Why am I here? Why do I keep doing this?
The short answer is: hiking is the ultimate form of connection. Out here there is nothing to do but connect with nature, connect with the towns, connect with the hikers and connect with myself.
Connecting with nature
I was raised in the desert. Walking here feels like walking in my backyard. I stop to watch a small flying insect dig a tunnel in the ground. I grab a huge piece of crystalline quartz. I follow the horny toad, perfectly camouflaged, and feel a deep kinship. I spend an entire day taking photographs of wildflowers, identifying over twenty unique species. White yucca is my favorite, the sentinels of the desert. Every cactus bloom feels like a miracle.
I can plot the trail across the ridges and see where I’m going miles in advance. This is where I live now. This relentless sun that burns my eyes from the skull despite all possible defenses, that leaves my lips so charred and scaly that I fear they will peel off completely. I have 600 miles left to go, to camp every night with my rain fly intact, nothing but an endless expanse of stars above me as I sleep. The sound of running water, from a real stream, is so rare that it seems like something close to heaven.
Connecting with the people
The first «real» town on the PCT is Julian, a town where you can walk anywhere you need to go in five minutes, and where the freshly baked pies rival any grandma’s. I tried to make eye contact with the locals while eating my free piece of cake. The American Legion has the most popular bar in town and allows hikers to rent a cot for just $10. I dragged mine to the dumpster, away from the other hikers, so I could sleep under the stars even in the city.
I want to see what California is really like, outside of the pomp of Disneyland and Hollywood Boulevard. I want to change my mind.
Connecting with hikers
I’m here looking for garbage. I want my friends to be covered in dust from head to toe. I need that junk energy in my life!
We’re in the early days, so most of the people I meet seem too normal. It’s day 1 streetcar season, a community that can border on cliché. Fortunately, over the years I have developed a sixth sense for hiker trash. I made it a point to introduce myself to both Kelly and Isaac on day 0; I just had a good feeling about them. Fast forward to day 5, and Isaac was running barefoot across the floor, glasses stacked upon glasses, apologizing to the bee that had just stung him. The next day, Kelly hitchhiked for the first time and got the three of us a ride, in two separate cars, in just under two minutes.
The three of us were sitting in a circle with some other hikers, playing mini uno as the stars began to appear. Suddenly, a great beam of light split the sky, brighter than the moon. «Wow!» We screamed collectively, amazed together. What was it? A satellite launch? A rocket?
It wouldn’t have been the same to witness it alone. I wouldn’t have known it was real.
Connecting with myself
How often do you take an inventory of your body? How often do you look between your toes or look close enough in the mirror to see the dust on the hairs on your upper lip and think: Am I growing a mustache?
I have heat rash that goes down to my ankles and I get angrier every day. I have three blisters on my toes and the threat of two more. My chin is sunburned and my lips are incredibly chapped. I notice every change, I rub myself from head to toe with a body swipe. I can live with all these things and more. I can also keep walking.
I walk all day in silence: no headphones, no chatting. When I’m not lost in a perfect flow, I’m repeating the usual nonsense, slipping in and out of the same thought patterns. I’m still angry at my ex, I’m imagining all the possible futures in and out of Austin, I’m looking forward to the Triple Crown, wait, remember that moment down the road when…will I ever be normal?
Being on the road brings me back to baseline. Out here, I am distilled until I am nothing more than my purest form.
This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any products or services you purchase using links in articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price they would otherwise pay, and their purchase helps support The Trek’s ongoing goal of bringing you quality backpacking information and advice. Thank you for your support!
For more information, visit the About page of this site.
