AZT – Plot twists between Patagonia and the border

Day 27 – 28 miles +4847

dillydally to AZT terminal

The third car stops. Sitting behind the wheel is a woman, older than me, but barely old enough to be my mother.

«I always pick up hikers,» he says. There’s a familiar tone to his voice, something I can’t quite put my finger on until it clicks: it sounds like… me.

«Where are you from?» And then the conversation turns to German. He explains that he moved his company from Germany to the United States 20 years ago, but that he grew up in the same region as my mother. “Wow, I kind of envy you for living here,” I admit. She laughs, and the way her skin wrinkles around her eyes tells me that’s what she does a lot: laugh.
«And I envy you.» Her name is Ana.

The Patagonian town is small but charming. The kitsch storefronts, worn porches, and the infamous Gathering Grounds cafe entice me to stay. But not me. Today, all I need is to charge my phone, eat something real, and find some solution for my infected finger wound.

«I never pick up hitchhikers,» says the woman who picked me up on the way back to the AZT. «But you seemed harmless, you know?»
«Am.»

Back on the trail, the first water tank is empty and I didn’t bring much from the city. Which means at least my pack is light and I’m walking fast to the next well because I’m thirsty. Then something catches my attention, something unusual in the AZT: a human being.

My steps falter and I squint to see who it is. «You’ve been in and out of town quickly,» Jesse says as I approach him. He is sitting in the shade of a tree, with his backpack next to him.
«Yeah, I really wanted to go back now that we’re so close to the end.»
«Are you finishing on Friday?» ask.
«Yeah.»
«How far are you going to go today?»
«Uhm, you know it’s kind of a funny story…»
He raises his eyebrows expectantly, inviting me to explain.
«A friend is meeting me here. He parked at Montezuma Pass and is walking north. So I’ll just walk until I meet him. I don’t know where he is now.»
I pull out my phone: still no service.

Day 28 – 28 miles +7333 feet

cold drinks and cold nights

The night before I had turned off the 5:10 am alarm. With only thirty-six miles to the border, there was no longer any need to get up in the dark. Sleeping in, what a luxury. Is this what vacation feels like?

After weeks of hiking and camping alone (except that night with the cycling team), the sudden burst of conversation and companionship left me charged. My body was full of energy. I listened to his slow breathing, the rhythm becoming deeper as he fell into unconsciousness. I, on the other hand, was wide awake.

When I finally fell asleep, it was only for a few hours. When I woke up again, the sun had already risen and Stout was moving a few feet away. By seven, we were back at the AZT and walking toward Parker Canyon Lake.

It had been ten long days since my last shower. I had been imagining a glorious plunge into cold water, washing the sweat, salt and dust off my skin, but when we reached the lake, the murky surface and stagnant smell made one thing clear: I would probably come out smelling worse than I went in.

«Cold drink at the marina?» He asked Stout, although it wasn’t really a question. I would have walked 5 more miles to get a cold, frothy drink.

“Did you know this was here?” he asked after we rounded a bend and reached the marina. People loaded fishing gear onto trucks. The place is busy for a Friday morning. We buy drinks from the store clerk with the bleached eyebrows and then we go back for ice cream, and then we go back for more drinks. In the end, time became a small vortex and I don’t know how long we were there. Our wet quilts dried in the sun.

When we finally get back to the AZT, a border patrol car pulls up next to us. Since both the CDT and the AZT end directly at the border with Mexico, the situation has become tense lately. «Do you want some ice water?» the officer asks and then leaves after pouring ice water into our bottles.

«Is that a person?» I point to something moving through the trees, clearly moving up the path. Stout and I stopped for a snack in Sunnyside Canyon when another hiker showed up. Sobo, and it’s not Jesse?!

«Hello»

«Hello»

It turns out that Nick left the South Rim on October 8th and will probably finish tonight: 20 days. He doesn’t stay long, but not long after, we catch up with him on the climb up to Granite Peak, then lose him because he’s so fast, and then catch up with him again. The sun sets today in Mexico as we follow the trail, zigzag after zigzag along the ridge; It’s beautiful and sad. This is the end and I wish it wasn’t. I wish I could stop the clocks, stay here in this moment, catch it in an empty jam jar and open it when I need to. This is where I belong.

We hike into the night until Nick’s headlamp finally fades into the darkness, and Stout and I decide to cowgirl camp on the ridge. The last cowgirl camp at the AZT, the last dinner, the last time we brushed our teeth in the red light of our headlights. Last, last, last. We are at 8,632 feet and a cold wind is whipping us from below. Lately, the nights have been warm enough that I can use my pillow as a pillow, but tonight I put on all my layers and adjusted the hood of the jacket around my face. Brrr. Still, I barely slept, but maybe it was something else that kept me up all night again.

Day 29 – 8 miles +1263

The end of AZT

Like gently running my finger down Arizona’s spine, the AZT traces the ridge line. Up here, the wind is quite fresh and whispers against my bare skin. I am very close to the end of my walk. Again, but closing a chapter always strikes a chord with me. If I wanted to, I could turn around now and walk back north. If I were to listen to my heart, I would send an email to work saying I won’t be going this season. I would cancel my non-refundable plane ticket. We will always have the Florida Trail*.

But I won’t, and I have no good reason not to. Perhaps, after all, I am also chained to the expectation of what a life should be like. That if I do, if I leave everything else and simply walk towards infinity, I will regret it. Or will I regret not walking as much as possible?

Scratch that itch

At Montezuma Pass, we meet Nick again and as we chat, Jesse also joins us. It’s time to finish the last kilometer to the border monument. Stout and I leave our backpacks in his truck and run around the curves. And for a while, I don’t feel sadness. I feel nothing but the air in my lungs and my feet hitting the ground. I just feel the joy of running just because we can. For that last mile, we float in the twilight zone between chapters, where the future isn’t real and the past hasn’t disappeared yet.

Then the monument appears: sand, steel and barbed wire. I was here last year so I knew how anticlimactic it is. Even more so now with the recently added barbed wire. It’s October 31st. I’ve spent 29 days touring the AZT, which seems like a short time, it feels wrong.

A 2000+ mile hike like the PCT, CDT, or AT is plentiful. These trails take so long that you will get tired of walking. Walking more than 2,000 miles is like eating gallon after gallon of your favorite ice cream until your teeth rot. It’s gluttony. Walking for 4 months is excessive. But maybe I want to be consumed by what I love, swallowed by it, I want it to drown me. As much as I loved AZT, it wasn’t enough.

It left me longing.

*No, just don’t comment on that statement.