Fourth Day Southern California. 10 May 2018

I never thought that on day 3 of my hike I would be taking a Nero.  But the Mount Laguna Lodge became a beacon of hope for me yesterday as I faltered on the trail.  Thoughts of a shower, quilt covered bed, clear cold water, real food, and  safety swam in my hot mind.  And when I awoke this morning at 6:30am, I knew instinctively that I had to find a way to recover quickly or move on.  I could not hike today.  The thought of packing up and going out into the heat again to hike another 15 miles filled me with silent apprehension - so very quiet and yet so weighted and tight.   The man who provided me with the room yesterday afternoon told me I would need at least 2 days to recover.  But I didn’t want to stay at the lodge.  I thought about going into Julian 22 miles away to pick up the Big Agnes tent Julie had sent me.  I called the local shuttle service to find out how much it would cost and when I could arrange a pick up.  But I was told that the distance wasn’t long enough so they would not be able to drive me.  Which of course this meant I would have to hitch the 22 miles or find a Trail Angel who would be willing to drive.   I decided to wait till I could get some coffee from the store which opened at 9am.   My plan would be to go to Julian, pick up the tent, spend the night at the Julian Hotel and then come back to Mount Laguna to resume the hike where I left off.  I would have to forgo the  1.7 miles I missed when I called for assitance yesterday at the dirt road.   I had at least an additional 2 miles of non PCT paths yesterday so in my mind that would make up for the missed 1.7 miles.  

When I purchased my coffee I was told check out was at noon and that I would have till 10am to decide if I was going to stay another night. 

I went back to my room and thought about my options.  I was still not feeling well.  I did manage to eat a small dinner last night and some breakfast this morning.  But I still felt highly thirsty and my legs felt shaky.  I knew that if I hiked today, I would experience the same complications from yesterday.  And I just couldn’t put myself through that again.   The PCT was not the experience I wanted.  I knew that I was only 4 days into the hike.  I knew I needed to give myself time to adjust to the climate and heat.  But then and there I realized that I did not want to hike in the heat with very little water. I knew the next section was a 28 mile waterless stretch.  And I knew that that meant carrying 6-7 liters of water and being desperately thirsty.   I wanted to enjoy this hike. I didn’t want to hike with an umbrella each day to combat the sun’s rays.   I thought about changing the hike and starting from the north and hiking south.  I thought about leaving the PCT.   I read over my lists of why I was hiking the PCT, what I wanted to get out of the experience and what I would feel if I quit.   But in my mind, I kept seeing myself with my head in my hands, sitting on the side of the trail wondering if I would make it to the next water source or the next landmark or the next campsite.   I saw myself heaving on the side of the trail unable to keep water in my system.  I saw myself struggling, fighting for each step.  All images that left me clinging to the idea of hiking.  And it was almost 10am.  And it was time to make a decision.  And I acted fast, responding to everything I was feeling.  Swirling emotions mixed with desperate uncertainties. Where was the initial joy?  Where was the dream of hiking this trail and being strong and brave and stubborn?   I simply could not find those once plentiful qualities.  They were left on the side of the trail yesterday in blurry, hot streams of exhaustion and heaves of disappointment.  I wasn’t disappointed in myself.  I was disappointed that I was not loving the PCT.   I so wanted to love this trail.   

Within minutes I had booked my train trip back to Ohio.  Within another set of minutes I had booked the shuttle to take me back to San Diego.  And within the spaces that hover between those minutes, I was suddenly calm and at peace and so very very accepting of everything in those fast moments - the delicate, complex and path altering moments that would take me away from the Pacific Crest Trail.   

Before I emabarked on this hike, my father told me that when he was a very young man, he left Ohio to pursue his dream of playing professional baseball.  It was something he felt compelled to pursue.   It was his dream to swing that bat and field those baseline hits.   My father loves baseball.  But after three days, he had come to the conclusion that playing at the professional level was not going to be his ultimate life’s pursuit.  He went back home.  And he had peace knowing that he had tried.  He could now live the rest of his life with the assurance that he had reached the conclusion of that singular dream.   My father told me that if at any point I felt it was not working for me, that leaving was not failure or quitting but moving on and understanding that I had tried and maybe that would be enough.   

