Trudging Along (PCT)

Bottom line: Sometimes, all you can do is pick ‘em up, then put ‘em down!

10/16/23 (Day 0, “Night of the Rumbling Beasts”) - Mark ("Wrongway," that is) and I headed for Tehachapi in preparation for our planned PCT hike between Tehachapi Pass/PCT trial junction and Kennedy Meadows, the driest section of the PCT ... as we were forewarned. Turned out that Bob (aka Dr. Bobo) had arrived at the designated motel rendezvous point ahead of us. From there the three of us headed off for a warm meal and chilled beer before our respective night's rests.

On the cheap, Dr. Bobo and I decided to cowboy camp, so we drove to Cameron Road in Sand Canyon, located in Tehachapi Pass, and chose a level spot alongside the railroad crossing. Bad move! We’d no sooner settled into our sleeping bags when a train approached the crossing, sounding it’s three warning blasts.

Run! Prim8 yelled, amidst the rumbling.

Geez Louise, that’s loud! Sounds like that thing is going to run us over, dude.

Thereafter, repeated every half-hour throughout the night, the lumbering beasts alternated their direction of travel, blasting their way as they went. Aside from attempting to adjust to the audible intrusion all night long, I couldn’t dismiss the idea that a train would run me over, though I knew better.

No! Prim8 complained, or at least it seemed that way, at every train’s approach.

Things can only get better, fella! We won’t be sleeping here again.

Perhaps, I dozed through an intrusion or two ... or just had started to ignore them. I don’t know … didn’t care. I just wanted some sleep.

Since Dr. Bobo would act as rendezvous support, aka trail angel, Wrongway and I could indulge in our hiking regimen, alleviating some overnights on the PCT, reducing the loads of water and food we’d carry, and divvied our hike into segments, alternating directions according to elevation loss and gain, into what seemed a veritable jigsaw puzzle of pieces.

And in my quest to resolve my previous, and recurrent, foot-blister problem, I planned to lubricate my feet—I’d purchased and brought several types to use—wear only one pair of well-fitted socks, and lace my boots tightly at the ankles. Fingers crossed!

Segment One - Landers Camp Road junction (608.9) southbound to Tehachapi Pass junction (566.4), two overnights:

10/17/23 ( Day 1, “Black Flies”) - Dr. Bobo dropped Wrongway and I at Landers Camp, from where we started our southbound trek. In the meantime, Dr. Bobo would explore potential rendezvous points via accessible roads using Wrongway's RAV4 and meet us at the Tehachapi Pass junction two days hence.

Cool breezes and partial shade provided by tall pines helped prevent profuse sweating as we hiked under clear skies. Innumerable black flies swarmed about our faces as we hiked, only temporarily dissuaded with a wave of a hand. Collectively, they were determined to seek every exposed orifice.

Ahh, Prim8 complained, when I swallowed an wayward fly.

Annoying, ain’t they, Prim8? I took another swipe with one hand to shoo a few away from my face. Why didn’t I think to bring my head net covering?

Both Landers Creek and Cottonwood Creek were flowing with clear water, but Wrongway and I carried a sufficient supply.

By 5:30PM, we arrived at Hamp Williams Pass (596.5), where we set up Wrongway’s tent, snacked, then Wrongway hung our food from a tree. At some point, middle of the night, I realized that my inflatable sleeping pad had gone flat. However, I detected no signs of on-coming foot-blisters. Yay!

No! Prim8 complained, as my body pressed against the ground, which felt like concrete.

Crap! We’ll just have to suffer. I’m too tired to get up to reinflate the pad. Or perhaps, it was laziness? Either way, I wasn’t getting up … be damned.

10/18/23 (Day 2, “A Taste of Mud”) - My feet greased, socks snugly adjusted and boots laced tightly, we broke camp at 7:30AM.

Again, black flies swarmed about and pestered us as we moved along the trail until we crossed a ridge, where we enjoyed intermittent breezes, which kept the flies away. Following Wrongway, per usual, I saw him approaching me. He said something about checking the trail. And that perhaps, we’d missed a turn.

No! Prim8 protested, as I watched Wrongway retracing our path.

Oh, wonderful! Suck it up, guy. We don’t have a choice.

Moments later, Wrongway motioned and we retraced our course for about 1/4 mile, until he realized we’d been on a newer section of trail which hadn’t been updated on his map app, further confused by the fact that the National Geographic published PCT maps which also didn’t reflect the newer section.

No, Prim8 protested.

Won’t do us any good to complain, Prim8.

So, once again, we headed southbound toward Golden Oaks Spring (583.3), where we arrived at 5PM. I filled my handy, sidekick, pint water bottle from the trickle of water pouring from the small plastic pipe, took a sip, figuring that would be safe.

Blaah, Prim8 said, face contorted.

Tastes like mud, don’t it? Maybe, we shouldn’t be drinking this without treating it first.

Perhaps, nearby resident cows were having their way at my potential expense! Wrongway, on the other hand, filled a 1.5 liter bottle and then filtered that into another bottle, miraculously turned the muddy, weird tasting fluid into quite decent spring water ... or so he said.

Camp set, food and water consumed, Wrongway hung our food in a tree, though we had our doubts that a bear would sniff us out on any nightly rounds, but who knew?

No, no! Prim8 bitched during the night, my sleeping pad gone flat again.

What’s wrong with that thing? Though I conducted a cursory examine, I spotted no rips or tears, nor heard a leak. At least, we didn’t get foot-blisters today, fella.

10/19/23 (Day 3, “The Oven”) - Up and away at 6:50AM—anti-foot-blister regimen completed—before sunrise, and under clear sky, we trudged along as the trail ascended. Without the cover of trees at that point, and exposed to full sun, perspiration ran freely.

Hot, Prim8 complained.

I paused to wipe my forehead and catch a breath. Yep. You’ll get no guff from me about that, fella. I would’ve guessed the temperature to be 85-90 degrees, but regardless, I only cared about our rendezvous with Dr. Bobo at the Tehachapi Pass junction (566.4).

Approaching PCT junction with

Tehachpi Pass/Highway 58 &

Cameron Road exit.

Seemed an interminable distance, but Wrongway and I reached the rendezvous point at 4PM. I consumed about 2/3 of a beer, chilled in the cooler, before we headed to the Red House BBQ Restaurant in Tehachapi for dinner.

Wrongway wanted to spend the night in a motel in Mojave.

Yes, Prim8 demanded at Wrongway’s first mention.

Sounds good to me, fella. I’m tuckered.

After we’d checked into said MO . . L, according to the large neon sign in front, I showered, then dunked my sleeping pad into a partially-filled tub of water, attempting to locate the problem. But, no ... I couldn’t find a leak. There had to be one somewhere!

I’d hoped for a good night’s sleep, but a plague of hiccups dictated otherwise. And those hiccups continued throughout the night, my usual remedy failing! To boot, my upper legs ached. But, glory be, I detected no foot-blisters, and considered that perhaps, I’d discovered a solution to that nagging, painful issue. So, I decided I’d continue my AM foot routine each day before I sashayed down the trail.

