Mile 500!

Hiker Heaven: an oasis in the desert. May 29.

Fourteen years ago Donna Saufley decided she wanted a purpose in life
and she discovered the Pacific Crest Trail running just one mile from
her and her husband, Jeff's, home. She had never hiked the trail, but
she knows exactly what hikers need at 455 miles into their odyssey,
and has hosted nearly 3500 hikers since 1996.

I arrived yesterday afternoon, went through the gate marked with a PCT
trail sign and was greeted by John Deere (note that at Hiker Heaven I
am often confused by who is hiking this year, who is a past year
volunteer, and who is just a trail angel staying at the Saufleys), who
gave me the run down.

First stop: the laundry tent. Pick out flipflops, and any combo of
clean clothes , separated in bins marked "tshirts", "long pants",
"dresses" and entire bin of "Saufleys Electric" hooded sweatshirts.
Place all dirty clothes in mesh bag, put name on sticky note and place
in garage in the laundry line. Clean clothes will reappear on front
porch in several hours.

Second stop: Grab towel and wash cloth, and head toward RV. Place name
on whiteboard shower list on RV bathroom door. (I was fifth in line)
In the interim find a cot in one of nine huge tents (the RV rooms are
reserved for couples) and throw your backpack on there. "Party" tents
are around the fire pit. Quiet tents are back by the horse corral. (I
opted for a quiet tent since the drinking and singing had already
begun. It was actually pretty quiet, apart from the fact that the
horses kept sneaking over by my tent to fart all night long.)

Food can be prepared and stored in the communal hiker kitchen in the
RV. Mark your name on your food in the fridge. (I bought two yogurts
in town and could almost not find room...someone needs to clean this
thing out and it's not going to be me.) Communal spaghetti dinner
tonite, vegan or meat.

RV living room has a TV, computer for Internet access, free wifi, and
one phone devoted to hikers to call anywhere in the world for free.
(Not surprisingly the hiker who took a whole package of fig bars from
the trail magic at Mile 252, "The couch", was hogging the phone.)

Bins outside the RV are the hiker boxes--take what you want, leave
what you don't. (These were the largest size rubbermaid bins marked
for gear, clothing, toiletries, stove parts, reusable shoes and two
for food. I was curious about finding some shampoo and peeked in one
bin. I saw about twenty travel sizes of shampoo, deoderant, bars of
soap, five tubes of Desitin--helps with chaffing, bandaids, moleskin,
floss, toothpaste, sunblock, and so on. Turns out that the bathroom
was fully stocked with shampoo, conditioner, pumice stone, bath gel,
tootpaste, body butter, qtips, razors, and a scale which said that I
have not lost or gained a single pound. The one in Pasadena said I had
gained five. I'm not sure which one to believe, but as I write this I
happen to be eating a brownie sundae...)

There are ten bikes for use to go to town (1 mile away and a pretty
fun ride on the bike) or you can place your name on a whiteboard with
where you want to go and a ride will be arranged. (Many hikers needed
to get to an REI to purchase new gear or clothes.) If you need to sew
anything, use the Singer machine on the front porch. Three extra
portapotties behind the horse corral.

I was dizzy with all the information, but happily accepted a beer from
a hiker I had never met before. Tonite we are having a catered meal,
courtesy of a past hiker's family, chilling in town for the holiday.
Let the trail lore emerge....I see a late night around the fire
pit...although I will probably be antisocial and just get a good
night's sleep.

Thanks to all of my personal trail angels for sending boxes! I'll be
fueling many hikers with tortilla chips and espresso beans over the
next 104 miles, although at this point I have not met any that I want
to hike for any extended period of time... Let the race against the
Mojave heat begin!

Losing the Team but Finding Myself. May 28.

This blog was going to be entitled "Low point on a High Point" after
my tumultuous solo ascent of Baden-Powell, but since Wednesday I found
a new sense of strength on the trail which only emerged after
surviving alone for three whole days...

Wednesday morning Ani departed, leaving me to contend with Mt Baden
Powell. The trail switchbacks were fine until the snow buried them
completely. I made a few wrong turns in sight of Special 41, Dr. No
and Old Man Turbo...I hate it when that happens. The dumb girl in the
skirt doesn't know where she's going.

