Miles traveled: 18.4
Mile marker: 169.2
It’s 6:00 am Dad, Rafiki and I are sitting in a cozy coffee shop called Pure Bean Coffee House. I order a filtered coffee and have my eyes on the lemon blueberry scone, but settle for the blueberry coffee cake instead. The barista recommended it to me and I’m trying to be a big girl and try new things.
We sat with Zog, the older boy who will soon be hiking the trail south, but did a stint heading north while we were on the trail.
Shepherd and another hiker from Washington state join us. Turns out the lemon blueberry scone was better than the coffee cake. Dad and I split the two cakes. Zog laughs at our interactions.
«That?» asked.
«This is how it should be: a father and his daughter.» Zog says.
Seeing dad and I never gets old.
We return to the inn, where I frantically fly around the room to pack before our vehicle arrives.
«You’re like a tornado!» Rafiki says.
Yes. Yes, I am. Frantic and anxious.
At the office, I drop off items in the hiker’s box (this is a place for hikers to give and take things they no longer need or have excess of) and the rest of the team shows up. A minute later, Rochelle arrives in her small sedan.
Rochelle is dark, friendly and extremely kind and generous. She agreed to send us our boxes, which is a huge relief for me! Although he doesn’t make any money from his business, he gets by thanks to the tips hikers give.
She recently moved here with her preteen son. Idyllwild is quaint and small, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Apple Valley, where she moved from.
I’m sitting between Dad and Denis as we ride. The terrain is beautiful as we go.
She drops us off at the trailhead. He gives us oranges and another woman in a caravan He gives us a bar of fruit gummies. I’m frantically packing all my things and tying the laces on my new shoes while Dad talks to an older couple hiking the trail.
There is little brush and dust out here. Desert.
We start walking and I try to keep up the pace for the first five miles or so. The sun heats things up quickly. We started taking breaks here and there. Flies are relentless. When they get the chance, they bite us. We end up hitting each other and chasing the bugs away as best we can.
I eat my Rice Krispy treats that Rafiki gave me. In fact, I eat all three of them. It’s hiker math. Less Rice Krispies = less weight.
I take a look at the elevation profile for the next part.
Leaving a cozy campsite where we’ve been resting, where Dad was also resting with his tram (trail family) the first time he went up the PCT, I climb a soft dirt hill and my trekking poles slip in the loose soil.
“First fall of the hike!” Dad says.
Not a real drop, but yeah.
We continue up.
We’ve already been on a steady climb, but now we’re going on an even steeper slope!
«It’s downhill, Katy,» Denis says. Of course, this is a joke.
We continue forward. Sweat settles on my eyebrows and soaks the back of my hair. We decided not to ride the camel at a spring 0.6 mile from the trail. At this point, we are all rationing our water.
My new sunglasses, Gooders, have been perfect. While I loved my Willy Wonka sunglasses (as Rafiki describes them), these sunglasses with brown lenses have enhanced the trail. Every crack in a hill or tree line is clearer. Right now, mosquitoes are flying around my sunglasses like I’m in a 4D animated movie.
It’s strange, I always thought mosquitoes liked the moisture on my eyeballs, but apparently not!
Then comes the big hill. It’s incredibly steep, steeper than anything I’ve done on the trail so far. It’s rocky and even though the weather is cooling down a bit, I still have a hard time putting one foot in front of the other.
This is very frustrating. We started late and now we have to climb this stupid hill. Worse yet, I’ve been anxious all day. Worried about my family and thinking about my brothers. I just want my brothers to be happy in life. I’m worried that Dad’s trail experience will be interrupted if I join the trip. I worry that I’m not cut out for the hiking life. Irritated because I brought some Bible scriptures but I don’t have time to read them, which is one of the most important things I can do to be at peace (my personal meditative practice).
Even the Scriptures are monopolizing my thoughts. I keep it in a private pocket of my bag. It’s so protected that I can’t grab it. The most important thing in my life is hidden in a secret pocket.
I need it. It should be accessible, where it can be wrinkled and folded, but at least it will be close at hand.
This hill is endless. Rafiki is behind me, dad in front. We are all rationing water. Dad has to go ahead because he is very dehydrated and needs water. Rafiki walks behind me, but I bet he would move faster without me in front.
I like having Rafiki around though. He is good at conversation, which helps get through difficult times. Plus, it keeps me moving.
The climb is dirt and rock. I’m crawling at this point, counting the miles until I get there. It should have been three miles from mile 15.84.
The land opens up into a field of small apples that grow to the point of navigating through what seems like a labyrinth.
My chest fills with joy and relief.
At last!
We pass through the manzanita field and enter an area of low scrub. We began a steep descent downhill. There should only be about 0.2 miles left! As I track the distance on my watch, we reach 18.84 miles. The water should be here, but the curves continue along a long, smooth path.
«Are you sure we’re on the right track?» I turn and ask Rafiki.
«I’m sure,» he says.
We continue down the curves that take us deeper into the forest. We are 0.1 mile away.
.2 more.
«Rafiki, that sign must have been wrong. Are you sure this is the right path?»
«I’m sure,» he says again.
.3 more.
«Rafiki! The signal was wrong!»
«Trust me! This isn’t about you anymore,» Rafiki says.
“I didn’t say it was about me,” I mutter, knowing full well that I depend on others for navigation, hiking tips, and conversation. We turn the corner and there’s Dad, sitting on a flat, open piece of land!
We let ourselves fall next to him. Poor Rafiki is very dehydrated. Dad says he had to continue because he needed water.
A few minutes later, Rafiki and I walked down a narrow, overgrown path to a small water box.
This will be the first time I use my water bladder.
“Get the floats out of the way, but try not to disturb the sediment,” Rafiki says as he moves his hand through the water. Push the bladder down and, with one big movement, remove the water from the pool.
«Your turn,» he says.
We have to wait for the sediment to settle. I’m wearing the fleece, but Rafiki is only wearing his hiking shirt. We both shiver in the cool night, now that we are calm and collected.
I swim my hand through the cold water and push my bladder into the pool. I throw it over the water and only gain about half the bladder.
We do this for about ten or fifteen minutes. It was a great day, with a lot of uphill. Exhaustion consumes us both as we sit, drink water, wait for the sediment to settle, and do it again.
Once finished, we carefully crossed the muddy slope that led us here and met up with Dad.
Rafiki, having drunk a lot of cold water due to his dehydration, is lying face down on his mat, the cold of the drink having lowered his core temperature. I chuckle when I see him in this position; It’s a little cruel, I know.
I start preparing my dinner, which is jalapeno tuna and chicken ramen. I have a tissue system that some might consider unhealthy. After rinsing my pot as best I can, I wipe off the water and potato residue. Then I wet it to clean the dirt that covers me from my feet to my knees. Then I use it as a tissue, since all this dust is covering me up a bit. I have a desert nose.
Unsanitary? Well.
While we all calm down, I talk to Dad about some of my anxieties from the day. Of course, the way anxiety works, none of my worries were reality. Dad is having a great time on the trip and doesn’t feel like I’m a burden at all. He’s happy it’s here and happy to slow down and enjoy the trail, something he told himself he’d do if he ever walked the trail again.
As the day goes to sleep, the city below glows like coals in a fire. I’m so exhausted that I close my eyes and let sleep take over.
