Mile 134 to 149

Guzzler

On Tuesday Paradise Cafe closes by three. There is no way we can make it. Trail rumor has it the burgers are to die for, so we set our sights on a campsite three miles short. Our hunger attack on Paradise will commence on Wednesday. Yes, we will try to have burgers, even if for breakfast.

Our first objective is Tule Springs. We arrive and filter water for the long up. In a few miles we reach Gussler, a sketchy cistern, with a sign stating there are dead animals in the water. Thirst can make you pretty desperate, but to avoid the guilt of someone having to post a sign that there are dead thru-hikers in the water, we pass. On the way I notice garter snakes in the top of a bush, attempting to mate. It seems way too hot for that to me.

We eventually arrive at a real cache, with racks of bottled water, dedicated to the PCT Class of 2015. Brian also finds powdered protein, which he drinks against my normally sound advice. A rattlesnake drops onto the trail in front of me, making a great opportunity for video. He even displays his coil and rattling skills.

Bri bonks again, so we stop and rest at another cache with picnic tables, hiker box, shade and a library of books in a glass case. The library makes me nervous about how long we will be there. After all, I am a pretty slow reader. But with rest and some electrolytes, Bri storms up the hill to our campsite, where we crash with Florida and others waiting to pounce on Paradise.

Water Cache

Rattle Snake

Mile 119 to 134

Hiker Shack

Today’s start is rough. Bri is bonking and struggling to find energy. She is eating and drinking water, but the 2 mile/hr pace is getting close to 1.  I ask if she has had any electrolytes. Brian makes her some Propel and she becomes superwoman, making up lost ground.

We arrive at Mikes, a trail angel who provides water, shelter and all kinds of hiker amenities.  We filter water from his huge tank, then make our way down to enjoy the shade by his house. It has everything you imagine at a hiker haven: chairs, hammocks, outdoor cooking set up and a hiker box that is actually a room full of pay it forward supplies, gear and food.

Mike is not there and it is early in the season, making it a little like a hippie ghost town. We chat with some German hikers and eventually push on in the heat.

Filtering Water

Resting

Mile 104 to 119

Eagle Rock

We wake with bags soaking with dew. Some mornings, sleeping out under the stars, there is a price to pay. We hike mostly down hill towards Warner Springs. Brian texts Dave we are running a little late. We stop at the iconic Eagle Rock, for the obligatory goofy pictures. The lighting is quite favorable.

We press on to the Warner Springs community resource center, which now looks like a MASH encampment for PCT hikers. There are chairs, showers, toilets, trash cans, cooked hot meals, computers and a hiker box. I claim a half empty ISO-propane canister, just enough to tide us over to Idyllwild.  The center is associated with the school, and we are told the WIFI password is stayinschool. I tell them it is a great message, but a lousy password, as it does not work for any of us. We burst open packs and spread everything out to dry. Dave arrives with our mailed resupply boxes and breakfast sandwich treats from Starbucks. After sorting food, getting fire permits, and using all the facilities, we press on.

On the trail we encounter a large group from the Northern County chapter of the Sierra Club. When they realize we are thru-hikers, they form a tunnel with their hiking poles, and cheer as we go through, as if we are 5 year old soccer players. It was fun, but I would have preferred the normal juice boxes and orange slices. As we continue on, Brian starts laughing and says, “What just happened?”

It is hot as we try to take the hill. We find a creek, make an early dinner, then hike when it is cooler. Wearing headlamps, we finally make our miles, and collapse in the dark.

Bri and Dave

Sierra Club Salute

Mile 89 to 104

100 Mile Marker

We rise early to avoid some of the heat. We are determined to put in a full day’s miles. We leap frog a variety of thru-hikers. Day Dreamer has run out of water. Thumbs Up keeps calling me Dave. Grenade tells us his name came from the way his pack looks every time he opens it to find something. Based on what we have seen, we agree. We pass each other multiple times, pausing in various forms of shade. Many seem to be slowing to our speed because they will be trapped at Warner Springs. They have re-supply packages waiting, but the Post Office will not open until Monday, and it is now Saturday. Lucky for us, we shipped ours to Bri’s step dad, who will meet us Sunday morning.