No! No! Prim8 protested about one thing, then another.

Are we having fun, yet, Prim8?

Segment Two - Landers Camp Road trail junction (608.9) northbound to Dove Spring Canyon Road trail junction (621.9), no overnights:

10/20/23 (Day 4, “Hiccups Galore”) - Wrongway and I parted with Dr. Bobo at Landers Camp Road junction at 10AM. Cool breezes helped prevent black flies from continuously molesting us, and our hike, descending downhill over the thirteen-mile course, went smoothly ... and quickly, it seemed.

We arrived at an intermediate rendezvous point with Dr. Bobo at the trail intersection with Kelso Valley Road where we encountered a large cache of 5-gallon water bottles.

Water cache for PCT Hikers at

Kelso Valley Road trail junction.

After consuming sandwiches, courtesy of Dr. Bobo, we continued northbound, destined for Dove Spring Canyon Road intersection (621.9).

Utilizing our three-way make-shift communication network of two Garmin InReach Mini devices and cell phones, Cabo sent a message to Dr. Bobo, requesting a replenishment of a few items, including beer. I added Prilosec to our list, thinking that would at least settle my indigestion … and hopefully quash my hiccups.

Dr. Bobo had already established himself at our planned rendezvous point campsite, cooler restocked, when Wrongway and I arrived at 5PM. A large cache of 5-gallon water bottles, perhaps forty or so, stood ready to parch the thirst of dehydrated hikers, but Wrongway and I had our own rolling buffet, including drink, at the ready, thanks to Dr. Bobo. I coulda had tequila, but didn't want to dehydrate myself needlessly. However, beer seemed permissible. Wasn’t it?

Dr. Bobo's pop-up bar at Dove

Spring Canyon Road & PCT junction.

Dr. Bobo gave us the rundown of his resupply mission earlier in the day. Then, he informed me, “I couldn’t get Prilosec, but did get some Pepcid AC.”

“That’ll do,” I said. I’ll give a try, anyway. I downed a Pepcid tab. Fingers crossed, help is on the way, Prim8.

Though that tab seemed to help regarding my stomach problems for the time being, I considered it too early to make a final determination. I’d noticed my appetite had decreased over the past few days, which I chalked up to my sudden, intense physical exertion, though I’d shifted my diet from cooked meals to that of jerky, dried fruit, nuts, and meat and mozzarella sticks. But who knew why, exactly? Prim8 nor I had sway over what my stomach did … or did not do with what I put into it. As long as it did its job without causing me grief, I’d be satisfied with it.

Wrongway and I set up his tent, ate and discussed logistics of our next segment with Dr. Bobo.

Somewhere in the mix, a southbound hiker paused to chat with Wrongway. I didn’t catch their entire conversation, but afterward Wrongway told me, “He gave me the trail name, ‘Cabo,’” explaining that moniker had been inspired by Cabo de Homos emblazoned on Wrongway’s cap … and not from Cabo San Lucas. “I hate Cabo San Lukas,” Wrongway … er Cabo said. (Henceforth, Wrongway’s trail moniker will be Cabo.)

As had been the previous nights, the evening air grew chilly after sunset. And my hiccups had continued intermittently throughout the day and the night, with occasional brief periods of cessation.

Had that Pepcid tab helped? Apparently, the jury was still out!Boiled down, it was just another problem I’d need to contend with somehow.

Segment Three - Dove Spring Canyon Road junction (621.9) northbound to Walker Pass/Hwy 178 (652.0), one overnight:

10/21/23 (Day 5, “One Hot Hump”) - "Cabo" (formerly known as Wrongway) and I left camp at 8AM. We had little to no shade as we hiked up and over two high points, then past Yellow Jacket Spring trail junction (637.0) before settling on a relatively flat cowboy campsite among the trees and some thirty yards off the trail. We’d wanted to shorten the following day’s leg to Walker Pass. Along the way we replenished our water reserves at Bird Spring Pass, where another large water cache of 5-gallon bottles waited.

Cabo and I looked to the patch of clear sky between the tree cover, chatted about and watched satellites passing overhead, for about a half-hour until I turned onto my side in hopes of sleep.

Aww, Prim8 said, hiccups restarted and lower legs aching as we settled in for the night.

Oh, great! Stiff upper lip and all that, Prim8. We’ll get through this.

Stop, Prim8 demanded, as my hiccups continued.

Dang it! I’m afraid we have no control over that, guy.

10/22/23 (Day 6, “Take Me Home … Down Rutted Roads”) - Everything slightly damp, Cabo and I broke camp at 7AM. Fog, aka low clouds, hugged the ridges to our east, pushed by the wind. We encountered no flies. The trail, not ideal for hiking, followed a rutted, rocky dirt road we approached McIvers Cabin.

The trail follows a rutted

road near McIvers Cabin.

Cooled by breezes, the sky had cleared when we reached the abandoned cabin (2/10 mile off the trail from 643.8).

The well-used, weather-worn,

one-room McIvers Cabin.

We paused for food and water.

Cabo collects water

from McIvers Spring.

When we continued on, Prim8 began incessantly griping about achy legs.

Prim8 pauses for a

breath on the trail.

Dr. Bobo awaited us at the Walker Pass/Hwy 178 turnout. From there, the three of us headed to Inyokern to gas up M’s RAV4, then to the Indian Wells micro-brewery.

Fair warning for parents at the

Indian Wells Brewery, Inyokern, CA!

Yum! Prim8 swooned over my bacon-burger and micro-brewed beer.

Tastes like heaven, doesn’t it, fella?!

Returning to purgatory, at least for me, anyway, the three of us drove to an 8,080-foot campsite along a dirt road connector between Chimney Basin Road and Long Valley Road. After we’d set up our tents, and strategically positioned the RAV4 as a windbreak, of sorts, we grabbed food from Dr. Bobo’s cooler. Gusting wind and lower temperatures made milling about downright unpleasant.

Cold, Prim8 complained. Get warm in the car.

I agree. “Let’s sit in the car,” I said to Cabo and Dr. Bobo.

We occupied the empty seats in M’s RAV4, while our collective gear and food claimed the remainder of interior space. We imbibed in shares of medicinal alcohol, and chatted about plans and whatnot before retiring to our sleeping bags.

Segment Four - Chimney Basin Road trail junction (689.1) northbound to Kennedy Meadows (702.2), no overnight:

10/23/23 (Day 7, “Moving Right Along”) - Cabo and I started our hike in cool air, with light to no breeze at 8AM. Headed generally downhill on this segment, we hiked quickly under clear sky and along a tributary of the So. Fork Kern River, and finished at 2:17PM.

Segment Five - Chimney Basin Road trail junction (689.1) SOBO to Chimney Basin Road trail junction (687.4), no overnight:

10/23/23 (Day 7, “Downhill Glide”) - After we’d driven back to our 8,080-foot campsite, Cabo and I decided to trek another short section (downhill and between mile markers 689.1 and 687.4), where the trail crossed the road. Doing so would shorten our following day’s hike. We hoofed that distance in about 45 minutes.

