AZT: the desert is filling

First of all, sorry for the long break between updates on my AZT hike. There were many miles to walk, the days were getting shorter and most nights I could barely keep my eyes open once I was horizontal, let alone write.

Day 17 – 25 miles +6296 feet of elevation gain

After my Zero with MJ in Superior, I’m back on track. The section south of Superior is awesome, awesome, could it be the best section yet? Red rock sculptures rise above the desert, while the valleys are an unusual green for this time of year. Which makes it feel like walking through an art exhibition. “It’s worth it,” I think to myself. When you go sobo on the AZT, you definitely have to work for the views and earn the trails throughout the pine forest between South Rim and Pine.

While I’m taking a break from the trail, the AZT mountain bike race has started (they’re heading north) and I’m still pulling off the trail to let the sweat-soaked, grim-faced riders pass by (I think they’re in pain). It’s busy here now! And I’m lucky to see wildlife: the desert tortoise MJ told me about makes its way through during the quiet afternoon hours. Just a mile later, I see my first rattlesnake.

At dusk, another cyclist comes up the trail. Do you spend the night cycling? It looks very dangerous on the rocky trails, but the M1 finished it in 2 days, so he must have been cycling at night. It quickly gets dark and I see an angrier rattlesnake, plus one that is very cold. I see a Javelina and her baby in the bushes and then my question is answered: more cyclists. Yes, they ride bikes all night.

Day 18 – 15 miles

Kearny – the most welcoming city in the AZT (no exaggeration). During my visit I helped Jeff install a fence extension because his puppy Tallulah figured out how to escape. Personally, I can’t judge a girl, two-legged or four-legged, for going wild.

Day 19 – 28 miles +6890 feet

All you need to hitchhike is one thing. Not a girlfriend out for a walk, not a clearly legible sign or clean clothes. Patience. And this Tuesday morning I had very little left. So instead of sticking my thumb out and playing the long game, I just walk down the road.

Not even 2 miles later, a huge pickup truck pulls up on the gravel. As I approach, a bearded man comes out. “Are you walking the path?” he asks. His beard is white and he is tall. I nod and he opens the bed of his truck for my backpack. For a moment I am taken aback by his unexpected kindness. «Good morning and thank you. I’m Maja, what’s your name?»

Mr. J tells me that he used to work in the mine around here until he had an accident that crushed his right wrist. He shows me the pale pink scar that surrounds his hand and forearm.

“The doctor asked me if they should cut it or save it to wash my hair.”

«Wow, what options, huh»

His laughter roars through the car. He talks about his older children, the horse he bought on the reserve, he tells me he has cancer. And even though we just met, that makes me sad.

“Have you seen any wild animals?” he asks.

“Three rattlesnakes within a half mile radius coming into Kearny!”

«I hate these things. I’d rather cancer take me out than a rattlesnake,» laughs Mr. J. He doesn’t seem bitter about dying.

“So you’re not afraid, huh?” he asks and I shake my head. “They are just animals”

“And you got in the car with a bearded man you don’t know,” he laughs again.

“Maybe somewhere else it would be strange, but not in a place like this,” I point to the desert around us.

«I think most people are good. There are exceptions, a lot of idiots. But most people are good.» I look at him. His blue eyes are kind. A kindness that has endured hardship, a kindness to live a hard life and still see the beauty in everything.

At the trailhead, his truck disappears in a cloud of red dust. Heading south after the Florence Kelvin Trailhead, the AZT meanders along a few ridges before descending into the vast, sprawling desert. Miles and miles of desert bush.

Sweat runs down my temples, the fabric of my shirt feels stuck to my chest. For a second, Damion and I were surprised by each other’s presence and then immediately delighted. He is the first mountain biker who stops to chat.

«How’s your hike going? Do you need anything. Snacks? Magic? Water? Are you a vegetarian? Take these. I’ve been carrying them forever.»

He hands me two sticks of dried meat.

Then he bikes into the desert an hour before sunset and I’m alone again. “Walk 0.6 miles off trail to get water or walk at night another 6 miles to the rain catcher?” I ask the lizard watching me from his rock. Energized by all the positive social interactions today, I decide to take an evening walk.

There are really cool rainwater collectors here, huge steel mushrooms with a faucet for human use and a conduit for animal use. By the light of my flashlight, I filter two liters before preparing to look for a place to camp, when suddenly a man appears in the darkness.