I don’t regret leaving my job, my apartment, New York City to attempt this hike.  I would do it again even knowing everything I learned about the PCT in Southern California.   I don’t see myself as a quitter or someone who racks up one failure after another.   I see myself as a courageous, strong and brave person who fell in love with the idea of hiking across the country along a path filled with wonder.  But the path wasn’t for me.  At least not the path in Southern California.   I am truly proud of my experience.   I will keep it with me for the rest of my life.   

And I am already hard at work on Plan B for this summer.  I will hike along the Colorado Trail with my sister and brother in law.   I love hiking.  And I don’t want my love for hiking to diminish because of the past 4 days.   I want to take everything I have learned and use that knowledge on the immediate future.   So this writing is not yet done. And this summer of hiking is not yet done.  And the PCT will be there.  Waiting.  And maybe one day, I will find my feet along that pathway again.  But not like 2018.  And not any time soon. 

So that’s that.  I am heading home via Seattle with no real answers to any questions I had in my mind before the trail.   No answers.  Only a belief that life is an adventure.  All of it.  And sometimes you go off and find a new path.  And sometimes that path leads you far and farther still.   And then other times it barely goes anywhere.  But it’s still a part of you.  Forever.  

Maybe we're still lost
Maybe we'll never learn
But as the dust settles down and I'm glad you're here

I feel I'm finally headed home

Third Day Southern California. 9 May 2018

Last night I fell asleep around 8pm.  Having my body lying down in my sleeping bag atop my sleeping mattress provided me with the comfort that I was seeking.  My tent enclosed me in the vast space of the campground which was nestled in a valley of steep hills.   I closed my eyes and let myself quietly drift into sleep.  I hadn’t eaten dinner and I thought about how I was going to get through the next day.  But for now, sleep would hopefully provide the nourishment I needed.  I awoke around 1:30am and quietly got out of my tent.  I took in the night with the brilliant stars shining far away in the darkened sky.   I stepped away among the twigs and dried leaves on the ground, adding my own night noises to the mix that had put me to sleep.   After peeing, I returned to my tent and climbed into the sleeping bag and let myself once again drift away while trying to ignore the scrapping sounds of some night animal digging nearby.

And then it was morning - 4:30am.  And I knew that I had to start breaking camp and begin hiking before the heat once again tried to stifle my spirit.  I let out the air in my sleeping pad and quickly packed away the gear.  I made a quick breakfast of oatmeal and coffee with a breakfast bar.  I wasn’t hungry but I knew I had to eat. I knew that I needed fuel to get me through the day’s hike.  I had decided that I would only do 8 miles to Mount Laguna and then decide if I wanted to spend the night at the lodge or just resupply in the general store and hike a few more miles.   

But of course I had to hike out of Cibbets campground which involved almost a mile of walking uphill on a dirt road to meet the PCT trail. With confidence I quickly found the PCT and began the 8 mile trek to Mount Laguna.   The trail was mostly uphill for this section as the PCT continued to climb into the Mount Laguna Mountains.  I was soon sweating and uncomfortably hot.  There was very little shade among this stretch.  I knew that there was a water source 4 miles away so I was only carrying 2 liters.  I made sure that I was keeping myself hydrated.   But I was hiking alone and a loneliness began to creep in.  I looked out across the wide panorama of mountains rising over hills creating small valleys and canyons.   The chapperallle growing from the dry earth blended into a steady covering of light green dots.  The wind was absent and the heat made the air thick and pale and dry.   I waited in the silence for my breath to still, for my heart to stop racing and my will to forge ahead and rise to the surface of everything I was feeling.   Where were the others? How could I have missed them in the past 2 days?  

I heard someone behind me and then a male hiker approached.   His name was Sasquatch.   He too was hiking alone.  He had a full beard and a wide smile.  It was nice to see a fellow hiker for a brief moment.   And then he went on ahead of me and disappeared around the bend leaving me alone again.

After what seemed like hours of climbing, I checked the Guthook App to see my location and realized that I only had completed 2 miles of the 8 miles to make it to Mount Laguna.   I would have to do better to make it before the afternoon heat.

I came to a clearing which provided a bit of shade.  I decided to break and took off my pack.   And then I felt the urge to be sick and suddenly I was heaving on the side of the trail bringing up the morning’s food and water.   Not good.   

Now I am beginning to wonder if I will even make it to Mount Laguna.   After the 17 or 18 miles from yesterday, 8 should be no problem.  But I knew that I was feeling the effects of heat exhaustion mixed with dehydration.   If I could just get to Mount Laguna, I could take a day off and rest and hopefully recover.  