Soon there was no where left to go but vertical. Solid snow as far up
as I could see. The three guys stopped for a break and I decided to
begin kicking steps to the summit, at least another mile up. Once on
top, the wind was fierce (and I should mention here that I hate wind),
the clouds were rolling in, and I stood atop a shear ridgeline that
stretched another seven miles in front of me.

I had accomplished the climb, but that was the easy part: just go up
regardless of where the trail really is. The tough part was descending
without breaking a leg or getting lost. This required negotiating the
windy crest, avoiding the snow patches, but constantly surveying for
the trail, which would occasionally pop out from under the snow to
entice me.

I made a few wrong turns. I cried, and I also screamed at myself when
I had to backtrack uphill to find the trail again. Eventually I
redeemed myself, hitting a campground as The Graduate and Picker were
starting a campfire. They were stunned when I cooked my dinner and
continued on...I just had to get out of the snow, plus it was
difficult to commune with two 20-somethings who admitted having $11 to
their name and no maps of the next section.

I walked until 7:30pm and had a beautiful sunset from my tent. The
views from a cloudy day on Baden Powell may not have been worth the
effort, but the sense of accomplishment was. It rained really hard
that night. I was impressed that my tent withstood the pounding. I
guess that I have learned something, considering that my tent fell
over on me at least twice on this trip.

The next two days were road walking. Many cursed it, but I loved it,
especially when I realized that my iphone google maps had even better
suggestions for road detours. I hitched into Little Rock for a burger,
fries and shake. Then I walked into Acton for pancakes and sausage the
next day.

On my way out of town Musk Ox called me to say goodbye. He was two
days ahead of me, still at the Saufleys, but waylaid by tendonitis,
and headed home for some recovery. I walked fast to catch him just in
time. (a photo of us at the Saufleys, above) I couldn't convince him
to even hike slow with me. Back to the "I'm looking for cool people to
hike with" drawing board. Maybe I'll find my next victim here in Agua
Dulce. Stay tuned for an entry on Hiker Heaven--the Saufley's house.

Song for this section is NIN's "Home": "To break from what we're tied
to, God knows how much I've tried to." I've made a break, tested
myself and I succeeded after much second-guessing. It was hard, but I
guess that it can only get easier from here??

Vasquez Rocks County Park, famous Hollywood back drop (Star Trek, 24,
MacGyver, Little Miss Sunshine). Mile 454!

Road Magic!! Station Fire Road Detour, Mile 412! Thank you to the town
of Little Rock!

Snow Warrior on Mt Baden Powell. 9500ft!

Not my best form....

Saying goodbye to Pasadena and dropping the kids at school! Nairy
(10), Aram (3) and Talar (9)

So a funny thing happened on my way to the detour....May 25.

Team Zero left Monday at 5:45am to tackle Mt. Baden Powell. I said
goodbye and turned over in my hotel futon. Who was I kidding? Despite
my most ardent attempts at being lazy and slothful, I am a terrible
hotel sleeper, and even worse at sleeping in. It was a rough night,
but I would be seeing my good friend, Ani, from Pasadena, we would
catch up over lunch and I would get an afternoon start at the
trailhead for a nine-mile day.

All of this sounded acceptable until I realized how good it was to
chat with a longtime friend after many days leapfrogging with
acquaintances on the trail. We blabbed a mile a minute, starting a new
topic before finishing the last. But then again, for 12 years we have
always had a frenetic quality to our conversations. The lead I had on
my own schedule started to matter less, and the idea of taking time
off with friends now sounded more appealing than bumming around a
Motel 6 in Mojave, CA, by myself, waiting for Happy JO until June 10.

It took me about one hour to come around to the idea of a vacation
from the trail in Pasadena. Once I had decided, there was no looking
back:

...accept when we passed the McDonalds at Cajon Pass where I vied for
the calorie-consumption championship. It took me two days to walk from
there. It took us 8 minutes to drive.

...accept when we passed the wind farms on I-10. It didn't look quite
as hot from our air-conditioned minivan, but the drop from Fuller
Ridge looked enormous. Did I really do that?