Segment Six - Chimney Basin Road trail junction (687.4) southbound to Canebrake Road trail junction (680.9 and near Chimney Creek Campground), no overnight:

10/24/23 (Day 8, “Getting Tried”) - Cabo and I started our day’s downhill leg in pleasant conditions with some breeze ... and sans flies. At that point, we both felt we needed a “lay day.”

We met Dr. Bobo at the road junction near Chimney Creek Campground at 10:50AM, then drove to the campground where we sorted and moved our gear to M’s RAV4. Dr. Bobo remained at the Chimney Creek Campground, while Cabo and I hightailed it to Ridgecrest and settled on rooms at the Motel Six.

10/25/23 (Day 9, “R & R”) - Cabo and I, after a good night’s rest, went to breakfast at Kristy’s.

The previous evening’s weather forecast indicated that an Alaskan storm was moving in, and would dump up to five inches of snow in the Sierras. Surely, temperatures would drop. Cabo and I discussed weather developments, and with the probability of precipitation quite low south of Kennedy Meadow, we decided to continue our trekking, though only after acquiring thermal gear at the local Big 5.

Then, we toured the China Lake Museum Foundation, where we learned about weapons testing and development at the Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake. Had to include some change of pace!

After we’d resorted our gear in M’s car, we rendezvoused with Dr. Bobo at Chimney Creek Campground. Once again, Cabo and I shifted our necessary sleeping and hiking food and gear for the next three days into Dr. Bobo’s car. We left M’s RAV4 at Chimney Creek Campground and headed to Walker Pass Campground for the night.

As sunset approached, clouds increased in the So. Fork Valley, and westward of us, as well as above the ridge line to our east.

Panoramic photo of the sunset

from Walker Pass Campground.

After we’d set up our tents, we sat in Dr. Bobo’s car, chatted, discussed hike plans and imbibed doses of medicinal alcohol. Though later by previous evenings’ accounts, we’d hit our sleeping bags by 9:30PM.

A cold wind gusted throughout the night, I guesstimated to speeds between 45-50 mph. A case of indigestion plagued me, as well.

No, no, Prim8 whined.

Too late, now, bud. Perhaps, I should've had that Vodka Mary before we came to bed! After I’d pondered my ailment awhile, I took an antacid Pepcid.

Though still facing the indecision about getting up to pee—eventually, that decision would be beyond my rational mind to control, I knew—but feeling sleepy, though unable to fall asleep, and wondering the time, I made a command decision.

I’ll get up and ready for the day’s hike, Prim8, if it’s after 5:30AM. I checked my cell phone. 1:30AM? Oh, crap!

I got up, anyway, needing to pee, regardless, then updated my trail notes, and awaited Mr. Sandman’s return, hopefully sooner rather than later. A nearly-full moon illuminated the valley landscape to our west, while the breeze continued to shove clouds over the ridges to the east.

An hour later, perhaps, I slid into my sleeping bag again, indigestion eased and trail notes updated, to get some additional rest.

Segment Seven - Walker Pass (652.0) northbound to Canebrake Road trail junction (680.9) near Chimney Creek Campground), one overnight (maybe two ... or three?):

10/26/23 (Day 10, “The Big Hump”) - We arose around 7AM, ate and broke camp.

When I checked with Cabo and Dr. Bobo, they suggested that overnight wind speeds had been between 10-35 mph.

Nah, no way. Where had they been? Okay, so maybe winds gusts hadn’t reached 50mph, but were surely higher than 25 mph, regardless, nothing you’d want to face bare-butt.

Dr. Bobo dropped Cabo and I at Walker Pass, where we bid him goodbye and a safe drive home. Then, we turned our attention on ascending the first elevation gain of 3K feet, something I’d been dreading for several days, then a second of 1K feet, both standing between us and M’s RAV4 at Chimney Creek Campground.

Wind gusts up to 30mph, I guessed, kept us cool, reduced our sweating, and consumption of water. All the better, since that meant hauling less water in our packs. Bottom line? Less weight! The eastern sky remained cloud covered, while we proceeded at a steady pace of about two mph.

Author poses on the PCT with China

Lake (and a portion of the Mojave

Desert) in the distant background.

Cabo pauses to overlook a portion

of terrain in the So. Fork Kern River region.

Reassured of good water at Spanish Needle Creek by a southbound hiker, we declined the detour to Joshua Tree Spring trail (a quarter-mile hike off the PCT to the spring itself), and continued along the trail to a suitable flat campsite. We settled on a level spot at a saddle some half-mile farther along the PCT (approx mile marker 664.3).

Though cool and tolerable in the shade at our arrival, the temperature dropped as sunset neared, necessitating a retreat to our sleeping bags while dressed in full gear, sans boots, of course.

Warm. Good, Prim8 swooned, legs snug in the sleeping bag.

Yeah, you can thank me for the foresight to purchase long-john pants in Ridgecrest.

During my frequent, though uncounted, stirrings throughout the night, my sleeping pad gone flat … again, and I noticed the nearly full moon illuminated the landscape and the air had turned frigid.

10/27/23 (Day 11, "A Final Kick") -

At 7AM, when we arose, Cabo’s tent screens were saturated with water, and a thin layer of frost covered the surroundings, including our packs.

Frost covers Cabo's pack.

Both Cabo and I knew we’d endured freezing temperature during the night. We departed the campsite at 7:50AM, as we discussed extending our day’s hiking distance, hoping to avoid another frigid night camped on the trail.

Yeah, Prim8 urged.

We’ll just have to “play things by ear,” fella, and see how far we can comfortably go.

A little low on water, we were relieved to see that, in fact, there was a good flow of water in Spanish Needle Creek which we crossed three times. At one crossing we added a liter or so of water to our loads.

As it ‘twas, we plodded along. A southbound hiker mentioned the previous night’s temperature had dropped to 27 degrees. Whether the temperature at our campsite had dipped that low didn't matter to me.

Cold, Prim8 observed.

Yeah, guy, freezing is freezing. We’d experienced thirty-two degrees, at least, and that was all I’d needed to know!

Our hope increased with each step taken, and the 17-mile trek completed by 3:45PM, we made the PCT junction with Canebrake Road (680.9) near M’s car at Chimney Creek Campground, without undue problem.

Yay! Prim8 celebrated.

Agreed. We’ve avoided another cold night on the PCT.

Everything loaded into M’s RAV4, we headed home. I arrived home at 10:15PM, thoroughly pooped and in need of a shower and soft mattress.

(PS: I still hadn’t resolved my leaky sleeping pad issue. But you can bet I’ll do so before our next PCT hike! On the other hand, I hadn’t developed a foot blister on this trip, so I’d successfully avoided that trail misery.)

Walk in beauty.

A Detour Undone … Partly (PCT)

Bottom line: Don’t let the moss grow under your feet.

As I had planned to do, I returned to the scene of the detour. Call me a purist, but I want to walk every foot, if not inch, of the PCT!