I hiked on.  And on some more.   I was coming close to the next water source where I met up with 2 new hikers.  They were.also refilling their water bottles.   After they were done, I walked down the embankment to the small stream with the cold runnning water.  I fillled one of my filtering water bladders and dumped the cold wet over my head providing a lovely cold relief.   Then I filled the bag again and filtered the water into my water bottles.  

And then I was on the side of the trail heaving into the brush.   I couldn’t; keep water down.  My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow.  So I began to just rinse my mouth with water and then spit it out to at least keep my mouth moist.  Time to hike on.  Time to get to Mount Laguna and lie down. 

And of course the next section of the trail was all uphill winding through switchbacks.  Again I checked Guthooks to see how far I had to hike to reach Mount Laguna.   4 miles.   But in 2.2 miles I would come to a small dirt road.  I began to think of that landmark as a place I could get off trail in case I couldn’t make it out.   I hiked on with that thought in my mind providing me with the stimulus to keep going.

I sat down numerous times in the next hour.  I put my head in my hands and wondered why I had decided to hike today.  Why I had decided to even attempt to hike this trail.   I was not enjoying this experience.   Hiking for me had always been tough but incrediblly rewarding and filled with rich moments.   For the PCT, I was lonely, hot, incredibly thirsty and uninspired by the landscapes.   I needed something profound to change my experience.   I chose to do this hike.  I wanted to have this experience in my life.   And I wasn’t ready to give up.  

I managed to get to the dirt road.  And then I knew that I could not go on.   I lay in the tall grass under lose branches that swayed overhead.  I was now in a small forest that was filled with pine trees and fallen branches.   And I lay there.  And I breathed.  I let the ants crawl over me.  And I wanted to be away from this place.

I thought about hiking on the 1.7 miles to Mount Laguna.   I did try to rally and get up.  And I should have forced myself.  But instead I called for help because I didn’t trust myself in this situation to be able to make it.   And I so desperately wanted to make it.  I wanted to energe at Mount Laguna and see my fellow hikers and smile and laugh and feel that I belonged on the trail.  

But I called for help and was soon being driven to the Lodge.   I missed 1.7 miles which I would have to go back and make up.  But for now all I wanted was a room to take a shower and be clean and then rest till I felt like I could drink and eat again. 

After I showered and drank some Gatorade in small sips, I did see Ro, Kevin and Huge.  They were preparing to leave after having just resupplied.   They were happy to see me and I felt inspired to hike on.  But not today.  I needed to take a Nero and rest and recover.   

As I lay in the hot room at the lodge (no AC!) I began to reflect on my rookie mistakes on the trail thus far.   I started out too fast and tried to hike too many miles too soon.  I didn’t listen to my body and understand how the constant heat would affect me.  I tried to keep up with a crew that was able to hike faster and further than me.   But through it all, I remained as strong as I could be.   I did breakdown.  I did cry.  But those moments existed because I care so much about this trail and this experience and how it intersects with my life in this time.   I am not weak.  I am not afraid.  But in this situation, I am not sure I am able to hike in these elements.   I awake  each morning dreading the piercing sun and the melting heat.   I want to love this experience.   I am hoping that after a night’s rest off the trail, tomorrow will provide answers.   But for now - I will rest. I will replenish.  I will rethink my strategy.  I will slow down and listen.   I will listen to the honor of the trail, the reverence and respect.  And I will listen to my own voice.  Because this is the voice that brought me here.   And this is the voice that will guide me forward on this adventure wherever it may lead.    /

Second Day Southern California. 8 May 2018

I barely slept last night.  I listened to the sounds of sleeping hikers adjusting on top of noisy sleeping pads mixed with the sounds of small animals snapping twigs and rustling through the brush.  I had kept my food in my food bag and then placed it an odor proof sack so I wasn’t worried about any mice trying to get into my pack.  I must have dozed off a few times and then suddenly it was 4:30am.  I heard a fellow hiker staring to pack up.   I decided to do the same so I could climb out of Hauser Canyon before the sun really started to heat up the still cool air.  Packing wasn’t so easy as I was a bit disorganized last night after the failed tent set up.  But eventually I felt ready to go.  It was about 5:30am.   With goodbyes to hikers still packing, I made my way out of the Canyon.  I had to climb 1200 feet in 3 miles.  It was hard but with frequent rest stops among the switchbacks I was soon at the top.  I had passed of a few hikers along the way.  I then made my way down to Lake Morena where I planned on having a breakfast burrito at a store just up the road.   There I ran into some of the hikers who had left before me - RO, Kevin, Huge.   It was great to see them and share our experiences of the hike so far.  

