Mile 78 to 89

Scissors Crossing

Although in the comfort of our hotel room, we wake on backpacker time – 6:00 am, a full hour and a half before breakfast is served. We fill the time engaged in a hair dryer battle against our determined to remain soaking wet clothes. Breakfast is fair to middling by any standard other than our own, which places it somewhere near spectacular. Orange Juice! Cereal with real milk! Fruit! We stuff our belly’s until we fear our pack hip belts will require extensions. We waddle back to continue the battle with our clothes, until we are thrown out of the hotel at noon.

We return to the road to hitch our way back to the wilderness. We stand across from the high school, where there is plenty of traffic, but no offers of a ride. There is a exciting road bike race (although most participants ride mountain bikes) with far more cyclists than residents in poor little Julian. A very nice local architect, Terry, shows mercy and drives us back to the trail. His daughter works at Mom’s pie shop, and he apparently picks up thru-hikers almost every day. We slip back under highway 78 for some shade, only to discover that the huge water cache from the day before is completely gone. Only a small wet spot remains, where yesterday were piles of 1 gallon plastic jugs. Luckily we have enough water, but it makes clear you cannot count on a cache.

After staring at the never ending shadeless switchbacks, we abandon our troll like hiding place at 2:00 pm, and walk into the heat. We struggle up for 10 miles. The only real sign of life is a desert tarantula, who seems much less excited to see us then we him. Near 8:00 pm, we dropped into a tiny dirt patch on the trail, and call it home for the night. We make instant mash potatoes, enjoy a star show, and fall asleep hoping not to be stepped on by any night hikers.

Tarantula

Mile 72 to 78

Desert Floor

It’s decided. We are going to crawl down to Scissors, check out water options, then hitch to Jillian, for free pie and new found strength for Bri. We have lots of up hill miles ahead, and she is going to need it. We make it to the desert floor, and walk in the hot flat sand, playing rhyming games to pass the time.

As a child, you are told never to take a ride from a stranger. You might get picked up by a crazy murderer. As a teenager, you are told to never pick up a hitch hiker. You might pick up a crazy murderer. There seems to be a higher than expected number of crazy murderers on and near our highways. I stand at the side of the road, holding a sign “Not A Murderer.” After several cars with plenty of space for us fly by, I begin to wonder if the “Not” is as legible as the rest of the sign. We switch to the more traditional hiker “To Town” sign, with the same results. Even Bri’s smiling face and wave does not slow even a single car.

Eventually a red van with Texas plates whips in, and a white bearded man in his sixties says for 5 bucks a piece he can be our shuttle. We quickly agree and pile in. On the 12-mile Mr Toad’s wild ride, he proceeds to tell us his life story, including his DUI and how he avoids having to register his car or hold a valid California drivers license. He announces that his air bags do not work, and the non-working seat belts should be draped over our shoulders, so as not to draw attention. He tells us that the Library has free WiFi, but they block all the stuff he likes to see. Why does the wilderness suddenly seem so tame, and civilization so wild?

We claim our free apple pie, ice cream, and drink at Mom’s. If you are ever in Julian support them. They are awesome to PCT thru-hikers. We decide to share a room at Julian Lodge, where we set their plumbing back five years with our bathtub stew of hiker clothes. Tomorrow we plan to hitch back to the trail, to try late afternoon and night hiking. One way or another, we are getting up that hill towards Warner Springs.

Apple Pie

Bathtub Stew

Mile 61 to 72

Wind damage

The early morning is cold, with crazy blowing winds. It rained a couple of times in the night, and Brian’s tent collapsed multiple times, driving his hiking pole through the tent top and mesh. No time for repairs now, we need to move. Six miles ahead is a potential water source, a leaking tank at Rodriquez Road. After that, there is no reliable water for 32 miles. We are extremely thankful to find the water tank full. The thought of going 39 miles without a water source, is more than we can face. We set up a day camp and begin drying gear, patching gear, and filtering water. It is strange how important liquid is, yet we do not like it falling from the sky in 50 mile per hour wind, nor building up in Bri’s blisters, yet we get both. We drink bottle after bottle of Chia water, until our eyes are floating, and we tire of peeing.

We prepare an early dinner near the water. My tyvek tarp now has a large burn hole, exactly the same size as Brian’s stove. I am not accusing, just saying. We press on towards what truly appears to be our first desert floor. Bri is losing steam. We probably need to take our first zero. Scissors crossing may have water, and we can hitch to Julian if we need more food.

Filtering Water

Tyvek Burn Hole

Mile 45 to 61

We again wake to howling wind and frost, but the weather forecast for snow keeps us focused. I don’t even make coffee. We need to move. Bri tends to her blisters, which are getting worse. We wrestle our tents into our packs. They are wet, and so are our bags. We hike through fog, towards what we hope will be water. The views of the desert are awesome, but we do not slow to enjoy. At Pioneer Park we find a water cache, which we gladly deplete. We push on. Even with Bri’s blisters, we are making this a 16 mile day.

We stop briefly to pop some of her blisters. We find another water cache near Sunrise Trail head, with a note that it needs to be filtered, which we do. We hunker down in a totally windy area, hoping the forecast for rain is wrong. Other thru-hikers pass by, clearly exhausted, but not willing to settle for this clearly unsafe and windy location. Turns out, they are right.