...accept when I found myself sucked into the vortex of the
neverending desert resort of Palm Springs. It seemed so green and
pleasant on the ground, rather than the sprawl of urban lights and
cell phone reception we could never seem to get past while on the
ridge thousands of feet above.

We picked up the kids from school, ate ice cream, caught up on all the
Armenian gossip in Pasadena, stuffed our faces with hoummus, pita and
lamb kebab, and I had the most luxurious shower on the trail so far. I
think I might even use the bidet before I Ieave.

I realized that facial scrub almost removes my armpit smell, and that
my face is starting to get that wierd nose, jaw, mouth tan like
mountaineers. When you have a huge mirror to stare at yourself, you
begin obsessing about how bad you look after just three weeks on the
trail. My nose is very sensitive to smell, my ears very acutely tuned
to every noise. It appears that SoCal life is filled with many unusual
smells and an almost riotous nonstop racket. Nonetheless, the
Kenderians and Manjekians of Pasadena think I look great and that I am
a superwoman on the trail.

Just as important, Team Zero, now safely on the other side of Baden
Powell have convinced me that I can be a superwoman--The snowy summit
is within my reach.

Tomorrow I will strike out from Inspiration Point and climb Baden
Powell. Not a single type of snow traction footwear (crampons,
microspikes or yak trax) exist in SoCal, so I bought a cheap pair of
hiking shoes to give me some tread. Once I get off the snow, I'll
ditch the hiking shoes at the road for the next trail sucker, put my
sneakers back on, and cruise the remaining 60 miles to Agua Dulce,
arriving just on schedule.

I had a wonderful time visiting friends, my stomach is full, my head
overwhelmed with new thoughts, and I'm ready for the rush of hiking
once again!

A quote from Jack London: "the proper function of man is to live, not
to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them."

More word from the other side.

The Detour of all Detours. May 24.

This year has been an incredibly heavy snow year in California, and we
had a good storm yesterday, luckily while we were in town and not at
9000ft.

This morning the rest of Team Zero is headed up Mt Baden Powell,
cresting at 9400ft and following approximately 8 miles of snowy ridge
line. I decided to avoid the snow this time, since without crampons
for my sneakers I am worried that Slippy Feet will make another
appearance and either endanger herself or the rest of the group.

Instead I will combine three detours in one: around Mt Baden Powell,
circumventing the endangered yellow-legged frog, and the burned-out
region of the Station Fire of 2009. This combination results in 47
miles of road walking and 16 miles of trail, of which about 8 are
actually on the official PCT. To be honest, I must admit that I really
like road walking. That fact usually stuns other hikers out here,
similar to my obsession with manmade structures on the trail--
windmills, mines, and dams.

This will put me ahead of schedule by almost two days now, and
arriving at "Hiker Heaven", the hiker oasis at the Saufleys house
later this week. I can't wait to get my new sneakers!

Fresh snow at 6000ft. Mile 370!

I'll be staying in with some coffee and flip-flopping around town.

Victory in the Desert. May 22.

