Miles traveled: 22.24
Mile marker: 61.5
«Katy, are you ready?»
I listen to dad through my earplugs. Ready? How can I be ready? It’s 6:00 am and Dad and I agreed to wake up an hour early.
«You didn’t wake me up!» say.
“You have an alarm clock,” Dad responds. «It’s okay. We’re not in a hurry.»
No rush. Good. That’s one way to pack faster.
My store is so small that I look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame when I’m packing there. My sleeping bag rubs against the sloping wall of the tent and gets wet. Again. I put it in its bag and deflate my yellow mat. This time I do it right. There are two valves and I’m still learning which one does what and when.
Before I do anything else, I put on my day clothes. It’s a day of wool, I can already tell. With my bag almost packed, I carry my fleece, my waterproof jacket and my sports shoes. The wind rushes through my jacket as soon as I step out of my tent. They all wear waterproof pants.
Me?
Well, Dad said they would send him his waterproof hiking pants when we get ready to go to Washington.
However, in his last check of his gear list, he realized that his rain pants were lighter and smaller than his running shorts, which is necessary for days in the city when you need something to wear while you do laundry.
So dad has rain pants and I don’t. I’m a bit of a copycat in that sense. Oh ok. They are shorts. I have prepared a cold coffee mixed with a hot chocolate and an essential pack of chocolate for breakfast.
The hike begins with a blistering wind and some freezing hikers who were unprepared for this desert weather. Dad and I put away our trekking poles so we could stick our stiff fingers in our pockets. My wool kangaroo pocket is hidden behind my belt. There’s no way my raincoat is going to warm my fingers.
After a few minutes of walking with my hands threatened with frostbite, I slap them into the pockets of my rain shell.
Oh.
In fact, it helps. My fingers no longer itch because they find a respite from the bad weather.
My legs turn pink from the cold, tingling with discomfort. Our hike begins on an eroded and rocky hill. Soon the wind picks up as we enter ridge territory.
I always thought it would be cool to be on a cloud. However, when I’m there, I realize that it’s just fog. Like now, for example.
We’re tracking the outside of a giant hill. The low weeds grab our legs. My bare skin is already so windbitten that the brush scratches seem to hurt more than usual.
The clouds roll over the hills in the lord of the rings fashion. This would be perfect weather for curling up by the fire with a cup of coffee and a book. Instead? I’m fighting the wind that cuts through my layers and reminds me who’s boss.
Thomas and I walked together for a while, conversation about French culture, why we are here, and plans after the trail entertaining us in the strong wind.
We round the corner and the wind pushes me to the side. I laugh out loud at this wilderness, which has so much power to move 170 pounds. An image of a tornado arises in my imagination and my understanding of how the elements can overcome it becomes more real.
We stopped for a brief lunch at a water source. My feet hurt from the endless miles on the rocks. Big rocks. Small rocks. Medium sized rocks. I take them up for a few minutes, but it’s so cold that we return to the road.
Dad and I are alone now. The rock path is excruciating for my feet. They have been sore since mile seven, but I have noticed that after mile 15 they become very sensitive. But what am I going to do? Just sit down and quit?
We enter what looks like a red Utah rock. Bordered by rock walls, we see memorials to lost loved ones. The red rocks are very different from the low hill hikes we have been hiking on.
There is a road with a dead end that we cross towards the track. The wind blows me off course and I rely on it to continue moving towards the path.
Today is a shake and bake day. Dad told me that means one moment you’re shaking and the next you’re sweating. Never comfortable. All day I’ve been unzipping my jackets and zipping up my fleece. I probably touched the zippers 50 times today, trying to regulate the temperature.
Hours pass until we reach a water source. Exposed with stone, it collects water from a tank. That means we can’t leave the water running. When the water in that tank runs out, it’s gone.
The campground is only 1.4 miles away. We re-enter the tallest trees and drop 800 feet in about a mile. My knees hurt from the descent, but alas, we see a row of tents the size of Abe Lincoln’s head on the penny.
The heat swallows me as we continue along the eroded road. That fall immediately took us out of the wind. It’s not long before we greet our friends. They offer us a spot, but Dad locates another campsite about 30 meters away. The goal was 21 miles, but we had to go further to get out of this weather. Tents and wind don’t mix well.
Among the anthills, Dad and I set up camp (for which I again needed help with my tent) and created a kitchen with stones to block the wind.
My ram pump is dry because I put too many potatoes in it. Oh ok. I put the food aside even though I’m full, enjoy a snickers bar (there’s always room for dessert) and go to bed. Fortunately, it is still light and Rafiki joins us along with another hiker who arrived at the camp later.
Shortly after I close my eyes, rain hits my tent. Tomorrow may turn out to be a rainy day.
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