CDT Day 2: The cost of doing business

I woke up a little before the sun and noticed that my inflatable mat was pretty deflated. He was brand new and this hike was his maiden voyage. I figured if there was a slow leak, at least it would last all night. Hey, it was kind of a natural alarm clock. If not, well, he’d figure it out once he got to Lordsburg. Therefore, the awkward love-hate relationship I had with inflatable sleeping mats became even more complicated.

I packed up camp and stuffed a blueberry Met-RX protein bar in my pocket to warm it up when I decided to stop and eat it for breakfast.

The intense morning light bathed the landscape in a deep golden glow. The trail was surrounded by ocotillo and cactus. Trail markings led to gates and, between them, small dry drains for entry and exit, offering some semblance of climbing in an otherwise truly flat landscape. When the sun’s rays crested the mountain range to the east and landed on me, it was time to unfold the umbrella.

Training on soft, muddy terrain, basically at sea level and in the cold Pennsylvania winter and early spring air, didn’t help much. These early days at a constant altitude of over 4,000 feet on hard ground in the direct sun were something you could only adapt to by spending time on it. Day 2 reminded me of that.

I maintained a good cruising pace in the still somewhat cool morning air. I fell into a state of walking flow, which was finally broken when my left foot nearly landed on top of a coiled rattlesnake. At the last possible second, I noticed the snake and jumped back, a tingling wave running through my body.

The cold temperature meant the snakes were sluggish. Clattering, banging, any movement required energy they usually didn’t have until the sun warmed them. I found a way to get around the snake, keeping an eye out for more, and continued.

I passed a new truck with some plastic bags next to it. «Magic path?» I thought to myself. It is not the case. There was no one around. Shortly after I saw a man and, between us, his dog ran happily towards me. «She’s friendly!» his distant voice shouted. And so it was. A Belgian Malinois wearing a vest and showing a slight gray color around the muzzle.

Piper and her human, Jon, were here maintaining the trail markers and hanging fluorescent tape to mark the way forward. He warned me not to rely on any water source immediately ahead other than the caches. Between the dry year and the ranch’s abandoned wells, hiding places were the only safe bet. He then told me to take the Gila alternative because the red line was too dry in that part of the Continental Divide.

John and Piper, CDT administrators and trail explorers.

I finally made it to the first cache, drank it, and curled up under my umbrella to find some relief from the relentless sun. I stayed for a while, trying to bear the worst of the day’s heat. I changed positions several times and my umbrella was doing the real work of providing some semblance of shade and relief.

Making your own shade is often the only option in the desert.

Making your own blinds often means changing positions regularly. Here I am using a combination of the umbrella, my backpack and the water storage box.

I had lunch, mixed some electrolytes in a bottle of San Pellegrino and continued. By mid-afternoon, I started to feel screwed. I had been doing a bit of “head down, eyes forward,” which worked in milder climates, but here I should have been refueling, resting, and hydrating more intelligently.

I found some shade under a small juniper tree and made a tactical pause. I wasn’t completely delirious, but I recognized that I was on the verge of being fine. I stopped myself from making the foolish decision to get over my current state. I lay on the rocks, slowly eating sugary snacks and drinking water, letting the shade and breeze soothe me. I looked at myself through the front camera of my phone and was shocked at how much salt covered my face and clothes. “Anyone want some margaritas?” I thought and chuckled as I was alone for over 20 miles in any direction. Surely even further away from daisies.

It has been saltier, but not by much.

As I lay in the remains of a long, dry stream bed, feeling myself slowly recharge, I watched the clouds change shape. I saw a horse, then two skeletons playing soccer, which a part of me took as a bad omen. I thought deeply about the people, places, and things that were most important to me, in the way that only isolation and the fear of heat-related injuries can induce me.

Lying on the creek bed, I thought about what brought me back here. Not the CDT, but “here” the experience of a walk. I was just about to do the unimaginable: «settle down.» Or at least make a genuine effort to achieve it. Those two words that I had come to find more offensive than any insult or profanity that had been hurled at me over the years began to show some merit.

Stability, being in one place for more than six months, became something I craved above all else. If I were to consider promoting the PCT in 2022, that experience alone could arguably equate to a full life. Not to mention the experiences that followed throughout these last few years. Fighting wildfires, living abroad, and experiencing more than I ever imagined.

I hadn’t seen it or done any of it, but I had done enough to look back and say, «I’m satisfied.» But somewhere along the way to those two curse words, I remembered something. Call it unfinished business, a dream, whatever you want, I had to walk this path before it was too late.
At the last minute I found myself making preparations to embark on the Continental Divide.

And as I lay half-delirious, covered in salt, seeing omens in the sky, I still felt like going to CDT was the right decision. As part and parcel of the great Western treks, the desert is their crucible, their cost of doing business. And just like my early days in Southern California, the New Mexico desert was lining my proverbial pockets to pay the admission fee.

The sun had passed its peak. The heat of the day was over. The turmoil in my mind calmed, my body rested and replenished, it was time to continue towards camp and the next water source. The “emergency nap” slightly delayed my schedule. As the desert darkened, I weighed my options and determined that setting up camp a little earlier and getting a little more sleep was the right decision.

I had enough water to last the night and the next spring was only two miles away. Two miles that would be quick and easy in the crisp morning air.

I set up camp at twilight. After 31 kilometers, I was very tired and ready for the comfort of my inflatable mattress. Unfortunately, it completely deflated within minutes. That “slow leak” was more like “this is fucked,” and with that, I went back to my tried and true foam accordion. My experiment with another inflatable mat was over. The love-hate relationship became more complicated. Was it you? Was it me? I didn’t have the time or patience to figure it out. Just 18 ounces of dead weight and one more item on the «send this shit home» list.

I had a cold dinner because I didn’t want to worry about the stove. I took a shower with a wet washcloth and removed the accumulated salt from my face. When I finally stood still, the sound of coyotes howling in the distance and the occasional breeze rustling in the creosote bush lulled me to sleep.