This 100+ mile section was full of hot, nasty climbs, requiring full-
on concentration and a penchant for suffering. Thankfully, thru-hikers
like to suffer, but instead they call it enjoying the wilderness.
Team Zero left Big Bear City with five days of food, and certainly my
heaviest pack yet. We covered 26 miles that day, and I hiked until 8pm
at night, totally worn out, having gotten lost during the afternoon,
trapped within a fenced off "no trespassing" area, and fording two
creeks in the last hour. I followed some strange looking tracks for
about the last five miles--too large to be trekking poles dragging in
the sand and too narrow to be bike tires. Within 200 yards of the
campsite I ran into an abandoned shopping cart stuffed with a sleeping
bag and pillow. I poked it with my pole but I was too scared to touch
it or take a photo. I'm glad I was sleeping near the rest of Team Zero
that night.
The next day I babied my sore feet with an enhanced (and much heavier)
first-aid kit replete with tape, moleskin, band-aid blister pads,
gauze, neosporin and tincture of benzoin--pretty much anything to
halt, desensitize, lessen, or mask the blister pain. We crossed the
300-mile mark and also rolled into the clothing-optional hot springs,
right on the trail...more wierdos, Euros going full monty and hiker
dudes wearing skirts. Half-ounce juggled five oranges of trail magic
as nude men trickled behind him cheering and taking photos. I just
wanted them to get out of my camera frame. Warner Springs Monty
brought in ice cream drumsticks, ice cream sandwiches on dry ice and
Carls Jr hamburgers. Another good day of trail magic!!!
My feet were hanging on for dear life, as were many in the gruop. The
temperatures over the next two days reached 101F, but we had a laugh
when one of our thermometers read 156F in the sun. That was a really
sweaty day.
My stench has matured to an official hiker smell, combining scents of
musky BO, ramen seasoning and acetone. This is a smell that
infiltrates your clothing, tent, and sleeping bag and continuously
oozes from your pores. You cannot stop it. No soap or deoderant can
eliminate it. It is your diet, toxins leaving your system and...well,
a general lack of showering in 100 degree heat.
We definitely stank up the McDonalds after a 26-mile day through the
dry San Bernadino Mountains, but that didn't stop us from collectively
inhaling over 14,000 calories of fast food. The calorie-consumption
championship went to the Walking Sisters, Aya and Sayo, who each
consumed over 2300 calories, pulling in the win with an Angus burger
with mushrooms, mayo and swiss, ten-piece chicken nuggets, supersize
fries and Coke, and an 8oz. McFlurry.
Team Zero hiked over 100 miles in four days, leaving only 4.8, at
least two of which were on more snow, for this morning. My friend
David came up from San Diego and picked us up at the road, bringing
shoes for Cubby and gourmet chocolate for us to share! (see our happy
photo above)
I am again soaking my feet in Wrightwood, but I am happy to report
that I have conquered the mammoth bottom-of-the-foot blister. Time to
recover after another grueling section.
Song for this section: "Uprising" by Muse..."They will not force us.
They will stop degrading us. They will not control us. We will be
victorious." After listening to this during the last 104 miles, I am
fairly certain that they were writing about desert blisters. Here's to
victory over blisters, and 84.9 miles to the Gateway to the Mojave
Desert--the Saufleys house in Agua Dulce.
For more on our trip and to read my featured column of ridiculous
quotations, "known as Sticky Notes", go to www.trailjournals.com/bostonandcubby
.

Just another day at the shooting range...and still cookin' at mile 352!

The golden arches at mile 342!! I just consumed 2040 calories...

Edge of LA sprawl and the mountains to come! Mile 320.

Trail magic at the hot springs! Mile 306! Thanks, Warner Springs Monty!

Town. May 17.

People often wonder what happens to thru-hikers when they go into
towns along the trail. How do they get there?
What do they do there? How long do they stay?

Big Bear City is the third "major" town on the PCT. Population 6,025.
Big Bear is spread out over several miles, hugging Big Bear Lake, and
creating a resort-style town, mostly for ski bums from LA. The PCT
intersects Hwy 18 just five miles east of Big Bear City.

Yesterday morning we hiked ten miles in three hours, hit the road at
9am, and immediately prepared for the hitch. The art of the hitch
requires a good connection with the driver (remove sunglasses and
hats, smile profusely) and at a location that allows them to see you,
decide if you are safe to pick up and immediately pull over. With five
people it can be tough, so you typically put a girl in front while the
others hide. We let my pink camo gaiters do the work for us.

You either are invited into the car, and hope that the driver doesn't
mind your stench, or you are sent into the bed of the truck.
Unfortunately, as we soon found out, California law does not allow
people to sit in the back of pickups. To circumvent this requires the
artful leap and duck, launching yourself over the side into the truck
bed, and immediately ducking out of sight. Last night's dinner hitch
had all five of us laying down in the bed of a Datsun pickup truck.
(see evidence above) It was a much needed hitch, as my bottom-of-the-
foot blister had just broken while crossing an intersection, my flip-
flop was soaking wet, and I was yelling, "My water broke! My water
broke!"

Warner Springs Monty appeared in Big Bear to set up a BBQ at the
hostel and gave us a hitch in his pickup...we fit three in front and
five in the covered bed. That was a first for mega-hiker Monty, so we
got some pictures.

