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.)