When first there in 2017, I'd bypassed the section of the PCT from Hwy 74 junction (mile marker 151.9) to Saddle Junction (mile marker 179.4) due to trail closure as a result of previous fire. Instead, I'd hiked the detour along Hwy 74. Most thru-hikers would've considered that sufficient, out of necessity and with their bigger goal in mind, moved along. But not me.

So, “Wrongway” Mark and I planned to hike this section, north to south, with one overnight camp somewhere along the way.

8/17/23 (Day 0, “Meet You at the Bunkhouse”) - Mark and I met at the Idyllwild Bunkhouse. We dropped my car at the Hwy 74 and PCT junction, then had a good meal and beer at the Idyllwild Brewpub before early retirement for the night.

8/18/23 (Day 1, “There’s A Storm A’comin’ ”) - Yay, Prim8 said as I hoisted my backpack.

Don’t start celebrating just yet, dude. We haven’t carried this much weight in a while.

We started up Devil’s Slide trail from Humber Park about 7AM, our hike plans already shifting per Hurricane Hillary’s projected arrival. We’d noted the good weather window the evening before at the Idyllwild Bunkhouse, with the major impact of the storm arriving Sunday. And blue sky above provided encouragement.

Though slow, we hiked the 2.5-mile Devil’s Slide Trail to the Saddle Junction, carrying additional water weight, about 3 liters worth, for our overnight. Plus, I carried a small stove with fuel and a “Bug Hut,” while Mark carried his two-person tent. My pack didn’t seem that heavy, but hauling the overnight gear had an immediate and cumulative effect.

Prim8 prepares to head south

from Saddle Junction,

mile marker 179.4

Our thoughts turned to completing the 27.5-mile hike to my car as early as possible, Saturday evening the latest.

"Wrongway" Mark takes a short

break near Tahquitz Peak.

Mostly clear sky allowed distant mountain and desert view. However, I paid the price of hiking in full sun by perspiring continuously.

Too hot, Prim8 complained.

This ain't no fun for me, either, fella.

Looking northward

to Coachella Valley.

Evidence of fire, the reasons for previous trail closures and my necessary detour, pervaded our views as we advanced south along the trail.

Prim8 takes in the view.

A number of fallen trees blocked the trail, requiring a cumbersome climb over or an awkward squat under, and at times an outright detour. To say the least, the trail’s poor condition slowed our progress. At one point, we missed a switchback turn and lost half an hour re-acquiring the trail. The combination of sun, fallen trees, trail brush, and the additional weight I carried beat me down.

Prim8 constantly complained of being miserable. Can’t say I blamed him.

Though slow, I slogged on towards Fobes Ranch Trail Junction, at mile-marker 166.5 and 12.9 miles south of Saddle Junction. We had expectations to reach my car before the heaviest portion of Hurricane Hillary would reach us. It came down to a matter of time. Could we out run … er, out hike Hillary?

Mark checked the weather forecast periodically. Early afternoon, he said, “The forecast moved the arrival from 1PM to 9AM morning tomorrow.”

“I guess, we’ll be hiking out in the rain,” I said.

“I don’t want to get caught in the lightening,” Mark said.

“Not a good idea,” I said.

Both of our phones squawked at the same time.

“An emergency alert, “ I noted. Riverside County had sent an emergency alert warning of potential flash flooding, high winds, heavy rain, etc, etc. “Whoa, I suppose it’s going to get serious,” I said.

“If we can make it to a campsite near Cedar Spring today, which is beyond the highest points south of Fobes Trail Junction, we can avoid the worst of the storm. From there it’s all downhill.”

I had my doubts about reaching Cedar Spring at mile-marker 161.0, another four-and-a-half miles beyond Fobes. “Yeah, nothing like being at 6,500 feet on a trail in a hurricane. We could start out earlier in the morning, too. You know, like o-dark-thirty.”

Try as I did, I couldn’t go any faster, however. Wanted to ... but couldn't. I paused numerous times to catch my breath and rest my legs. Despite my awareness of the effects of fatigue, I'd slipped and tripped a half-dozen times over the course of the day. My brain couldn’t will my body to do its bidding. As the hours passed, Mark’s goal of reaching the long downhill portion on the trail, beyond the 7,000-foot plus high point, melted away. By default, Fobes Trail Junction became our camp location for the night.

Snake! Prim8 yelled.

I’d expected to see a snake on the trail, so wasn’t surprised. It’s not poisonous, Prim8. The 18-incher checked us out for a moment before slithering away.

Shortly after, and with Fobes Trail Junction in sight down slope about two-hundred yards distance, Mark waited. As I approached, he said, “Stop there. Leave the trail and walk towards me.”

On alert, What? Prim8 said.

Maybe a rattler. I took a beeline towards Mark, then turned to look as he pointed at a coiled rattlesnake aside the trail in ambush mode.

Mark explained, “I spotted it as I walked up, and said, ‘Whoa.’ ”

Ooh, Prim8 whispered.

Yeah. And we could've walked right up to that guy without seeing him. At that point, exhausted and fixated on getting to Fobes Trail Junction, I had no energy to maintain focus on anything other than not tripping over my own feet.

Said rattler takes a slither from

it's ambush position aside the trail.

(Note the circular depression.)

When we reached Fobes Trail Junction, we had run of the place. We set up Mark’s tent in a site snuggled between two trees. Scrub oaks I believed, though I wasn't sure what kind of trees they were ... not that I cared. They’d provide a welcomed wind break, of sorts, if it came to that.

Mark joked, "We could get hit by a falling branch in a strong wind. Wouldn't that be ironic?"

"Yeah, I suppose we could get clobbered," I replied. What are the odds?

Neither of us suggested moving to a different campsite, however. Too tired to even boil water for a freeze-dried dinner that I’d carried, we snacked lightly on dry food as we prepared for sleep.

An occasional wind rustled the nearby brush and trees. A few scattered rain drops fell. The temperature remained warmer than I expected at 6,000 feet as the sun set.

“Maybe, we can start early and get beyond the high points before the worst of the storm arrives,” Mark suggested.

“Are you going to set your phone alarm?” I said.

“No,” Mark said. “I’m a light sleeper.”

I didn’t have the energy to insist he do so. And besides, wanting to save my phone battery, I’d turned mine off. The colors of dusk that I could glimpse from under our tree-covered campsite encouraged me to take one last look before I tucked in for the night.

Ooh, pretty! Prim8 said.

Yeah, but don’t judge a hurricane by it’s looks, fella. I stood awed and humbled by the sight, and wondered what lay in store for Mark and I.

Hurricane Hillary's approach as

seen from Fobes Junction, PCT.

“Hey, Mark, you ought to check out the clouds,” I said as I clambered into the tent.

Mark didn’t budge ... didn’t even make a sound.

8/19/23 (Day 2, “Uncle Joe’s Moving Kinda Slow At the Junction”) - We spent the night without signs of a storm—no downpour, no gusting wind, no lightening, no thunder. In fact, eerily, the air remained calm and the temperature unusually warm.

Half-awake, I heard Mark rustling, then say, “It’s 6AM.”

We broke camp as quickly as possible, snacking on dried food as we packed up.

