travel from 85 degrees in the high desert to 45 degrees at a more temperate elevation. It’s a good time to rest. The mountains are socked-in, there’s a threat of rain and snow, and my feet have been particularly sore from constant walking and deviously small blisters pinching down on my little toes. We’re debating an alternate route for tomorrow that would take us over San Jacinto Peak. At 10,834 feet, it would be our highest summit to date by a solid four-thousand feet. I’m excited to try the climb despite my susceptibility to altitude sickness, while Lisa just wants to avoid getting caught in any snow. We’ll let you know how it turns out.

The Paradise Cafe, 1 mile off the trail, enticed us all with its siren song of soda, eggs and bacon and burgers.

Since Julian we’ve been hiking/camping with the same crowd, give or take one or two folks each day. (I’m hesitant to drop real names without permission and most trail names have yet to be earned or given out, so the list is incomplete.) We tend to congregate at water sources, campsites, and restaurants that aren’t too far from the PCT.

Nine hikers camped out in this boulder field atop a sandy ridge. We watched the sunset together. Later that night the Milky Way was visible.

For better or worse, the group is dissolving. Bushwhacked is the charismatic epicenter of our hiker wave although he yearns to pick up the pace and leave us slow pokes behind. He’ll have to chase down an ex-marine from California and a fellow from Blacksburg, VA who paired up and have pushed on to San Jacinto Peak despite the weather. One of the guys we started the trail with, a recent college grad we’ve dubbed Risky Business due to his iconic sunglasses, is still here in town, likewise giving his exhausted body a break. He’s planning to cover less mileage than Lisa and I in the coming days. Another of our original crew, a vegan hiker who wears running shoes without socks and carries perhaps no more than ten pounds of gear and is  capable of hiking thirty-plus miles a day but much prefers to dally about a beautiful vista, has disappeared into the ether. He could be ahead or behind, we know not which. The woman we started the trail with reportedly hiked twenty-five miles the first day. Racing to finish the trail before her junior year of college kicks off, I doubt we’ll ever catch up to her. The last two men we started with (friends from the Appalachian Trail and two of our favorite hikers) are likewise zeroing here in Idyllwild. One is a former librarian/web developer with fascinating insights on backpacking and our journey in general. His partner in crime is a retired journalist with a curmudgeonly facade and a razor sharp wit. He calls himself Reese after the actress and is the only person I’ve ever met who can utilize the affirmation “mos def” appropriately and without irony. Reese and the Librarian have been keeping pace with the greater group but they march to their own rhythm, resting and hiking where and when they choose. It seems more happenstance that we bump into them regularly, although Lisa and I are delighted whenever they’re nearby. The pair are debating skipping large portions of the desert should the heat continue to be a burden. I can’t blame them.

There others I haven’t described, but each of them have already contributed indelible memories. We’re sure to run into some of them, again and again, over the coming months. The company is great, but camping out alone is its own unique and fulfilling experience.

We’ve been told this is a horny toad. While other lizards are very bashful and camera shy, the horny toad is an unrepentant self-promoter.

 We passed the hundred-mile mark today! A few miles more and we stopped and took some photos at Eagle Rock.

Our logistical support expert, vital to the success of our journey, wrote this lovely note and included it in our first mail drop.

“Wheels are made for rollin’,

mules are made to pack.

I never seen a sight that didn’t look better looking back.”

-Ben Rumson from Paint Your Wagon

A storm churning across southern California has driven most of the thru-hikers out of the mountains into the trail towns dotting the Pacific Crest Trail. Lisa and I, and perhaps twenty other hikers, are hunkered down in Julian, a gold rush town turned tourist attraction. We’re taking our first Zero (zero miles of hiking, aka a day off) to give our bodies a break and tie up some loose ends from when we snipped the bonds of civilization and disappeared into the wilderness.

It’s also a good time to catch you all up. Here are the quick, plain facts. In five days we’ve hiked seventy-seven miles. We’re sticking to about fifteen miles per day for now, until our muscles strengthen and our joints adapt to the constant movement. By day three we stood at an elevation of about 6,000 feet, higher than almost every summit of the Appalachian Mountains back home. Water is scarce and the sun was unrelenting up until yesterday when the edge of the storm clouded up the sky and the winds picked up fiercely.

