AZT – 3 angels for pineapple

After leaving Pine, I began to accept the solitary nature of my AZT hike. But no matter how much I was alone on the trail, the community was still there: trail angels!

Day 12 – 30 miles +6421 feet

The sky is robin’s egg blue and holds great promise: it is dry today. No wet socks, no wet sleeping bag, no putting on and taking off the “waterproof jacket”*. Just sun and then sunset and then stars all night.

30 miles later, I hope the sky keeps its promise, because I can see the phoenix lights from up here, but I definitely couldn’t set up shelter in this damn windy place. My headlight flashes just as I enter the camp described, I look at the FarOut comment: oasis, it says. There’s a campfire surrounded by beer cans and trash, the ground is too hard to drive a stake into, and I’d have to clean out all the bullet casings first anyway. I guess I should have known that calling any place next to a dirt road an “oasis” is ironic. Well, a girl has to sleep.

*questionable if FroggToggs can be considered a waterproof jacket

Day 13 – 24 miles +3976

For the first time in 10 days I woke up rested. Even though it was windy, I was warm under my quilt with the stars twinkling above me and the phoenix lights below me. I thought about the streets there, the traffic and the neon lights of the stores. I wonder if anyone, just one person, ever thinks that there is someone up here in the mountains, looking at the city skyline and thinking about that person.

I still have two servings of protein oatmeal left to get me the 25 miles to the marina, it should be enough, but I’m still exhausted and the miles feel very, very, very slow. Who put lead in my shoes? The trail has gone back up-down-up-up-down through indifferent desert bushes. I finally see two things that make the corners of my mouth form a smile:

1. A grizzly bear box I knew of has a water tank inside.
2. Saguaros! (A special type of cactus)

A few hours later, as my feet hit the smooth pavement of Highway 188, I sigh. «Almost there!» Nope, still 2.7 miles and one hell of a PUD before you reach Roosevelt Marina (PUD = meaningless up and down. Seriously, walk down the damn road).

Like a child on Christmas Day, I open the big Priority Mail package. Philipp had generously left me his refill box and now there are packaged ramen meals with spices and peanuts, a bottle of olive oil (which I gave away haha), packets of oatmeal and powdered milk for breakfast, protein bars, protein cookies and a squeeze bottle of Mio. How wonderful!

Rosie’s place

With the surprise of the resupply, I didn’t need Gila Mama to pick me up and take me to the store. But I hadn’t seen a human in days, I was tired and worn out, and a small dose of comfort: fresh food, a shower, dirty clothes, a conversation, would do me some good.

wow, wow, wow! Rosie’s house should be renamed + given an award for the new hiker’s paradise. Becky (Gila Mama) and Scott have thought of every little detail (a French press! Post-shower slippers! Bathrobes!) in their paradise garden. It was difficult to leave the next day after enjoying Becky’s company and scratching Rosie’s belly (the dog lol), returning to solitude… but there is a path to walk.

Day 14 – 19 miles +7067

Without T in AZT

«Where is the trail?» Leaving Roosevelt, the AZ-R (road, not trail) follows a dry or washed river bed for miles and when I finally get out of it, the AZT is not much more than a faint spur, sometimes just rocks. Nothing else.

«Hello!»

“Wow, hikers!” I exclaim when two gray-haired men get off the train.

«Hiking section only. And we don’t have trail names. We’re Todd and Gary»

«Pineapple»

«Well, you’re one lucky lady, Pinecone. There are three guys in front of you, you can choose,» the taller one laughs. They both exude good vibes all the way and we chat some more before heading in opposite directions.

Alone in the forest?

But today there are more people following the trail. The sun has already begun to set when I notice something moving in the bushes on a ridge. Something bigger than a bird or a deer.

Hunters. Two men dressed in camouflage with rifles on their shoulders look through binoculars at something in the distance. I guess as far as etiquette goes, you’re supposed to be quiet so as not to scare their “target,” but I also need them to know I’m here.