After breakfast, I headed into Lake Morena to get more water, use the facilities and repack my backpack.  The mesh suspension on the back panel had come loose due to the heavy water carry and I needed to tighten some of the straps.  That all took some time.  When I started to hike out of Lake Morena is was already 9:30.  I had planned on hiking only 15 miles today and had already done 5.  So 10 more to go. 

I immediately started using my trekking sun umbrella.  I really disliked hiking with it but I had no choice with the blaring sun and heat.   The umbrella at least provided some shade overhead.  But hiking with it connected to my backpack was not ideal and certainly not something I was enjoying.   I hiked alone all morning working my way through the brush and sandy path.   I saw the occasional lizard running along side me for a brief moment before scrambling away.   I hadn’t seen any rattlesnakes yet.  But I heard stories of other hikers encountering them already so I was definitely on the lookout.    

I was feeling good but sore from yesterday and in both feet, my second toe was sore.  I think my shoes are probably a 1/2 size too small and when I hike downhill, that second toe is pressing agaisnt the toe box.   Both nails are now darkened so I will have to order new shoes from REI soon.   

I stopped at Boulder Oaks Campground to get more water.  There I ran into Kevin, Ro and Huge.   It was nice to see them again.  We made a plan to hike to Kitchen Spring and stop for a swim and then hike further to Cibbets Campground which had potable water and camp sites.   After Ro and Kevin moved on, I decided to stay and rest. I took off my shoes and socks to let my feet air out and dry.   My toe nails were not looking good.  So I put some lukotape over the one that seemed to be a bit swollen as well.  I drank a lot of water at the site to camel up and then headed out.   

This part of the trail hugged a ridge line so the views were fantastic.  However, I was so hot and sweaty that I just wanted to find some actual shade.   Again my mouth was dry and I just couldn’t seem to get enough water.   Also, my appetite was completely gone.   I had the breakfast burrito and then a bite of a power bar but nothing else.  I just wasn’t hungry.    

After a few more hours of hiking, I finally came to the road for Kitchen Creek.  It was a .5 mile walk downhill.   So I made my way to the creek and spring.  I saw the water running from the spring but the creek was pretty dry.  But no one was there.  I thought that maybe Ro and the others had already left so I decided not to stay but to push on to Cibbets.   

Around 5pm, I finally arrived at the dirt road leading to the Cibbets Campground.  I had been hiking about 10 hours.  And I wasn’t hungry and the water wasn’t making me feel any better.   By the time I got it the campground, I was completely exhausted.  It was a 17 mile day.  Ro and the others weren’t there.  But I did recognize Nurse from day 1 and another hiker I had passed on the trail.  I was told by the camp manager to set up anywhere and that the water was drinkable.   But instead I just laid down on the picnic table and couldn’t move.  My stomach was feeling awful.  My mouth was dry and I was not hungry.   Eventually I made my way to a camp site to start setting up as the sun would be setting soon.   But then I was suddenly sick and had to bring up the electrolytes I had put into my water.   I used some water to rinse out my mouth and then continued to set up my tent using large rocks to hold the tent stakes down.  I got myself ready for bed.  I just couldn’t eat anything.  I thought that after a night’s sleep I would feel better in the morning.  I pushed too hard too fast.   I didn’t understand this climate and what the heat can do to the body.    The trail was beating me.   And for today, I could only accept that defeat and then hope that tomorrow I would learn from today’s mistakes.   But I have to admit that I was not enjoying myself.   Hiking alone all day was not fun.  At least not for me.  And now camping alone is not fun.   At least not for me.   Things could change.  But tomorrow had to be better.   But for tonight, I rest in my tent, in my sleeping bag.  Grateful that I made it this far.    

First Day Southern California. 7 May 2018

I awoke at 4:50am at Scout and Fordo’s backyard.  I immediately got up and started packing up my gear as we had to be ready for breakfast by 5:30am and departure for the Souther Terminus at 6:00am. I had filled my water bottles the night before and would be starting the hike with 6.5 liters - 13 pounds of water.  This is the most water I have ever carried.  And it was heavy.