«Hello»

“Hello?” I say, a slight wave of panic running through my gut. I don’t see a bicycle or a backpack. Why is he here at night?

“Have you finished uploading the AZT?”

«Yeah?»

«We’re here in our van for the bike race. Do you want something cold to drink?»

«Uhhh»

«We also get fruit. My wife is there»

“I guess I’m following a man to his van to buy fruit then,” I joke, relaxing. and on my shoulder my backpack. The man’s name is Lance and in the truck I meet his wife Heather. Both Arizonans and mountain biking enthusiasts.

“Do you want a beauty?” he asks.

«Cute?» I have no idea what that is.

«Yes, they are the best when it’s so hot»

“Sure,” I smile even though she can’t see it in the dark. Ruining my brain how cute it is.

He takes out a bag and hands me…. A tangerine. 😄

They track cyclists online and when a bike light appears a few minutes later, they call your name and invite you over. Shortly after, a cyclist appears. Conversations break out about trails, setups, events, and the Triple Crown, and even though I have no idea about the Arizona mountain biking world, I love being here, listening, and nodding. That’s the first night in the desert that I’m not alone.

When I finally make my way to the cowgirl camp next to the trailhead, it’s already past hiker midnight. At 3am it starts to drizzle and I quickly set up my tarp, cursing. I thought I was done with this? Two hours later the first cyclists pass by. There’s a lot going on here.

Day 20 – 29 miles +5768

I lay on my side, watching a spider under my tarp, building a web that included my shoe. How do I tell him this is a one night stand?

Today I walked at night to the Tiger Mine Rd cache and I found a little spot on the dirt road that is the perfect size for my tarp (it had drizzled a little the night before). Finding one of those cozy little campsites after a long day: how do you explain this feeling to a non-hiker? It’s silly how happy one can be with a flat, perfectly sized patch of dirt.

There’s a reason I had to press all the way to cache: I ran out of water. In fact, it was the first time on this hike that I became quite dehydrated. In the afternoon I met the least talkative of all the hikers in the non-talkative section (nobos). They asked him about the other sobos and he said that he had not spoken to them. Hahaha, okay then. Maybe the cyclists have already finished? It’s silent again.

Day 21 – 19 miles +5699

half cooked pasta

My fuel runs out just as I put the pasta in the bubbling water. I know I should have gotten a full gas can in Superior, but I didn’t. I remember sitting in front of ACE hardware in Kearny but not going inside. I weighed the fuel canister from Que’s hiker box in my hands but put it back down. I knew this would happen.*

Dan’s Chair is just north of Summerhaven on the AZT. Below me, the sky turns orange and red, as I carefully stir the food. The pasta still has some flavor. They call it al dente, eh?

I don’t mind, there’s a great view and a good reason to end the day early. In 10 days I will finish this trail. I’m sad? Relieved?

Sunsets on trails

It’s the 21st of AZT and it just occurred to me how many nights I’ve spent like this in the last 3 years: sitting on the ground, watching the sun sink behind the horizon, eating food that most people would consider sad food. Half-cooked, crunchy pasta and dehydrated soy protein.

“Blessedness,” I whisper to myself. It reminds me of one particular night in the CDT, south of the Texas Pass in the Wind River Range. After bypassing a bunch of good campsites, I had to pitch my tent on a sloping spot next to a rock. There I sat in the afternoon sun eating spoonfuls of Reese’s peanut butter for dinner because it was the only thing left in my lunch bag.

Most (almost all) days in the CDT were still daylight when I set up camp. The luxury of July… or was it already August? I think it was August. I spent so many afternoons reading, resting comfortably on my cut-out foam mat. I miss these days, walking so fast that I still had hours to read. 30 miles like it was nothing.

I never thought I would miss CDT so much. For a while it’s just been a cool memory. Memorable. Another adventure credential. But I didn’t think I’d look forward to it with an aching heart like I do for the PCT. Baby, oh baby, the AZT has me wide open again. Making me miss those long summers on the trails. Do I have to go back and walk all over again? It feels like that.

What else happened on the 21st? I got a good comment from a guy named Mark at Oracle. He even gave me ice cream. I talked to some sweet sobo cyclists. I ate the driest cinnamon roll of my life. I ate my first Ben&Jerrys on this road and I wondered if they changed the recipe and didn’t slap it like before 🙁

*I also know I should have borrowed the flipfuel from Pole when he offered it to me for this trip.