I continue walking slowly, burning holes in their jackets with my eyes. Finally one of them notices me. We greet each other. Whatever they were checking, it was right where the azt is going and where I was going. “Sorry,” I say quietly, then accelerate to 3.0 miles per hour.

There’s something special about armed men in the woods. I try to remember when I passed the last trailhead or dirt road. It’s been a while. Are they camping here?

It’s pretty dark when I reach the small camp by the creek and I realize that this is also the closest water source for them.

Damn. I fill my bottles and continue walking into the night. It’s all uphill beyond the creek and it takes me another 2 miles before I find a flat spot to cowboy. From up here I can see their bonfire in the distance. They didn’t go to the stream.

Day 15 – 25 miles +3304

Despite being at the top of the ridge, condensation soaks my things. Not just damp, but completely wet, as if it had been raining. Some idiot PCT hiker tried to tell me that the hydrophobic treatment of down is useless; well, I’m snug under my quilt, no matter how wet it is.

The morning is cold and it only gets colder as I walk to Reavis Creek. I pull the sleeves of my raincoat up to my knuckles, shivering. The remains of the Reavis Ranch can still be found here. There have also been bear sightings but no luck. White frost covers the grass down here. The trail is overgrown and weak.

That morning I meet up with 3-day hikers and when I sign the log book at the TH a few miles later, they have all entered «blocks» as their destination. That? Apples? I later found out that there is a famous apple orchard with really good apples. Side quest for future sobos!

The view from the ridge is impressive. Sides pass me by, bathing me in a cloud of dust that sticks to my sweaty skin. The crunch of the frozen ground this morning is a distant memory.

Try ice cream for foot problems

My feet start to hurt again as I finally pull off the dirt road into the city of Superior. Was it a mistake to send back trail runners in a larger size? Probably.

There is a remedy that works without fail: eating ice cream. I head straight to Circle K when a woman greets me. I look around, is he referring to me?

“Are you Maja?” he asks. He’s wearing a brightly dyed shirt and then I notice the purple wings painted on his white car. OMG THAT’S MJ!

“Oh, hello!” is all I can say. Backstory, when I got up the PCT in 23, Timber was doing magical trails around Sierra City. He uploaded AZT last year and saw I was doing it now, reached out and said I should definitely stick with MJ, THE AZT Trail Angel/icon/unreal human being.

Day 16 – zero

I always say I don’t miss sleeping in a bed when I’m on the road, but that morning, when I woke up in MJ’s saguaro room, with nowhere to be and nothing to do, no morning chores, no packing or making breakfast, I rolled over and closed my eyes again in pure ecstatic bliss. God, I didn’t want a zero but I sure needed one.

After breakfast, I’m weeding MJ’s garden when a car pulls up and parks in front of the one-story house. Glenn “Snake” and Art “Karts”, who will ride the AZT as a tribute to Dale Shewalter “the father of the AZT”. We eat thick slices of MJ’s gluten-free chocolate cake and tell stories. It feels good to be surrounded by hiking people and I’m glad I stayed instead of venturing out into the empty desert.

Later, we bought pizza dough from a local baker: Burt! Watch me get better at remembering names: for pizza night and tonight there’s a fashion show at the old high school. We sat in the front row in comfortable chairs that look like they belonged in a movie theater. Superior is showing its best side even beyond the golden hour on Apache Leap.

a magical place

There is something about this small town, something endearing that I can’t quite put my finger on. I spoke with Tiny Horse (PCT 2022 – I ALWAYS meet 22 year olds) and I understand why you would choose to live here, with 3000 citizens and a lot of desert around. I get why a quirky fashion show is better than any Friday night at a trendy cocktail bar. These people care. His dad David is selling snacks at the door. Tiny Horse’s sister Maya runs the event. The lady from the farmers market is here. Everyone in this room knows everyone (except me). There is land for sale next to MJ’s house and I would buy it without hesitation.