"I didn't expect it to be so warm last night. Didn't need to cover myself with my sleeping bag," I said. "Never would've guessed it." Perhaps, the unusual warm temperature wasn't a good omen.

"I didn't either," Mark said.

Headed south on the trail within thirty minutes, we started up the two-mile stretch with a one-thousand-foot elevation gain leading to Eagle Spring Trail Junction, hoping to beat the worst of what Hillary might dish, but figured we’d get deluged no matter what.

Bushwhacking through overgrown trail in warm, humid air didn’t help matters. Reminded of a jungle, I prayed for any slight breeze that might help cool me, though what air moved provided little relief. My pace remained slow, my legs not recovered from their previous day’s beating. And, as usual, Mark hiked on ahead.

Slogging my way up trail, I saw Mark’s approach as he descended..

“We’re not moving fast enough to get beyond the high points before the storm hits," Mark said. "It doesn't look good from farther up."

Not faster, Prim8 whined.

We won’t ... we can't, anyway. “If I try to go any faster, I’ll burn out altogether,” I replied to Mark.

“I think we should head down from Fobes Trail Junction to lower elevation. It’s better to bail now, and live to hike another day. We can always return for a day hike to complete this section,” he said.

Yes, tired, Prim8 said.

I agree, fella. Mark had me at we’re not moving fast enough. “Okay,” I said. I didn’t have a counter argument in me. Knew he was correct.

We descended to the saddle at Fobes Trail Junction, then turned toward Hwy 74 on the shortest, quickest descent route available to us.

Once on the dirt of Fobes Ranch Road, some two-and-a-half miles hike from the PCT, and per our agreement, Mark took my car keys. The plan? He'd hike ahead, then drop his pack at some point where I would wait for his return in my car.

Stop, Prim8 insisted.

No, we need to keep moving. We’ll get there … eventually.

Long before I reached Hwy 74 or Mark’s pack, however, a pickup pulled alongside and the driver offered me a lift.

Yay, Prim8 said.

I accepted with gratitude. Trail angels still exist, guy.

Maybe, a mile farther down the bumpy and rutted dirt road, she stopped for Mark, then dropped us at my car. The three of us chatted a few minutes, before she headed on to Anza. In the meantime, she'd mentioned Mark and I should consider grabbing a bite at the Paradise Cafe. I figured she thought I was on my last leg, though I couldn’t have argued any differently.

After she’d pulled away, I said to Mark, “Yeah, maybe we could get breakfast or lunch at the Paradise. What time is it?”

“9:30,” he said.

“Then, breakfast it is,” I proclaimed.

I consumed a fantastic three-egg omelet, probably, the best I’ve ever had!

Though the sky's overcast looked ominous, Mark and I drove away from the Paradise Cafe well ahead of Hurricane Hillary’s fury.

I shall return to hike the section of the PCT from Fobes Trail Junction to Hwy 74, if for no other reason than stubbornness.

Walk in beauty.

Roach Motels in the Antelope Valley Desert (PCT)

Bottom Line: You gets what you pays for.

5/11/22 (Day 0, “And So It Begins”) - I drove to West Lancaster and let myself into the “Modern Rooms and Suites,” per their written instructions. Seemed to me it was an Airbnb in a residential neighborhood. But, no problem.

I anticipated seeing Mark the next morning. When Mark and I made phone contact not long after, he informed me that he’d already driven to Palmdale, so we rendezvoused at BJ’s for burgers and beer to discuss plans for the morrow.

5/12/22 (Day 1, “No Spring Chicken”) - My iPhone alarm set, I arose at 5:20AM. I dragged myself out of bed, as if suffering a hangover.

Agh, an ungodly hour, I thought.

Mark and I rendezvoused at a Denny’s in Palmdale for our hardy-breakfast send off, huge by my usual standard, but . . . who knew what lay ahead on the trail for us?

As we ate, Mark talked about the poor conditions of his room. “I wouldn’t take a guest there,” he said.

***

Daybreak upon us, the air crisp and the sky clear, we left the comforts of my car at Sierra Hwy & PCT junction, mile marker 456.3, then drove in Mark’s SUV to Indian Canyon Trailhead, mile marker 444.1, our last hike’s most northern destination.

Northbound, we started at 8:30AM, late by usual hiking standards. Upside, we hadn’t planned a long day’s hike.

Cool breezes refreshed me as they kept the temperature reasonable and a number of through-hikers passed us as we moved along under direct sun. I felt content with our steady pace, however.

We’re no spring chicken, Prim8.

***

I expected the PCT would take us near Vasquez Rocks, but was delighted when we passed through the park. I’d driven by those rocks many times and admired them from Hwy 14 on my way to previous PCT hikes and visits to Joshue Tree National Park.

The trail passed under Hwy 14 via a water-drainage tunnel, then wound between rock formations until the most iconic of them loomed in front of us. When we came to an area with picnic tables, Mark and I decided on a lunch break.

“Reminds me of an episode from the Big Bang Theory,” I told Mark.

Our lunch-break view of the

iconic formation at Vasques Rocks.

We encountered no problems during our day’s hike and covered the twelve miles in short order. Thankful for the German foot paste, Gehwol Extra, which I’d spread on my feet, I developed no blisters.

Something had worked, Prim8!

I relocated to the same motel as Mark in Palmdale, though my wife, Janet, needed to confirm my check-in at Knight’s Inn in order to assure the clerk that I was “on the up-and-up.” You know, domestic disputes, credit card fraud, that kind of thing. Regardless, the room appeared clean and everything worked.

Once again, we paid our respects to BJ’s burgers and beer in Palmdale. Habit forming, I tell you.

Showered, teeth cleaned and to bed early, I planned for a 5AM wake-up.

5/13/22 (Day 2, “Ease Up a Bit”) - 6AM, Mark and I rendezvoused in the motel parking lot, then drove our cars to Denny’s for another pre-hike breakfast.

Denny’s getting to be a habit? I asked myself.

While we ate, Mark complained that he’d not slept much. “I found roaches in my room. So, decided to get inside my sleeping bag,” he said.

I’m glad there weren’t any roaches in my room.Were there? I hoped not, anyway. “My room seems okay,” I said, “the TV and air conditioner work.”

***

By 8:30AM, we’d positioned one car and driven the other to our day’s start at Sierra Hwy junction.

So much for an early start!

An intermittent cool breeze and clear sky created pleasant hiking conditions.

We enjoyed a relatively gentle ascent at first, though soon enough the trail steepened and we began an ascent of nearly 1,700 feet over a 3.7-mile distance. Wind gusts up to 40-50 mph, I guessed, helped prevent a sweat-fest, however.

***

Where the trail descended into a wind shadow and the breezes dropped, I felt the heat of the direct sun. And so did the two non-poisonous snakes we passed as they sunned themselves along the trial.

The first snake Prim8 and

I have seen on the PCT.

When we stopped to snack, perhaps halfway along our day’s journey, the breeze raised goose bumps on my exposed arms and legs.

***

The remainder of our day’s hike went smoothly, though my feet and legs tired.

What were they telling me?

