Fast and Fearless. June 8.

I left Mojave with Morph, a tall, white-haired, folk-singing Canadian
and freckle-faced Moonshadow from Asheville. They had hiked the
Appalachian Trail together, and were staying at the same Motel 6 as
me. Ten miles out of Mojave we were still fighting the wind as we set
up camp. Another group of hikers caught up to us, including Hasty, who
exclaimed, "Sticky Fingers! I never thought I would see you again. We
met at the Saufleys and I heard that you were so fast that I would
never catch you." That made me smile as I packed up and left camp the
next morning at 5:30am. I guess Hasty was right. I was fast. But where
was I racing to?

I found Green Tortuga laying under a desert pine tree that
afternoon. I had walked 20 miles by 1:30pm, so I figured a break was
warranted. I was trying to slow down, really I was. Tortuga and I
camped near one of the few natural water sources in this section...we
weren't out of the desert yet. While cowboy camping he recited several
poems to me in campfire style...The Cremation of Sam McGee, Casey at
the Bat...It brought back memories of the girl scouts except I was
actually enjoying myself in the woods this time.

The following day, after slogging through the sand in intense midday
heat, and squeezing the last drop from a water cache, it was time to
say goodbye to Tortuga. He asked me why I needed to go so fast. I
replied "because I can, because I have to." Over the next several
hours I learned that when you are dehydrated Joshua trees start to
look like hikers in the distance, urging you on to the next ridge.
Good thing I was surrounded by miles and miles of them or I might not
have made it.

Boston and Cubby once told me that hikers carry their fears on their
backs. For some it's lack of food, others lack of water, and still
others, the risk of facing inclement weather. When you hike for enough
days you realize that all of these fears can be mediated by simply
walking faster, rather than carrying more stuff. Less days require
less food. Faster walking means less time between water sources and a
better ability to stay warm in bad weather.

Before departing Mojave I told myself that I could finish 86 miles in
3 1/2 days. I trimmed down my clothing, paired down my food and fuel
to the bare minimum and swore to myself that I wouldn't lug water like
a security blanket. I felt free and fast. My feet (now sporting
sneakers 1 1/2 sizes too large) felt awesome. I flirted daily with my
lifelong enemy--the wind--and still managed to continue smiling.

I finally felt like a machine. Just enough food and water, and my legs
would crank out 25+ miles day after day. My dirt tan became thicker
than my suntan. I cowboy camped alone in the wind, followed a mountain
lion's tracks without cringing, and ate the ants stuck in my mashed
potatoes. My last day alone on the trail was so satisfying that I now
understand how and why people submit themselves to such a life for
five months en route to Canada.

The song for this section is Moby's Feeling So Real. No explanation
necessary. Sticky Fingers is fearless and flying into the Sierras.
Mile 653 and counting down!