200 Miles on the PCT

Somehow, I’m already close to reaching my next hundred mile marker.

As I write this, I’m just nine miles away from the 200 mile Pacific Crest Trail and honestly…these last hundred miles have been incredible.

I feel stronger. Both mentally and physically.

I completed my first two consecutive days of ~20 miles, my first day of 23 miles, and at some point my body started to believe that this walking thing might be normal.

I also finally admitted defeat with my inflatable sleeping mat.

It started leaking around the fourth day. I tried everything. The bathtub test. Soap and water. Looking for bubbles. Nothing. I couldn’t find the leak so I finally decided it was time to replace it. I ordered a foam sleeping pad from Old Station and mailed my inflatable pad home. So far… I have no regrets.

Another decision I made in these last hundred kilometers was to skip about 68 kilometers of trail.

As luck would have it, I saw a post on the Trail Angels Facebook page from another couple who were also planning to skip the exact same section due to drops and difficult trail conditions. They had already arranged transportation to the exact spot where I hoped to start walking again, and they kindly let me tag along.

I’m not trying to be a purist. I’m doing my own hike and although making that decision wasn’t easy, I’m really glad I made it.

Because from there…

Everything seemed to unfold exactly as it was supposed to.

Since I had already mailed my bear canister home after my first three-day stretch, I had to get a little creative while hiking through Lassen National Park. I planned two shorter ten mile days and camped in established campsites with bear lockers.

There I met Pebbles and Fireweed.

They have been touring California for about thirty years and were finally on the last leg of completing it.

Thirty years.

I love that.

They were fun, quirky, full of joy and before the night was over they asked me if they could pray for me.

This was the second time someone along the way asked to pray for me.

I admit…it still catches me a little off guard.

It’s not something I’ve experienced much before.

But every time it happens, I come away feeling deeply loved.

So seen.

So careful.

These are people who, if you really think about it, have no reason to love me.

And yet, they choose kindness anyway.

If that’s not a way for God to remind me that I am loved, I honestly don’t know what is.

Later that night, two more hikers, Kayak and Atlas, joined us for dinner.

I had already eaten my own food, but I stayed anyway because I’m realizing something.

People have become my fuel.

I used to think that food was what recharged me after a long day.

Now I think they are conversations.

Stories.

Laughter around a picnic table.

Maybe that’s why I felt so good the next day.

Because the next day I completed my first 23 mile day.

I arrived at Old Station completely exhausted.

I had heard that there were magical trails at the RV complex, but honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about that.

I was thinking about the motel.

A bed.

A shower.

My own room.

When I arrived, Sarah greeted me with a cold Coca-Cola while I checked into the motel.

Then he took me to camp in a golf cart…

He dropped me off at Camp 40, where Scott, Dawn, Tony and their families had transformed their camp into something truly special.

There were snacks spread out on the picnic tables.

Chairs gathered around a campfire.

A large pot of spaghetti ready for dinner.

And before I had a chance to wonder if I belonged there, they welcomed me like family.

Brave (another hiker) was already there and we all spent the night talking about life, adventures, memories, and the trail.

What caught my attention was not the food.

It was his willingness to share his time.

Your energy.

Their stories.

Their hearts.

Family is one of the most important things in my life.

Being away from mine has probably been one of the hardest parts of this hike.

So when complete strangers make me feel like I belong at their table… it means more than I can put into words.

The next morning, Brave and I ate what was probably the biggest ice cream cone I’ve ever seen: the famous hiker scoops.

Before Brave returned to the trail, the family made him two breakfast burritos to take with him.

I stayed back a little longer.

The kids painted Brave’s staff after I suggested it needed a little more personality.

Later they insisted that I come back because dinner was going to consist of skewers.

I wasn’t willing to say no.

We painted rocks together and I painted my little rendition of Lassen Peak and added it to his growing collection.

I spent hours talking to the kids about sports, school, and everyday life while answering their endless questions about hiking.

At one point, one of them looked at me and told me that I was their favorite PCT hiker they had ever met.