Our 9.3-mile hike finished at 12:50PM, we had ample time to pre-position my car at San Fransicquito Road junction, return to our motel in Mark’s SUV, shower, eat dinner at BJ’s and get sleep in preparation for tomorrow’s hike.

A foot check revealed no blisters.

Phew! So far, so good, Prim8.

5/14/22 (Day 3, “Rattling Along the Trail”) - Our hiking pace averaging 2.3 mph, or thereabouts, Mark and I decided we should start earlier to avoid the anticipated heat of the day, particularly since our planned segment distances would increase and, to boot, we faced crossing Antelope Valley. A relatively flat expanse, at lower elevation than the mountains we’d been passing through, populated with brush and few trees,and with little shade from the sun . . . where the temperatures are known to soar.

Thus, we upped the ante.

***

Mark knocked on my motel door at 4:45AM, and to arrive at trailhead earlier, we opted fora McDonald’s drive-through.

“A small coffee and biscuit with egg sandwich. Hold the cheese, please,” I said from Mark’s passenger seat.

Mostly tasting of white flour, Careful, don’t choke on this, Prim8.I concluded biscuits are decidedly better when not dry as dust.

***

6:10AM, we enjoyed another cool start, and with no clouds above, we faced a gradual uphill slope northbound from Bouquet Canyon junction.

***

Pausing for a light lunch, we rested on a bench next to a sign reading, LEONA DIVIDE 50. Names of the winners since its inception in 1992, both male and female winners, appeared to cover all the spaces available.

Gonna need to add more boards to the sign. “Never heard of the ‘Leona Divide 50,’” I told Mark.

“I haven’t either,” he said.

We speculated awhile before continuing on at our usual pace.

***

Close on Mark’s heels, with an eye on where I stepped, lest I stumble over a rock, I’d allowed Prim8 to take over and run the show, everything progressing in a routine fashion—that happens now and then—when Mark gave a shout and jumped forward a few steps . . . and I heard the telltale rattle.

What?

Jerked out of my mini-cerebral vacation and with no time to think, I took a several shuffling steps backward.

What’s that?

I recognized a rattlesnake aside the trail about ten feet away, though it appeared entwined with something.

Caught in the act of swallowing a bird?

The snake began to move across the trail, dragging its meal along as it warned us to keep our distance.

Yep, maybe a Robin.

Mark started his phone video, while I fumbled with my iPhone.

But it wasn’t like Mr. or Ms. Rattlesnake would pose for us, and within seconds had crossed the trail towards the cover of brush, with the bird firmly in possession.

***

Finished at 11:20AM, our early start formula, though not perfect, seemed to be working out well.

That’s the trick to beat the heat, Prim8.

While I drove us to Mark’s car, he googled and learned that the Leona Divide 50 originally covered a fifty-kilometer distance, though since then fifty-mile and thirty-kilometer race options have been added.

Though my legs and lower back felt sore and my feet ached, I felt relieved to discover I still hadn’t developed blisters.

Yay, Prim8, maybe the foot cream is the trick!

We’d covered 12.7 miles to mile marker 478.2 in 5 hrs, 10 min.

After positioning my car for tomorrow’s hike at the the San Francisquito trial junction, we returned to the Knight’s Inn around 12:30PM where I took full advantage of my room’s air-conditioner.

5/15/22 (Day 4, “Deer, Oh, Deer") - We positioned Mark’s car on a ridge traversed by a dusty road, somewhere near mile marker 491.5, before we headed southbound at 6:40AM.

A panoramic photo of Mark looking

north towards Antelope Valley from

a ridge.

Mark had surmised it easier to hike downhill than uphill . . . and I concurred, though the PCT undulates over ridges and around mountains, seldom takes a straight line for any appreciable distance, and rarely maintains a level contour. But working our way along as day hikers, I felt agreeable to accept whatever advantages we could.

The trail will become harder when we enter the wilderness of Evolution Basin farther north and the real hiking starts, replete with overnight camping, hauling more gear in a heavier pack, cooking out, planning for water resupply, likely encountering bears and perhaps dodging storms. We’ll face the necessity to be more self-reliant, sans the creature comforts of civilization, in spite of our more recent accommodations at roach motels.

Before the trail departed the ridge we startled two small deer, who made haste on a bee-line through chest-high brush and the remnants of burned trees.

Clouds blocked the sun. That and the breezes kept the temperature down.

Headed in a contrary direction as most hikers in southern California this time of hiking season, we began passing northbound hikers. Most hadn’t had time or hiked fast enough from the Mexican border to get farther north, yet.

Out of curiosity, I started counting them after we’d passed a few.

***

Nearing the end of our day’s trail segment, a cloud formation drew our attention.

“Those clouds remind me of tornadoes,” I said to Mark. Referring to downward pointing extensions, I added,“Those fingers suggest rain or at least some turbulent weather.”

Will those clouds overtake us?

They didn’t.

***

When we arrived at San Francisquito Canyon Road junction, I’d counted forty northbound through-hikers. My feet had complained of pain, and I hoped that didn’t portend foot blisters.

Water cache at San Francisquito

junction trailhead. The jugs appeared

empty. (Note: Not all water caches are

created equally!)

Having determined hiking earlier afforded us cooler temps, and our bodies willing, we decided to add another segment for the day in order to shorten later hike segments. So, after a 13.3-mile trek, we drove to the trail junction at mile marker 496.2, where we left my car and headed southbound to Mark’s vehicle on the ridge, an additional 4.7-mile hike.

***

We joked and enjoyed the surprises and confusion from the fourteen northbound hikers we passed for the second time of the day when they made comments like, How did you get here, and Didn’t we pass you earlier today?

We left none of them in a lurch as we explained our carpool scheme. Then, their worlds made total sense again.

***

Mark’s vehicle awaited us when we arrived at 12:30PM for a total of 7 hours, 50 minutes hiking over 21.4 miles and 1,975 feet cumulative elevation gain, with an average hiking speed of 2.3 mph.

***

We checked into a different Palmdale motel, though this time my fortunes had declined. I picked up the room phone to complain that the blinds were off and had been replaced by a bed sheet, which hung somewhat on a kilter. But heard no dial tone.

I hobbled to a window at the office, where I made a complaint and the attendant assured me the problem would be corrected.

Back in the room, I discovered my feet had grown two blisters, one of each in-step near my heels.

Not again, Prim8! And we’d been doing so good, too.We’ll up the ante and tape on those suckers for tomorrow's hike.

Mark and I went for dinner, when I returned to my hotel room the window blinds hadn’t been fixed.

No wonder these place are so cheap, Prim8! Relatively speaking, that was.

5/16/22 (Day 5, “Five-Hundred”) - We started our hike at 6:27AM. A strong breeze helped cool us.

Better than a sweat-fest.

Ten thru-hikers, also northbound, overtook us, though we maintained our average pace in access of 2 mph.

I’d move faster, Prim8, but our age has its drawbacks.

***

As anticipated, we passed the five-hundred-mile mark on the trail, though discovered four hiker-made markers, spaced apart about one-hundred yards.

No need to quibble on the exact spot.