The hikers and I all sat around the table eating the prepared breakfast our eyes blazing with the anticipation of finally seeing the monument that we had seen only in images and videos.  A group of trail angels stopped by to ferry us all to Campo in various cars.  I was feeling relatively calm but suddenly overcome with bursts of nervous anxiety.  The driver of our car had done the PCT in 2006.  I asked him a lot of questions along the way and was somewhat comforted by our exchange.

And then we arrived.  And then I was walking up the hill toward the monument.  And then there it was, white square wooden pillars of various heights firm in the ground, stoic and representing thousands of dreams of hikers from the past and hikers yet to come.  But today it was me.  Today I was that hiker. We took group photos and then individual shots.  Everyone seemed to want to linger and make sure they were really ready to start.  The air was still relatively cool but the sun was beginning to shine and I could already feel the heat starting to rise.

And then I just started.  But before I began at the first PCT sign that signified the start of the trail.  I went up to the terminus one last time and ran my hand along it’s rough edges.

Today was very hard.  I started off strong and managed to get through the first 5 miles in 1.5 hours.  But it wasn’t that hot yet and I was running on adrenaline.  I did however manage to lightly pull my right calf muscles within the first 2 miles.  It hurt with each step but I felt that I could keep going so I just continued on.

I hiked alone most of the day, leap frogging over some of the same hikers as we each chose separate moments to rest in what shade was available.  The views were astounding and the occasional breeze was bliss.  I was feeling very good and confident 8 miles in.  But then the heat started to rise and the air became still. I realized I was feeling dehydrated.  I was drinking all along the way but not having hiked in this heat and climate before  - added to the number of miles I planned to do the first day - I began to feel depleted.  My calf muscles began to seize. I wondered if I was having complications due to early heat exhaustion.  The trail was very sandy in spots and then became more like baked dirt - hard and solid.  There were some rocks but for the most part it was relatively well graded.

Toward the middle of the day, I stood atop a cliff face and looked out in the waiting canyon below - Hauser Canyon with the Hauser Creek completely dry.  I had the PCT Water Report with me so I knew where I could get water along the path.

At mile 15 I met up with a group of hikers and we all decided to dry camp at mile 15 before completing the last 4.3 miles to Lake Morena.  Those miles involved a gradual 1200 foot climb out of Hauser Canyon.  I honestly don’t know if I could have done it today and I was relieved that there were other hikers to spend the first night.

So now I am at one for the camp sites near Hauser Creek.  And I will soon have dinner.  And the heat of the day is diminishing.  And I am feeling better.  And I am looking forward to tomorrow.  The loose soil wouldn’t hold my tent stakes and I didn’t want to go searching for rocks to hold the guy lines in place so I am just going to cowboy camp tonight and sleep under the large branches of a nearby tree with the stars peeking through high overhead.  

The trail is harder than I thought.  It’s due to the heat and harsh blazing light from the sun.  I can’t seem to get enough water to quench my thirst.  It has me worried.  But I will see what the PCT will bring me tomorrow.  I plan on getting up at 5am to start hiking before the heat.  The air is turning cooler so I am going to get into my sleeping bag and close my eyes and let the cool night air surround me with comfort.

Pre Hike 6 May 2018

I slept surprisingly well last night. I woke knowing that today was my final day of life outside the PCT. And I know that I am not really ready but I have no choice but to go forward.
I am at Scout and Frodo’s house in the outskirts of San Diego. I arrived as lunch was being served. I just jumped right in and started meeting the other hikers staying here for tomorrow’s departure. I am now sitting outside in the backyard in a shady corner. The breeze feels wonderful against my skin. But it’s very hot in the sun and I can only imagine what tomorrow will feel like hiking. I am trying to keep myself hydrated but I feel depleted and I don’t know why. When I am in the sun my skin feels hot but a kind of heat that comes from within as if my core body temperature has suddenly decided to ramp it up a couple of degrees. But in the shade I feel okay. I continue to use my nerves as the excuse for the way I feel.

After lunch I was given a tour of the set up at the house. I prepare my sleep system for the evening in one of the three large white tents placed on the backyard lawn. I wonder if I will even sleep tonight? I am tempted to take an Advil PM to help but I don’t want to be sleepy in the morning. I want to wake up at 5am and feel energized, excited and ready to go. I look around at everyone’s gear. We are all carrying a wide range of packs, sleeping bags and pads. It’s really encouraging because we all had to at some point choose what would work best on the trail - what would be the most efficient, light and durable. Our conversations are centered on gear, the desert, water, hiking history and where we all come from. Everyone is so kind and generous with varying degrees of experience. A few hiked the AT. A few like me have limited experience. And yet we all start out at Campo and have to face the same trail conditions and distance.

