This dear friend of mine from LA picked us up at the airport, embarrass him by walking around like goofy tourists on an LA beach, took us grocery shopping, drove us 2 hours to the trailhead, and almost didn't even let me pay for his hamburger. What a true bro. This is what friends are for! Thanks Dennis.
We would not have survived this week without the kindness of many other people. You see, Bambi (Abigail's trail name, check out her blog) and I didn't quite pack out enough food to last us the 90 miles to Lake Isabella. For this reason we hiked quickly but rationing food like that was tough. I figured out that my body is a very selfish machine. It's like a drug dealer, it doesn't have what I want unless I've got the stuff. So a nature valley bar won't quite carry you and a 20 pound pack up a hill 5 miles.
There were saviors to the rescue though. The first came at the end of a very tough morning, we were both calorie deprived, starting to get blisters, and a little dehydrated. And then we arrive at the cache in Kelso Valley Road, which we discover to be empty. From out of the back of an SUV comes Steve. He's a trail angel following his wife for support, and he has bottles of water, snickers bars, Doritos, and Gatorade for any hikers he sees coming through that day. While this may seem simple to you, this was a game changer for us.
Further on the way out of the valley we ran into Goaltech, a southbounder handing out instant Starbucks and chips to all northbound hikers! The stars were aligned in our favor. Check out his blog at goaltechhikes.blogspot.com.
I am convinced Gatorade and Doritos could take me up any mountain. After these snacks I felt like a mix of the Michael Jordan and the flaming hot version of Chester Cheetah.
It rained on us in the desert three days in a row by the way. This is clearly bullshit.
It actually snowed on us once.
Our final day in this section was the roughest. Our plan was to walk 26 miles to Highway 178 and hitch to Isabella for dinner that night. Luck was with us. We found an ice chest full of Gatorade, left by trail angels, conveniently placed before a 2500 foot climb. That evening, as we neared the road we saw a tent and a van. The van we immediately recognized as that of Coppertone's, the trail patron saint of root beer floats, cookies, and bananas. The man gave me his socks because I mentioned to someone else mine weren't treating me well. THESE ARE THE KIND OF PEOPLE YOU MEET OUT HERE!
The tent belonged to none other than Yogi, the author of the Guidebook to the Pacific Crest Trail. I already owed this woman my life for the invaluable advice she had given me in her book, but now I owe her again because she was cooking every hiker who walked through spaghetti. Mother freaking spaghetti. And bread and salad and everything else good you can imagine.
As you can probably imagine, this was a great thing for someone who could hardly remember the last 3000-4000 steps he had taken. And because we had a full meal in our bellies, Bambi and I decided to camp at walker pass and chill with everyone. I got to spend hours talking to a trail legend! We chatted gear and chatted life and she gave us great advice.
The desert taught us many lessons. My feet are blistered and my muscles are sore. I'm sunburned, and at the moment, underwearless. We're stronger and smarter though. For anyone who hasn't read the Alchemist, please read it and I think you will understand my thoughts on all of these happenings.
Next time I will pack out more food.
Speaking of food, I'm going to go eat an inappropriate amount of Mexican food.
Miss you Daniel. Great blog!
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