It is sometimes easier to just go right up to someone at an
intersection and ask, explaining that you only need to go a mile or
so. I got my first hitch on the back of a motorcycle that way. All in
all, you don't want to ever walk around in spread out towns...so you
rely on good hitches to and fro the grocery store (for resupply of
food), the pharmacy for Vitamin I (ibuprofen) and Epsom salts, the
post office (to receive your boxes of stuff and to mail heavy things
home or ahead) and the multitude of high-calorie meals that are
required for refueling your body.

So far in Big Bear, I have had three meals at Thelma's: Eggs Benedict
with roasted potatoes and fresh OJ (a definite waste of calories in my
non-trail life), prime rib with a baked potato (garnished with a whole
scoop of sour cream and butter: another "real life" no-no) salad and
apple pie a la mode, and this morning's less dense choice of two eggs,
French toast and two sausages. In between meals I have to read the
next section's maps, plan meals for all those days, soak my feet three-
four times per day, ice my latest injury (right now it's a swollen
sacrum from pack rubbing), and determine what I can reduce in weight
on my pack. Today I am cutting off extra lengths of straps all over my
pack. I also ingest ice cream (team zero shared a half-gallon of
Reeses peanut butter cup yesterday), a requisite bag of tortilla
chips, and fruit. Generally the first day out of town makes for lots
of bathroom stops on the trail.

I also shower several times, hopefully with shampoo (this time I found
it in the "hiker box" of leftovers at the Motel 6) but the smell
doesn't really subside completely. Laundry is another chore that
limits what you can do for several hours. If you see people walking
around in long underwear and windbreakers, they are probably hikers
waiting for their cycle to finish.

I would not describe town stops as relaxing. They are the business
days in between the vacations. We had a "nero" yesterday--a near
zero-- and a Zero day today. I am looking forward to finishing this
madness and getting back to the "relaxing" part--the walking.

Reality Check. May 15.

Warner Springs Monty says that 50% of the hikers who start at Mexico
will quit by Idyllwild, 179 miles in. It is probably better that they
quit when they do, since the 86-mile section after Idyllwild is one
huge reality slap in the face.

Puss-filled blisters? Check. Nine straight hours of snow traversing?
Check. 50+ miles of limping? Check. Sand travel in 95-degree heat?
Check. Scaring a brown bear off the trail? Check. Passing hikers that
had started at MX over one week ahead of me? Check.

These last few days have been filled with challenges...physical and
mental, probably the most difficult things I have ever done. I learned
that I like to be in control, but out here that is impossible, and
probably stupid to even try.

Team Zero decided to conquer Fuller Ridge, a climb to 9000ft on north
facing slopes covered in snow, and a 6500 ft decent to desert temps
and wind farms. Due to the high snow levels the official PCT has been
detoured to skip 36 miles all the way to Interstate 10. Instead we
endured nearly nine hours on snow, slipping, sliding, and falling on
my butt at least 20 times. Based on the scattered footprints, only
about 25 or so hikers have made it through, and I certainly have the
bruises and scrapes to prove it. I tried to maintain a certain level
of hubris and pump myself up with the Ludacris line "I don't really
think there's anyone as bomb as me." Instead I was like a bomb
exploding on the trail, slipping down the slope in my flowery skirt,
flying up over my head, over and over and over again.

Ironically the previous night I had staged a motherly intervention
with the 20-something Florida boys, who were both feeling knee pain
and were part of the thru-hiker sick ward at the Idyllwild Inn. They
were determined to soldier on, but Tenspot (formerly known as Shane)
and I convinced them to skip the snow and huge descent in order to
save their bodies for the remaining 2500 miles of their trip. I am
proud that they listened to me, but I was wondering why I didn't take
my own advice, as I glissaded down a rock-encrusted, snowy slope for
the tenth or so time.

Team Zero then hit the swarthy desert at I-10, cruising through deep
hot sand, surrounded by trains and wind turbines, leading to the
beginnings of the blister of all blisters: a deep fluid-filled pocket
under my metatarsal, an absolute deal-killer in the upcoming Mojave
desert.