For the most part, we have been trekking through high desert in the Laguna Mountains. It is not what I expected. For one thing it’s quite green and fantastically beautiful. The views are incredible and the landscape is entirely alien and unique. I know very little about plants but the flora here is playing for keeps. Everything is either serrated, prickly, grabby, or tough as leather. Plants do not crowd together like back home, but instead seem to form little isolated fortresses in the sand and rock. Scorch marks and charred wood are evidence that wildfires strike often, although the plant life quickly recovers from the flames. Wild flowers and fruit bring splotches of color to the landscape. We have spotted a wide array of animals, particularly lizards and birds, and rodents. We came across a small snake (not a rattler) sunning itself in the trail. It seemed annoyed when we tried to pass and decided to leave before Lisa could walk by. Yesterday I caught a glimpse of what I believe to be a coyote’s backside slipping behind a bush. Jackrabbits dart about constantly.

There have been a few day hikers and locals on the trail, almost 100% friendly. One exception. On day one, around noon, Lisa and I were eating lunch on the side of the trail with other thru-hikers Phil and Jeff, whom we met in San Diego and were shuttled together to the trail. Lounging quietly in a rare patch of shade under some stocky trees I cannot begin to identify, we heard the voices of two women approaching. They appeared one after the other, on horseback, around a bend about ten yards down the trail. They seemed very much surprised by the gauntlet of  idle hikers crowding their path and worried about their horses being spooked. As we began to make room for them to pass, the woman riding at the rear called out in a vexed and rather admonishing tone. “You have to talk!” Lisa and I happily obliged, greeting them and their horses. The same rider stopped her horse beside me. “Now you have to touch him!” she commanded as I stared face-to-side-of-face with the glassy eyed created. I was delighted to rub the curious horse’s nose and was more amused than annoyed by its rider’s eccentric bossiness. Wondering how long horses could go without water, especially when bearing such a grouchy load, I asked how far they were riding. The woman seemed surprised to be directly addressed for she stared at me for a moment before stumbling with an answer. They were covering about twenty miles. We wished her and the horse (really just the horse) a pleasant journey. They rode off into the sunset only, not really, because like I said it was noon and the sun was directly above us.

We’ve met thru-hikers from all over the United States and beyond. Some are just out of college or trying to fit in the trail before going back to school. Other hikers are retired, some are just out of the military, and others are just crazy wanderers, like Lisa and Me, who have quit their jobs and left their families behind. Most of the hikers we’ve met have yet to adopt or receive their trail name. Not so for a hiker from LA, a man in his late forties, who started the same day as us, and from now on shall be known on the PCT as Bushwhacked!

This hiker has had a run of bad luck since he started his hike to Canada. He lost his sunglasses the first day, his tent poles not long after that, hurt his knee, and his son bailed on joining him for the hike. The hiker soon to be known as Bushwhacked left camp two days ago, not realizing that he was taking the wrong trail. Markers are few and far between, and it was several miles before he suspected something was up. Fortunately, he came across some border patrol agents and asked if he was in fact on the Pacific Crest Trail. The PCT is 7 miles back that way, they informed a limping, sun-baked, frustrated man. Or one mile down that mountainside if you bushwhack. Throwing caution to the wind, he abandoned the trail and began navigating the maze of bushes and cacti. Remember how I described the little fortresses of plant life amongst the sand and rock. The further into the bush you go, the more they crowd together. The maze closed in around the hiker, tearing at his bare legs and grabbing at his pack and shoulders. By the time he reached the PCT, Bushwhacked had lost the sleeping mat attached to the back of his pack. By some miracle, the solar panel he had strapped to his sleeping mat, remained, yet Bushwhacked was so frustrated that he snatched the charger and threw it off the mountain. But now he has his trail name.

Hopefully, ours will come more easily.

5/10/15 A bunch of thru-hikers started the trail with us. Who will cruise ahead? Who will match our pace? You know what? It doesn’t matter. Hike your own hike, so the saying goes. 

This is one of our hosts in San Diego. Her name is Penny.

We landed in California yesterday expecting bold blue skies, sultry breezes, and palm trees bathed in marmalade colored sunsets. Sunny San Diego is a lie! A rainy, gray, fifty-two degrees lie!! Actually, as a New Englander, I have been dreading the 700 miles of desert to come so the familiar chill was a welcome relief.

We were scooped up at the airport by a Trail Angel named Bob. We are camped out in Bob’s dilapidated Winnebago crammed into his backyard. Other hikers are sleeping in the house, along with Bob, his family, and three lovely dogs. Bob has taken over 139 hikers to the Pacific Crest Trail. He picks them up from the airport, puts them up at his house, and drives hikers to the trailhead. He is among a small, dedicated and generous group of people, dubbed Trail Angels, who help us undeserving folk during our adventure. Bob’s help and selflessness has me floored.

Tomorrow we leave before dawn for the Pacific Crest Trail. Lisa and I are brimming with excitement. It cannot start soon enough.