One of four 500-mile markers.

(Cause for celebration!)

Soon after the five-hundred mile markers, we gained and followed a ridge, enjoying scenic views of Antelope Valley, before we began our descent towards Hikertown at Hwy 138, near where we’d deposited my car yesterday.

With a view of Antelope Valley,

Mark R. leads as we start the

long decent to Hikertown.

***

The last mile or so of our day’s hike—who cared to know how far?—ran straight and through open field on a gentle downhill slope.

Feet hurt, Prim8 complained repeatedly.

And I repeatedly answered, Keep going, fella.

Though I tried to consider that last bit of trail a reward, it seemed more like a punishment.

So close, yet so far!

***

At 12:45PM my car offered immediate relief for my feet.

Yay, Prim8 said.

You said it, guy.

Though I drove us to Mark’s vehicle, at least my feet no longer needed to bear my weight.

We’d covered 21.4 miles and descended a cumulative 2,664 feet.

***

Mark and I checked into to a different motel. My gear moved into my newer accommodations, another foot exam revealed my blisters had grown.

Agh! No way around it, Prim8,more tape is required . . . more tape.

5/17/22 (Day 6, “Day of the Dogs”) - Up at 4:15 and out of our roach-motel rooms at 4:50Am, we breakfasted at IHOP.

***

7:30AM, our day’s trek from my car at mile marker 517.6, a spot where unmarked gravel/dirt roads intersect and diverge in various directions, like strands of an ill-constructed spider’s web. They spread across the north slope of Antelope Valley, which losses elevation to the south and affords views of the valley’s expanse.

***

We’d hiked about one mile, about when I’d settled in and established my hiking pace.

Two collies approached us quietly from behind. We might’ve concluded they were in attack mode, except for their friendly exuberance. Energetic, they jumped and pranced about, indicating they were happy to meet us. They approached to gauge our responses, then retreated. Working as a team, they’d scout ahead, then return to us, as if requiring reassurance and a re-connection. Occasionally, they nuzzled our hands from behind with their noses, sometimes pausing to allow a pet or rub, before moving away again. Both black and about the same age, surely they were of the same litter.

Mark and I maintained our steady pace, all the while wondering from where they’d come. About the same time we noticed the concrete on which we were hiking. Had to be a covering on the California Aqueduct, we concluded.

They maintained contact with us, explored sounds and movement in the brush along the road, which the PCT paralleled. In hunting mode, they frequently reacted to a lizard, or other small animal, though that proved fruitless.

Prim8 briefly leads our pack towards

Hikertown. (Note: A branch of the

California Aqueduct flows beneath the

concrete cap on the right of the parallel

gravel “maintenance” road.

"Wrongway" (Mark) poses with our

two adopted dogs on a segment

of the exposed California Aqueduct

concrete covering.

I couldn’t help but imagine our encounter some latter-day re-enactment of the dawn of man-dog bonding, though perhaps I was romanticizing a bit.

Little left to consider beyond the idea that they’d adopted us in their own canine manner.

***

The wind, unimpeded by low brush and absence of man-made structures, blew at speeds I guessed to be 35-40 mph. In spite of the effort to hike in those conditions, especially when the trail turned us westward and headlong into the breeze, the wind kept us cool, even in direct sun.

***

The dogs took opportunity to chase a flock of sheep grazing as we passed a ranch.

“Come here,” Mark yelled.

“Leave those sheep alone,” I yelled.

Momentarily, they returned to us, as if responding to our commands!

***

Mark provided them water and bits of his Slim Jims when we paused for a snack at an above ground aqueduct structure.

Eager to accept his offerings, they were quite behaved, I thought.

***

We’d made appreciable progress, I considered, when the trail met and followed the exposed CA Aqueduct.

The dogs quenched their thirsts, remained exuberant, enjoying their adventure.

Water foul, geese and gulls mostly, avoided our approach, taking flight headlong into the strong wind, as we and the dogs advanced along.

***

Astonished that the dogs remained with us when we arrived at Hiker Town at 1:30PM, after a six-hour hike, we concluded we shouldn’t abandon them at the side of the road. We too, had grown fond of them.

“Maybe, they’d get adopted at Hiker’s Town,” I told Mark.

“Let’s talk with people there and see,” he said.

***

At Hikertown, Mark conversed with Marta in Spanish. She immediately offered the dogs food and water. They interacted with her and other hikers in the same friendly, playful way as they had since first approaching Mark and I.

Done deal, Marta adopted them.

A decision was made to determine their genders. When I lifted each dog by their front legs, they whined as if in pain. I concluded that, perhaps, they’d been abused, and “run away,” in search of a better home.

Mainstreet, Hikertown on the right.

(Note: Looking like a movie set,

most of those buildings serve as

sleeping quarters for hikers.)

Despite our 14.7-mile trek across Antelope Valley, we’d gained 1,111 feet by the time we’d arrived at Hikertown.

***

To shorten drive time to our trailhead junction and start our hike earlier, we opted to get motel rooms in Mojave.

Checked into my room, showered and resting before Mark and I headed off in search of dinner, I discovered a roach crossing the floor.

Crap, another roach motel.Though now the term applied literally, not figuratively.

I squashed the thing with my boot on its second foray into the open, where I left it for the motel maid to find.

My foot blisters hadn’t improved. If anything, they’d grown slightly. Not willing to allow several blisters to waylay this hiking trip, I stuck with my strategy.More tape, Prim8, more tape.

5/18/22 (Day 7, “Staggering in the Wind”) - 5AM, we drove-through McDonald’s for a take-out. I ordered a egg & bacon sandwich, sans cheese, though this time on a brioche bun. Much better than a desiccated biscuit!

***

Our best laid plan thwarted to leave my car at a WATER CACHE located on a ridge, according to Mark’s PCT maps, which would’ve split our last two segments roughly in half. But accessed by a gravel road, we were blocked at a closed gate within yards of the Oak Creek Road trail junction.

Forced to improvise, we drove some 45 minutes to the southern end to attempt access, but again, no dice.Another locked gate blocked us at an arched sign,TEJON. You know, one of those overhead arches marking a western ranch entrance.

Apparently, locals don’t like strange traffic, I thought.

Though we debated the possibilities of alternative routes to “the water cache,” without map coverage of areas to the west, and not willing to wander along gravel roads, anyone of which could also be closed, we gave up that quest.

As a result, we opted to hike a 3.3-mile section southbound from mile marker 536.5 back to our previous day’s starting point at mile marker 533.2. With a considerably delayed start for the day, we returned to my car after a hike of 1hr, 10 min.

***

To avoid a hiking day of low-productivity, we drove back to Willow Springs, mile marker 558.5, then hiked northbound to Hwy 58, to add another 7.9 miles.

The wind continued to gust, which again kept temperatures bearable, even in direct sun.

With warnings to stay on the path, and reminders we were on an easement across private property, the trail crossed the northern reach of a turbine wind farm, which stretched miles to the south.

The active turbines, blades turning, made sounds reminiscent of passing planes. Whoosh . . . whoosh . . . whoosh!