The backyard is lovely. Flowers and large leafed plants line the backyard. A huge tree with thick branches covered in dark green leaves provides welcome shade.

Dinner is at 6pm but I find that I am already hungry being used to eating every few hours. I believe we will be given a talk about safety, water in the desert, fording rivers and other things we may encounter on the trail. Hopefully we will all have more opportunities to get to know one another. These are the hikers I will start with and I am sure I will see them in various places on the trail and the first campsites and towns.

I look at my gear and continue to wonder if I am made the right decisions. There is nothing I can do about it now but in my mind I still have doubts. I chose not to bring the free-standing tent poles for my tent so I will have to rely on the trekking poles. They simply cannot break on me.

So it will be a somewhat lazy afternoon. I should be reviewing my maps for tomorrow or going over the Garmin InReach to make sure I understand all of its features.

For now I want to sit and feel the breeze and smell the air and hope that tomorrow everything will begin to make sense.

Pre Hike 5 May 2018

Today I arrived in Los Angeles. I sat in the Union Station terminal for two hours (something I never really want to do again if I can help it) and then boarded the last train of this voyage to take me to the final destination - San Diego. Although I only left Ohioon Thursday morning, it seems like an extended length of time has passed rather than just the two days. But I am now in San Diego. I am so glad I gave myself one day here alone before I arrive at the Trail Angel’s house on Sunday. I need this space to recover from the trip but also to mentally prepare for Monday. I am in San Diego. Finally.

When the train left Chicago at 3pm on Thursday, I began to anticipate the excitement of seeing Colorado again the next morning. We would be going through Kansas while I slept and cross into Colorado by mid morning. I made a dinner reservation for 7:45pm in the dining car and then settled in to a late afternoon of watching the countryside slip away from the fast moving train. The sky was still cloudy and rain continued to fall sending rivers of wet along the windows distorting my view of the fields, trees and steadfast small towns. Occasionally the train would stop at one of these towns along the way to let travelers off and on. I watched them from the window as they gazed up at the train in earnest anticipation of their own journeys. After dinner the car attendant made up my bed. I showered using the small hand-held shower hung above the toilet in a separate chamber in my room and then climbed into the bed which was essentially made up by collapsing the seats and placing a very thin mattress on top. Far off in the distance suddenly the sky lit up with streaks of lightening that chiseled blazing white light through the air in quick bursts of flash. I didn’t hear any thunder as expected and the storm never made its way to blaze above the train. When the sky became calm, I closed my eyes and let the gentle rocking of the train lull me to sleep.

The next morning we did indeed arrive in Colorado. I went to sleep with newly budding trees and forests lining the tracks and woke to a vast empty landscape with the faint glimpse of mountains off in the distance. Colorado. And to my pleasant surprise one of the towns on our list of stops was La Junta. I spent two years as a young child growing up in Rocky Ford Colorado which was only miles from La Junta. And when the train stopped, we were allowed to get off and stretch our legs. I stepped off the train onto the Colorado soil and breathed the crisp cold air. The sky was vibrant and blue and effortless. For the rest of the morning I stared out the window at the scenes from Colorado. I thought about those two years and my family and how much I loved life in that small prairie town with numerous trips over mountain passes to small wooden cabins with lofts for sleeping. Often we would pack the car with camping gear and set off into the mountains. While my parents would prepare the camp, my sisters and I would wander off to find mounds of rocks to climb or small streams to run along beside while creating a world of make believe that existed for real in those lush mountain moments.

Soon the train began to climb into the lower foothills. And after going through a long tunnel dug into the mountain, we arrived in New Mexico. New Mexico. This is a landscape in widescreen. Looking out the train window I saw a small family of antelope bounding through the fields with the lightest of gaits, old wooden fence posts growing out of the dry ground and sculptural jagged rock formations that leveled off with flat plateaus. I saw three cows off in the far distance walking in single file, each equidistant from the other with their gazes down toward the earth. Off in the distance storm clouds hovered over layers of mountains and seemed to reach down and touch the silent peaks. At one point the darkening clouds became a thin sheer curtain that hung all the way to the far off ground while the hills seen behind were bathed in brilliant sunshine. And sweeping across the panorama lay the golden ground stretching as far as the eye could possibly perceive.