I’ll tell you what…

When a teenager gives you that kind of compliment, you let your ego enjoy it for a minute.

Before I left, I wrote the family a thank you card.

I told them how much family means to me.

How hard it has been to be away from mine.

And how, for a couple of days, they made my heart feel at home.

The more I think about it, the more I am amazed at how many little things had to happen for that experience to exist.

They chose that week to go camping.

I arrived after my longest day of hiking.

I decided to stay one more day.

I kept saying yes.

None of this could have been planned.

And somehow everything happened exactly when it was supposed to happen.

The next morning I left a little later than I expected.

Perfect.

Because leaving later meant that I would meet Red Maple.

We walked to the gas station together, explored Subway Cave together, and spent most of the day walking side by side.

Later, while looking for a shady place to have lunch, we came to a hill and saw umbrellas.

I joked that maybe we should ask if we could join them.

It turns out…

They were angels of the trail.

Marsue, Sam, and Dennis had set up there specifically to feed the hikers.

Fresh sandwiches.

Fruit.

French fries.

Frozen soft drink.

Homemade cookies.

It was amazing.

And they didn’t just give us lunch.

They also prepared enough food for us for dinner.

I usually complain about carrying extra weight.

Not this time.

I happily brought strawberries, grapes, sandwiches, cookies and chips because it meant I didn’t have to cook that night.

Instead, I set up camp and enjoyed one of the best trail dinners I’ve ever had.

The next day I walked another twenty miles before finally reaching Burney.

Burney has been another unexpected gift.

Here the church opens its doors to hikers and offers a place to sleep, shower, a kitchen, and a welcoming community.

I had planned to pick up a care package that Karine (from backpack camp, see my previous blog) sent me in the mail, but the post office was closed over the weekend.

At first I thought, «Well… I guess I’ll just get another zero.»

Then I realized something.

If I were already here on Sunday…

Why wouldn’t I go to church?

During the service there were some hymns that talked about fear, about your feet failing, and about God being with you anyway.

I couldn’t help but get excited.

During the service someone came up and prayed for me.

Again.

And once again I found myself enveloped in this overwhelming feeling of love.

I wish I had a better word than beautiful because it feels bigger than that.

It feels like your heart is getting a hug.

As if they remind you that you are not alone.

Like maybe you’re stronger than you thought because there are so many people silently cheering you on.

After church I started chatting with the couple sitting across from me.

In a matter of minutes it felt as if we had known each other for much longer.

We swapped stories, talked about my blog, and before long, another person mentioned that they were all going moonlight kayaking under the full strawberry moon.

They invited me.

And for everything this path has been teaching me…

I said yes.

That means I’m going to take another zero before walking the last few miles to my 200 mile marker.

And honestly?

I wouldn’t change it.

One of the biggest patterns I’m noticing here is that even when things seem like they’re going wrong…

They often go exactly right.

A leaky mat took me to the old station.

Waiting for a package took me to church.

Going to church led me to make new friends.

New friends took me kayaking under the full moon.

The more I slow down, the farther I feel like I’m going.

People often talk about finding their trail family.

When I started, I thought that meant finding hikers I would spend months hiking with.

Now I think my trail family is much bigger than that.

They are the hikers I meet for an afternoon.

The families who invite me to dinner.

The angels of the trail who deliver me homemade cookies.

The people who pray for me.

The people of these small trail towns who welcome me into their lives for a few hours.

It’s amazing how quickly someone can become important to your story.

Sometimes all it takes is a conversation.

A shared meal.

An act of kindness.

I’m realizing that I may not be here simply to hike the Pacific Crest Trail.

I’m here to go through it.

Stop in the towns.

To say yes to dinner.

Go to church on Sundays whenever you can.

To accept invitations.

To meet strangers.

Allow those strangers to become friends.

Because, as my friend reminded me, the trail will always be there.

But these people…

These moments…

These opportunities…

They won’t.

So I’ll keep saying yes.

I will continue to brake.

And I will continue to let this journey become whatever it is meant to be.

Thanks for continuing reading, until next time and happy trails. Love, Flower 🌺