Our final two days were hotter and more adventurous, with trail
washouts requiring route-finding in 105-degree heat, just after our
first bear sighting and another two mammoth rattlers. I let Alaskan-
born Tenspot handle the bear situation and I can honestly say that I
only thought of running away once. It was all too exciting. That
evening I cowboy camped in crisp 23-degree temps at 7700 ft. I tried
to bury my head into my sleeping bag for extra warmth, but my BO was
putrid, worse than a Paris metro at rush hour. I decided to let my
head suffer in the cold and enjoyed fresh air and starry night sky
instead.

These are all amazing experiences and I would not trade in one day,
one strange encounter, or infected blister for anything. However, it
is time for some serious rest, foot soaking and recuperation in Big
Bear City.

Song for this section: Jay-Z's brilliant remix "Young
Forever" ..."life is for living, not for living uptight." Here's to
being 34-years-young and another 107 miles of living to Wrightwood.
265 miles done? Check.

(Photo above is Tenspot, Cubby, Boston and Half-ounce enjoying the
trail magic at mile 252.)

Living large at mile 252.

Sweet trail magic!!

Pete Townsend windmill at Mesa Wind Farm. Mile 213!

Heading toward I-10 and the wind turbines! Mile 200!

Ninjas, Cowboys and the Emergence of Team Zero. May 11.

The last 69 miles (plus 3.7 non-PCT miles in and out of town) was
groundbreaking territory as a thru-hiker. I knew I had to start early
in Warner Springs, alone again, in order to catch up to my new group
of friends, who would be leaving town two miles ahead of me on a
different road: Boston and Cubby (two women from Nebraska who have
hiked the Appalachian Trail and the Continental Divide Trail
together), Shane (a 33-year-old software guy from Seattle who quit
his job, stopped shaving, and is taking a year-long respite from the
rat race), Half Ounce (a solo 30-something veteran hiker and
mountaineer) and DD (pronounced "Double D" which stands for Dumbass
Dan--not what you were probably thinking).

I started at the road at 6am and in the early morning light I achieved
a first: like a slinking ninja, I slipped by two tents, filled with
thru-hikers still in restful slumber, a move I will call "ninja
stealthing". At mile 22 (10 hours later!), physically and emotionally
exhausted, I caught the crew of new friends on a break (although in
retrospect, I think that they decided to wait for me).

We camped together and I finally felt comfortable hitting my next
milestone: camping without a tent and laying on a ground cloth only,
known as "cowboy camping." It was cold and breezy at about 5000 ft and
I slept better than any other night so far (this might have nothing to
do with cowboying, but rather the fact that I walked 23.5 miles in 11
hours). Thru-hikers LOVE to cowboy camp--it's light, uncomplicated,
and apparently gives you an unobstructed view of the stars, although I
have never been awake long enough to find out.

The next two days were fast, intense walking, nearly 25 miles a day,
climbing to 8600 ft in San Jacinto Wilderness and then descending
through two hours of snow, traversing and relying on GPS waypoints to
find our way. I would never have made it without them (and I think
they want to rename me "Slippy Feet" due to my innate clumsiness on
snow).

I met this group on a "zero" in Warner Springs and I'm with them again
in Idllywild. We hiked hard and we relax hard. We call ourselves Team
Zero (emblem above), because we know the importance, and readily
accept the expense, of a zero day in town.

Song for this section is Kid Cudi's Pursuit of Happiness: "I'm on the
pursuit of happiness and I know everything that shines ain't always
gonna be gold. I'll be fine once I get it; I'll be good." Onward and
upward in the pursuit of happiness. Next stop: Big Bear City in 87
miles.

Pigeon Pose at San Jacinto Peak

Mile 173!

Feet, Water and Trail Magic. May 7.

I have arrived in Warner Springs, population of ~1200. 109 miles down!
Six toes taped, but nothing that a "zero day" (a no-mileage day spent
resting and eating, usually in town.) can't fix. The last three days
have been true desert walking in the Anza-Borrego Desert--cacti, sand,
lizards and even a rattler that my right foot came within an inch of
stepping on. (The guys in the trail wanted to know how big it was. I
didn't stick around long enough after the rattle to find out.) I made
it through a 44-mile stretch without any natural water source, despite
it being a wet year. Thankfully enough, this was possible through the
kindness of trail angels, people who provide support for thru-hikers,
in this case by leaving water caches throughout the desert at
trailheads and road crossings. Yet, you can never rely on these, as
hikers before you may have exhausted the cache, which can be 50 or
more gallon jugs of water, sometimes only accessible by remote jeep
road AND a hike by a trail angel.