We were able to get off at Albuquerque. But walking along the train I realized I just wanted to be moving. I had spent the day captivated by the sights of this world but now I was thinking about the final destination and the days after.

After another night of dinner, wine and sleep, I awoke to find myself in California. And then soon Los Angeles.

And now San Diego. I am in a hotel room. Placed against a stand is my backpack filled and ready to go. It silently waits for me. I keep staring at it knowing that it will be with me for many months. I silently wonder if I have everything I need. I walked to a local store and purchased 3 smart water bottles to be a part of my water supply strategy. I also have a 2 liter water platypus along with two 1 liter platypus water bags. They can be rolled up after the water has been used which will save me some space in the side pockets. Check out is at noon so I am going to use the morning to repack the backpack and continue to review the water report, halfmile notes and Yogi pages for the early stretch to Lake Morena. It’s 20 miles from the border. I’d like to get there by Monday late afternoon but as I’ve never walked 20 miles in one hike, it doesn’t seem likely nor smart.  

I suddenly find myself at a place of doubt. And I don’t want to go into this questioning everything I am doing. I think it’s most likely just nerves. And hopefully when I start hiking and feel the accomplishment of that first day - no matter how far I walk - I will gain my confidence back and be at ease so that my walking along this trail is exactly the right thing for me at this point in my life. I am done with the anticipation. I want to move. And I want to be moved.

Colorado 

La Junta train station. 

New Mexico

Pre Hike 3 May 2018

I am in Chicago. Just arrived. I have a 2 hour layover before boarding the Amtrak Southwest Chief which will take me to Los Angeles. The journey has started. I splurged and upgraded to a sleeper when I booked my ticket. This way I don’t have to worry about meals on the train and I can lie down each night to sleep. I am looking forward to seeing the expansive landscapes of New Mexico and Arizona. It’s been many years since I was there performing with Kota Yamazaki. Right now I am in the Metropolitan Lounge at Union Station where I can sit and hopefully relax. Amtrak just announced a wine tasting for travelers waiting in the lounge for their trains. Sounds good to me 12pm - noon!

The morning was spent staring out the train window at the hazy landscapes of Ohio and Indiana. The overcast sky bursting with occasional rain left mud filled pools of water along the tracks reflecting the grey overhead. Sometimes a fine mist would hang delicately in the air, faint laced fog hovering and whispering and then shivering into nothingness. I had planned on continuing my research on the train but I found myself staring out the window with my thoughts full and weighted.

My father drove me to the Cleveland Amtrak station at 1:30am this morning to catch the 3:27am train. I barely slept last night and can feel the coming fatigue from traveling mixed with the lack of sleep. I was reminded of the countless times my father would wake up in the middle of the night to drive me to various trains, buses, or long eight hour driving trips to New York City. At 19, he and I drove to New York City with all of my college materials and clothes to begin what would be my life in New York City starting with my studies at NYU. The dorm I had been scheduled to live in had not been completed so I - along with all of the other residents - was given a room at a hotel in midtown near Penn Station. As my father drove into the city, I stared at the huge buildings trying to absorb the huge energy and masses of people bustling along the sidewalks with strident purpose. It was exciting and also alarmingly new. Would I too walk those sidewalks and feel like I belonged? We unpacked the car and got everything to my room. I was overcome with the realization that I was in New York City and about to begin my film studies. How would I get to the classes in Greenwich Village? How would I choose which classes to take? How would I..... ? And then my father left, eager to drive home and get out of the busy city. The final goodbye and “be safe’ was one of many carefully placed moments where my father had to leave me as I embarked on a new voyage in my life. And I will admit that each time I felt a momentary desire to go with him and remain in the comforts of the familiar. I never felt abandoned. But I did feel incredibly small and very much alone in my surroundings. After one week in New York City I called my father and told him I wanted to come home. With determination he told me to stay and keep trying.  And I listened to him and thus New York City became my home for over 25 years. It was absolutely the right choice at that time in my very young life. And now at 51 - so much older and filled with abundant life experiences - I find that I still experience that small insistent pull to remain in what I know and trust. But I am stronger than that seductive yearning and thus I follow through with the farewells. And I board the train and let the speed and direction carry me forward into the very near future. And toward the adventure of the Pacific Crest Trail.






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