Desert Trail

Brief Break

Mile 36 to 45

Tree Hugger

It was freezing cold and windy all night. Bri needs to tend to her blisters, so we get a relatively late start. We have five miles to make it to our resupply, at the Mount Laguna Post Office. Our food bags still seem loaded before we arrive. As we approach, we encounter our first real trees, which Brian joyfully embraces. Tree hugging is the first step toward hippiedom.

We arrive by 11, only to be told the Post Office does not open until 12. We try to eat as much as we can, but are resigned to making major donations to the hiker box. I am sure a month from now we will not be able to imagine too much food, but these new to thru-hiking hoarders are over flowing with stupidity. Brian spots a minor ginger, but we are off trail, so it does not count. We stuff our packs with as much as they will hold, and check the weather report. High winds and snow coming by Tuesday.

We press on a few miles, then tuck in to a slight wind break. By break I mean 30 miles, rather than 50. It is getting cold fast.

Which way should we go?

Tavern Closed?!

Windy Camp

Mile 22 to 36

Easter Sunrise

We wake to the distant sounds of church hymns, belting out a sunrise service.  Oh yeah, it is Easter. I lay shivering in my frost covered bag, thinking about my Uncle Bob. Today will be his memorial service, and I will celebrate his life right here, where I think he would want me to be. Not that he didn’t like having me around, but rather because he was always supportive.

After a quick breakfast we get on the trail, pick up some water at a horse campground, and head up the hill. Part way up, we drop next to the trail exhausted. Coming southbound, out of nowhere, appears our first naked hiker. Here we sit, like children on the curb at the Macy’s parade, when the strangest, most inappropriate balloon animal floats by our face. In my mind I make several observations, all beginning and ending with “What the frig?!” But in reality I say “Hi” as if nothing is out of the ordinary. After he passes, I turn to Bri and say, “Perhaps he is showing off his Easter eggs.” Bri responds, “On Easter, he should do a better job of hiding them.” Brian, forever playing the scavenger game, exclaims “Damn, he’s wearing shoes!” Here we are needing to find a barefoot hiker, instead we meet his inverse.

Later in the day, Brian finds an actual Easter egg, hidden on the trail that says “Happy Easter Hiker.”

Easter Surprise?

Easter Egg

Easter Dinner

Mile 10 to 22

Horny Toads

Brian wakes at five, hoping to see the advertised blood moon. By five the moon has set behind the hill, so the red mooning is a complete bust. Those who know Brian, know he likes to play games, especially ones with ridiculous rules. Today he declares we are playing PCT scavenger hunt, and must create a list of random things to look for. They must be found on the trail, and cannot involve us. As an example he offers up a ginger (redhead) minor. I counter with someone wearing non-matching Dirty Girl gaiters. Others we agree on: a thru-hiker walking barefoot, someone carrying a child, a completely burnt and peeling thru-hiker, and a hiker taking a dump in full view of the trail. I offer someone quitting in front of us, but Brian and Bri nix it as not funny. Apparently puking on the trail is funny, but quitting is not.

As we hike, we encounter horned toad lizards mating on the trail, which had not made the list. After quick showers at Lake Morena campground, we press on for a total of 12 miles. We set up at a patch of dirt by the trail, and are joined by a soon-to-be hippie. Later she tells us she is quitting the trail at Tehachapi, not because of exhaustion or lack of confidence, but because of future financial limitations. Brian does not allow me to count her in the scavenger hunt.

Showers at Lake Morena

Mile 0 to 10

Southern Terminus

You’d like to think, as you start a major hike, you will have something inspirational to say, or at least something slightly pithy. But it turns out, sometimes you just take a couple of pictures at the PCT post, and start walking.

Within a couple hundred feet, we see large snakes crossing the trail, so we know we are in the wilderness. But so far, we see no rattlers. Brian had been told he would see one a day. When we reach our first days goal of 10 miles, he is disappointed. I reassure him by pointing out we need to average 20 miles a day, so he actually has 10 more miles to find one.

Some things you see on the trail surely have stories, but they are not always revealed.  Early in the day we come upon an abandoned backpack, with a plastic bag on top. In the bag is a Book of Mormon. In what state of mind does a traveling Mormon leave behind a backpack and scriptures in the middle of the desert? Later we find what I can only describe as a cowboy outfit: pointed boots, shirt, pants, and unmentionables. Being so near the border, it is possible these involve an illegal crossing and disguise change. I however, prefer to imagine a Mormon cowboy realizing he needs to go back for his lost pack and book. Surely it makes good sense to ditch the outfit and travel as light as possible. After all, everyone we meet is struggling with the exact same thoughts, minus the pointed boots and book of course.

We camp in a break in the bushes.

Start walking

Gopher Snake

Book of Mormon

Cowboy Outfit

Camp in bushes

Mile 0

Pre Shave

In the summer of 1981, my wife and I traveled through Europe. Being the lazy sort, I decided to stop shaving, and I haven’t started since.  I got married, had three boys, and watched them go off to college, none of them ever seeing my face. I was like the phantom of the opera, but without singing talent. The thought of hiking five months without my normal weed whacking trimmer had me worried. I was pretty sure without a clean start, I was going to look like I was in ZZ Top, or more likely the crazy old guy in Life of Brian, who breaks his vow of silence defending his juniper bushes.
So in the hotel, with my wife holding a jerky video camera as she laughs at my new found face, I begin anew. I figure at the very least, I can keep my son Brian and his girlfriend Bri moving, if only from fear as my face marches behind them.

Post Shave