After leaving Scissors Crossing, I was carrying 6.5 L of water up a
13+ mile climb at mid-day on totally exposed steep contours, no shade.
The incredible views made up for the pain my shoulders were feeling,
and I arrived at the next (and thankfully still available) water cache
by 6pm. I camped that night with Musk Oxe (a 27-year-old wilderness
youth therapy guide--think Brat Camp) and the Florida guys (just can't
shake them!) The next day was a solid 18 miles through dry meadows and
sandy outcrops culminating in the gorgeous lunch time spot I had in
the San Jose del Valle (see above).

I made it to Warner Springs yesterday, but my resupply box was no
where to be found. Fortunately, through the kindness of the thru-hiker
network, mega-hiker Warner Springs Monty (off the trail, but trail
angeling currently) heard about my plight and brought me four days of
food to get me to Idllywild! Thanks to everyone who called and spread
the word so quickly. I really love the incredible community of thru-
hikers and angels that make all of this possible.

Now to soak my feet at the mineral hot springs, let my blisters dry
out, wash my socks and do it all over again tomorrow. I hear snow and
colder weather are in my near future.

Song for this section: Sting's "Let your Soul be your Pilot". I
wonder if Sting wrote this song while he, too, was hiking through the
desert without a water report and Eric the Black's sometimes
lackluster PCT Atlas. At least that's how I interpret it....I'll let
my soul do the walking. 69 miles to Idyllwild.

Scissor legs at Scissors Crossing!

It's a love-hate kinda thing. May 4

I started walking at 6am this morning, alone, and as it turns out I
walked the whole day by myself. I left the last group of boys
yesterday at lunch and never saw them again. Today I met four more as
I was arriving at a picnic area and they were leaving. One of them,
whom I will call Boot Boy, was complaining of foot pain. I took one
look at him, a college student at Oregon State wearing big leather
hiking boots, and knew that I would be passing him on the trail very
soon. The rest of them were going down, too. They just didn't know it
yet.

Today I felt strong and purposeful with every step. I saw the vast
Anza-Borrego desert for the first time early this morning, and I got
so emotional at the beauty that is unfolding in front of me. The
brown, scrubby rolling hills, dotted with rugged outcrops of boulders,
look dark and foreboding, like they are hiding some top secret
military operation (see my previous post). I spent a lot of today
wondering what is going on here in the desert and why I am walking
through it. No real answers yet on either account, but I did see a lot
of military helicopters flying overhead.

There are moments when the trail is demanding and difficult, and this
is part of the reason why I was once quoted as saying that I hike 98%
for love (for Happy JO, my hubby) and 2% for actual enjoyment. Well,
maybe I spoke too soon. I sort of enjoyed walking alone all day AND
passing all four guys later in the day. I gave Boot Boy a lecture
about foot care on the trail and I smirked as I told the Florida guys
that I had started five miles before them this morning. We are camped
together tonight with about six others (above photo is our campsite).
25.4 more miles down. Song for the day: Armin van Buren's In and Out
of Love. I definitely have a love-hate relationship with the trail.
Let's hope the next 25 miles can be just as amazing as the last.

Getting my groove on. May 3

This morning there was no scurry of border patrol cars. No clothes or
cans of food stashed for immigrants crossing into the US on the trail.
This morning was just quiet, pristine walking, climbing into the
mountains through sandy trail (dotted with hundreds of hiker
footprints), flanked by sagebrush, manzanita and beautiful ( insert
name here) desert flowers. Yet, I don't ever recall leaving camp and
sweating by 7:30am. While the temperature was no more than 72 or 73F,
the sun was shining like a laser beam onto me all day.

Today was a long day of gradual climbing, approximately 3000ft over 20
miles. The climb got tougher as the sun arced through the sky and
there was nowhere to escape. At noon I had walked 11 miles and I was
getting frantic to find some shade. I passed by Jake, a 6'3" 22-year
old, crunched under the shade of a large overhanging boulder on the
side of the trail. I walked another few miles and found a tree--the
lone tree within 10 miles large enough to create a hiker-friendly
shadow. I dried out my sleeping bag and tent in the sun, rested my
feet and ate lunch--Manchego (on day 2 and getting a little warm and
greasy) and some bread. While I was stuffing my face, a fire ant bit
me on on the bottom of my foot. Why did it have to be my foot?