Today we crossed the 100 mile mark, the furthest Brian has backpacked in one trip. At Barrel springs we filter water, relax, and prepare an early dinner of rice and bean burritos, which Brian declares his best meal yet on the trip. That should give a clear indication how low the bar has sunk.

We press on a few more miles, then drop to sleep in the trees at the edge of a pasture, coyotes singing in the not too distance.

We can still see you!

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

At 2:00 in the morning there’s a loud authoritative knock at the door. It’s the police. They are investigating an international crime ring, and all indications are that I am at the heart. Or at least near the liver, or the kidney.

It all started about a year ago, when I decided to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail. A few months later my son Brian caught the fever and asked: What if I quit my job and join you? Like all parents concerned about a child giving up a stable and well paying job for some hare-brained idea, I say: Cool!

Not much later, Brian’s girlfriend Brianna also contracts PCT. The CDC quickly gets involved and quarantines us. In an act of un-civil disobedience, I dress as a nurse and ride my bike through highly populated areas. Chaos ensues. A trail which normally supports 300 or so starts a year, is inundated with thousands of requests. For the first time ever, the PCTA is forced to put in place a Mexican border trailhead quote of 50 starts a day! Oh sure, some will say the increase is due to the book Wild, or more recently the Reese Witherspoon movie. But trust me. It’s the bike ride.

PCT Bracket

My close circle of family and friends (or as some people describe it: my dot) quickly snaps into action. They create an illegal betting pool for how long each of us will last on the trail. The interest is overwhelming and catches the attention of the police, who are now standing at my front door.

Although there are only three of us in the competition, most completed brackets do not have us making the final four. Of the few that do, only the blank spot is picked to make it all the way. Barack Obama completes a bracket, but Hillary hacks into the government website and deletes it, claiming it is actually a personal email.

When I start to fill out my own bracket, Pete Rose pulls me aside to say it is not a good idea. He is not actually against me betting on my own sport, he just thinks hiking the PCT in 2015, with the expected throng of essentially homeless people, is a bad idea.

He may be right, but on April 3rd, 2015, we start walking. Please do not send any messages saying: See you on the 4th. Unless, of course, you mean the 4th of September, in Manning Park, Canada.

My son recently flew from his home in San Diego to Vancouver Canada, to catch a cruise ship to Alaska. After landing, he commented: Do you realize I just flew the entire PCT in one day? I started thinking – what if you could experience the PCT in a single day? What might the trail journal look like?  Below is my fantasy version of that journal.

PCT Trail Route

Post 1: The Decision

Dissatisfied with my job’s lack of meaningful purpose, I quit my fellowship at the Children’s Cancer Research Center and join the PCTA. I figure it is about time I start supporting our local schools.

Post 2: Planning

I begin researching the Pacific Crest Trail. I quickly read Yogi’s Handbook, I Promise Not To Suffer, Blistered Kind of Love, The Cactus Eaters and of course Wild. I don’t actually read these books, just the titles. They came back as part of a Google search, which frankly now seems overwhelming.

Post 3 : Picking My Gear

I fully embrace the ultra-light Ray-way of bringing only what I need. This contradicts everything else I read about the PCT. Struggling, suffering, learning and abandoning are the main themes in every book. With all the great gear list available, I wonder why I can’t simply start out with the right gear. I mention this to my publisher, who says I am a complete idiot and that I am going to ruin everything. Resigned, I locate my ULA Circuit backpack and strap on a cot, a lawn chair and a chest of drawers.

Post 3 : My Resupply Strategy

I cannot decide if I should ship supplies ahead, or shop along the way. I decide to combine strategies, so I ship ahead my shopping lists.

Post 4: Cooking Challenge

I struggle with my soda-can alcohol stove. Despite its name, I cannot light the light beer, but ironically the hard cider lights easily.

Post 5: The Monotony

Over time, I begin to tire of my food selection. Bite after bite after bite, the monotony is killing me. Did I mention the monotony? What am I thinking when I cook an entire packet of oatmeal?

Post 6: Water

I totally obsess with water rationing until I remember that, in the scorching desert heat, it is better to use your water than to carry it. In retrospect, I probably should not use it to rinse out my ExOfficio sports briefs, but I really want to see their amazing quick drying action.