A Wind Farm on the way to

Hwy 58 and trail junction.

***

Leaving the wind turbine farm, the trail dropped into a valley, where the winds subsided and the temperature rose into the 90s.

I couldn’t decide which was worse, the wind or the heat.

A passing train halted our progress where the trail crossed railroad tracks near Hwy 58 and Mark’s car. I didn’t mind the pause to caught my breath.

Sit, Prim8 said.

I refuse to sit in the dirt, Prim8. We'll have a problem getting up.

***

With1,300 feet cumulative elevation gain, we arrived at Mark’s SUV after another 3hours,20 minutes hiking from my car. For the day, we’d managed a total distance of11.1 miles. Paltry in serious hiking terms, though better than nothing!

Now, no other way around the fact, we faced a 23-mile segment from Willow Springs Road junction to our most northern approach from the south at mile marker 536.5.

Come hell or high water, Prim8, we’ll do it.

We positioned my car at So. Oak Creek Road trail junction, the southern end of tomorrow's hike segment, and headed back to Mojave.Back in my roach-motel room, I kept a sharp eye for roaches, though thankfully saw no signs of any.

5/19/22 (Day 8, “The Water Cache”) - Before I moved my gear into Mark’s SUV and abandoned my motel room, I ensured my blisters were well taped.

Mark’s car left at No. Oak Creek Road junction at 5:40AM, we started southbound on our last trail section of this trip.

A desirous hiker can always call

a cab ride into town from the

North Oak Creek trail junction!

A mere few steps along we encountered a sign which indicated we were entering the PACIFIC CREST NATIONAL SCENIC TRAIL, DESERT SEGMENT.

Hmm. Entering? Every inch I’d hiked on the PCT from Mexico has been through the desert segment, mountains or no.

Under clear sky, we soon faced strong, gusting winds as we gained elevation on slopes of scrub brush, grasses and blooming wild flowers.

“The weather forecast for Mojave predicts wind speeds of 27 mph,” Mark said.

More like 47mph! “Yeah, but that’s down on the valley floor, not here on the ridges,” I said as I worked to maintain my balance and forward progress.

Pushed this way, then that, I worked to counter the wind’s intensity and change of direction moment to moment.I’d adjust my footing and balance, take several steps, and then be left in a lurch, staggering along the trail like a drunken sailor.

Damn wind! Its going to be a long day, Prim8.But what choice do we have?

Feet hurt, Prim8 whined.

Just tough it out, fella.

As usual, the trail snaked upward, then downward, around a hill, then over a larger hill, then a ridge. Headed from one highpoint to another, down into a valley, up to another nearby highpoint, but not in a straight line as the crow goes. Nooooo! Seldom level nor heading where I’d rather go, I considered the trail designers sadists, that had deliberately designed this trail as a perverted means of punishment.

That would mean I’m a hiker-masochist.

Hampered by foot pain, we plodded southbound, expecting we’d pass northbound through-hikers, likely some we’d encountered this last few days. After passing several, I started a tally.

Occasionally, we encountered things of our particular interest.

This non-poisonous snake,

gettin’ some rays & waitin’

for a passing meal, didn’t

budge when we walked by.

Can you see me? I’m

a Horned Lizard.

***

Seemed about halfway—not soon enough, though—I spotted a white van driving down hill and away from a spread of red canopy.

“Must be the ‘water cache,’” I said to Mark.

We’d expected to find something of note there. Marked on a map, hikers would rely on that location for a resupply of water, their lives perhaps hinging in the balance.

When we arrived at “the water cache,” my eyes feasted on the elaborate accommodations, relatively speaking and out in the middle of nowhere, of course.Two plastic water barrels, I judged to be about thirty-gallon size each,were perched several feet off the ground on stands. Two red patio umbrellas cast shade roughly in the center of the site. Numerous folding chairs sat opened and spread around. An assortment of wooden boxes and crates housed some cooking equipment and utensils. A cursory inventory revealed one package of dried Ramen. The entire site, a postage-stamp clearing, nestled among chest-high brush near the ridge line.

Two lady-hikers lay on their sleeping mats while three guy-hikers sat nearby.

Without exchanging a word, Mark and I claimed folding chairs in the sun and snacked. Afterwards, I spied a box containing a log book, so signed in.

We didn’t interact with the other hikers. Tired and spent from my effort to get here, I didn't want to waste energy. I guessed they didn’t want to either. Besides, I considered they should initiate a conversation, not me. They’d had some rest, and opportunity to catch their breath,by the time I arrived. Nor did they offer us a spot in the shade. Though scant as the shade was, I considered the lack of offer rude.

“The Water Cache” at PCT mile

marker 549. Note: The Tehachapi

junction lies another 17 miles north

on the trail.

Interesting menu, though

who would cook and

serve? (Oops, no TP!)

I preferred not to leave my newfound folding chair, but my car remained miles away—Mark and I preferred not to know exactly—and wouldn’t be coming to me.

What good would that do to know how far? Wouldn’t shorten the distance one inch.

***

A final glance back at “the

Water Cache” as more

northbound hikers arrive.

***

As we plodded forward, the trail descended into a valley, and its attendant wind shadow, where the temperature rose.

“Check the temperature,” Mark said. He paused for me to look at the thermometer he’d attached to the back of his daypack.

“92 . . . point 4 degrees,” I said.

No surprise. Without the winds, I’d roast.

I trudged the uphill portions,and forced to endure my foot pain, I accepted whatever would come. Surprising to me, I felt in good shape otherwise. Difficult as it was to set aside my pain, I worked to enjoy the stunning scenery.

Wild flowers in bloom.

***

We hiked on . . . and on. The trail, seeming endless, snaked up, down, around, over this hill and that.

***

When we began the final downhill portion—a rare straight stretch, which offered a panoramic view of Palmdale and Lancaster through the haze—perhaps, as much as, four miles remained to my car.

Feet hurt, Prim8 said.

Tell me something new, fella. My blisters tolerable, the bottoms of my feet generated constant pain. Are our arches falling or another case of plantar fasciitis coming on? I’ve suffered a bout of plantar fasciitis. A truly painful affliction. Neither falling arches nor another bout of plantar fasciitis would bode well for my future hiking.

Hikers beware! (This sign an invitation

for locals to engage in a spectator

sport to spot an elusive hiker?)

Fooled several times about where the trail would bring us to my car, I told Mark, “I’m tired of feeling this foot pain. I need a rest.” Ready to sit in the dirt, or a pile of dung had there been no alternative,I wanted to take weight off my aching feet.

But I plodded on. A little farther, Prim8.Maybe, this is the place . . . I hope.

And, of course, the last time I told myself that, it was!

Eleven hours, twenty minutes after our start, we’d covered 23 miles, gained a cumulative 5,672 feet, averaged 2.4 mph when moving, and passed 72 northbound, fellow masochistic hikers.

I welcomed the creature comfort of my car seat, avoided an examine of my feet—just as well, that could wait—though donned my tennis shoes, and relished my return home.

(Another 122.3 miles added to my PCT odyssey.)

Walk in beauty.