I carried three liters of water to start, as the water report said
creeks were flowing, some in which PCT hikers have not seen water in
five or more years. I saw a bobcat shoot across the trail in front of
me. (I assumed it was a mountain lion that was going to eat me, but a
local corrected this erroneous suggestion.)

I picked up my first box in Mt Laguna (43 miles in) and thought I had
packed myself an Indian meal. Instead I am faced with three days of
ramen noodles. Well, make that four--tonight I had some for dinner,
too. Tomorrow I'll plan to head out early--the SoCal sun is brutal.
I'm definitely getting into thr groove. Cue song for the day:
California Love Remix by 2Pac and Dr. Dre. "California...knows how to
party"

Men to boys. May 2

Men to boys. May 2
In everyday society people tend to agree that women talk more than
men. Yet, if you put hundreds of men at mile one of a 2650-mile
journey with only one trail to walk on, trust me they will talk. And
talk. And talk. About gear, about all their trail experience, their
ability to find water, read maps, and anything else that gives them an
advantage over the male hiker in front of them.

Hiked about half of today alone so as to avoid the alpha male
showdown. There were about eight swarming around after my 7am
departure from the border. The sun was fierce as we climbed through
the manzanita-covered high desert ridges. I tried to rest my feet and
resist the urge to show up the men, who were acting as though they
were teaching me the ropes. I relaxed and tried not to listen to too
much music. Note to self: never bring along slow, potentially tear-
jerking songs when hiking alone. You lose face to the dudes if they
see you tearing up to Chris Brown. Rihanna makes me feel invincible.
I'll try more of her tomorrow.

I carried 4 liters of water today which was just about right. I picked
up 5 liters at Lake Morena campground about 21
miles north nd cooked a dinner of thai rice noodles and tuna (not my
favorite but the heaviest thing in my food bag). Camped on the
outskirts of the campground with four new friends: Yeti (from Israel),
Jake, John and Shannon (also a guy). The sun is setting after a total
of about 21 miles. Im exhausted and a little lonely. This is going to
be tough. We will be separating the men from the boys very soon.

Follow me this spring at: www.3ptbenders.com!

Splits at the border!

Game on: PDX to SAN. May 1.

Starting weight: 120 lbs
Base Pack Weight (BPW, weight of pack without food or water): 18.1lbs(this will need to be trimmed down within the first week, and no, it does not include my 600-page paperback novel. I'll even admit that I sent the second book in the series in a box for later in my trip. Ok, so maybe I was a little ambitious. Neither of these will likely be read until I return to Portland. They're going home. Buh-bye.)

Made it to PDX this morning with some time to spare. (thanks for the ride and the coffee, Jill) Wrapped my backpack in a turkey roasting bag (in order to keep the various straps and loops from getting caught in the airport luggage belts) and taped it up with duct tape. I have a small carry-on bag holding all critical components in individual zip-locs: toiletries, toilet paper, notebook and pen, maps for Section A.) Stood in line with a few hundred people going to Hawaii, looking fresh, coiffed, made-up and vaca fashionable. Their bags were not wrapped in turkey plastic and tape. They only had one ziploc in their carry-ons. I'm fairly certain that they were not toting around their own toilet paper or a contact lense case filled with ointment for armpit and butt chaffing.

I feel liberated from all the planning now, although a little sloppy and vagabondish in normal civilization. Tshirt, desert shirt, Velcro dork watch, straw cowboy hat and blindingly white sneakers. Not that any choice of clothing is particularly outlandish in Portland. I still went through the "I'm an elite flyer, therefore i am better than you"security line to a variety of awkward stares. Wait until i stop putting on deoderant, people.

Time to relax, journal and inhale a few good meals before tomorrow's 4:30am departure for the border. Ugh, I'm already sweating.

Just flying over Lake Tahoe now....I'll cover all the remaining distance of this two-hour flight by foot over the next two months. Less than 24 hours to MX. Nothing left to do but walk.