Post 7: Hunger and Emotion

I feel like I am surviving solely on Snickers bars. I must have eaten 3 fun-sized already. My emotional ups and downs are taking their toll. Clearly some of the fun-sized bars are more fun than others.

Post 8: Dirty Girls

My Dirty Girl Gaiters seem to be working out great. In fact, I have not gotten a single rock in my Slutty Girl Pumps.

Post 9: Desperation

I become so thirsty that I drink both the A and the B bottles of Aquamira. Before you judge, let me say I throughly mix them in my mouth before swallowing.

Post 10: Trail Magic

Today I experience my first trail magic. Actually, it is more like a magic trick. The cooler is full of nothing but off-brand sodas. Come on Angels, I’m thirsty, but I am not that thirsty.

Post 11: Trail Names

Today I meet another thru-hiker and we become lifelong friends. We give each other trail names. His is WaitUp. Mine is StopFollowingMe. We decide to try hiking solo.

Post 12: Leave No Trace

On this tortuous soul searching journey, I attempt to rationalize my existence in a way that leaves absolutely no trace of me. In an act of bold defiance, I declare my existence by throwing a fun-sized wrapper on the trail, which in a rush of guilt I quickly retrieve. In my second attempt, I focus on recalling words to TV theme songs from my childhood. Based on the results, I continue to doubt my existence.

Post 13: The Bounce Box

I drop my bounce box, but it doesn’t. My Skittles and Ibuprofen are now completely mixed. Rather than sort them, I place them in my titanium cup, add Nido and olive oil, then eat them for lunch.

Post 14: Crying Out Loud

While approaching the saddle of a brutal pass, I begin hearing uncontrollable sobbing in the distance. As I slow, I realize the crying is much closer than I thought. In fact, it is coming from me.

Post 15: Shoe’t

My foot gear strategy is working better than expected.  I only have one hot spot – my feet.  Along a ridge crest, I blow out the heel on one of my pumps. I sit cursing my luck. This pathetically unbelievable story is made even more so when I throw both pumps off a cliff. I continue on barefoot. Wild.

Post 16: Weather

Today it starts to gently rain. It feels cool on my face. Slowly the rain turns to sleet, then hail, then snow, and then back to pelting hail. The trail floods. Locusts appear, followed by frogs and then some type of rodent borne plague. The emerging misty rainbow, however, looks absolutely stunning.

Entry 17: Trail Journals

I pore over trail journals, lapping up the amazing adventures and bear sightings of other thru-hikers. I can’t help noticing that I am never mentioned in these journals. I continue to question my existence.

Entry 18: The Wedding

I can’t stop thinking about the wedding. Should I risk leaving the trail? Will they forgive me if I don’t? I obsess about the wedding cake and endless buffet. I finally decide to go. Now I just have to find someone to invite me to a wedding.

Post 19: The Monument

At last.  The PCT Monument appears in the distance.  My emotions take on a physical form.  I am bawling.  I see the metal fence.  I begin bawling even more. Monument 78.  The one at the Canadian border.  It doesn’t have a metal fence.  I am actually standing at the southern terminus in Campo.

Post 20: Reflection

My reemergence into society is harder than I thought.  The friends that un-friended me during my journey seem unwilling to re-friend me. I hope it is not too late to ask for my job back. After all, I did quit only yesterday.

The first step is to admit you have a problem.  Unfortunately, if the problem you have is the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), then you have another 5,401,846 steps to go. At least that is my calculation of the average number of steps it takes to walk from the US/Mexico border near Campo to the US/Canadian border near Manning.

(2660 miles) x (5280 ft/mile) / (2.6 feet per step) =  5,401,846.154 steps.

This does not include the steps required to go on and off the trail for supplies.  We are just talking pure PCT miles.

Of course, if you are feeling a tad above average, and you can extend your stride by just one(1) inch, you will save over 167,759 steps.

(2660 miles) x (5280 ft/mile) / (2.683 feet per step) =  5,234086.957 steps

5,401,846.154 steps – 5,234086.957 steps = 167,759.20 steps savings!

Isn’t math fun!