Week 1 of the Arizona Trail: a brutal start

The numbers

Day 1: 24.49 miles (39.4 km), 4,868 feet of elevation gain
Day 2: 24.52 miles (39.5 km), 3,487 feet elevation gain
Day 3: 22.32 miles (35.9 km), 3,166 feet of elevation gain
Day 4: 24.09 miles (38.8 km), 2,952 feet of elevation gain
Day 5: 17.05 miles (27.4 km), 1,843 feet elevation gain, city day
Day 6: 30.60 miles (49.2 km), 4,307 feet of elevation gain
Day 7: 28.04 miles (45.1 km), 5,875 feet of elevation gain

Weekly total: 171.11 miles (275.3 km)
Total elevation gain: 22,234 feet (6,777 m)

A humble beginning

The Arizona Trail does not give you easy entry.

It hits you right in the face.

I wasn’t expecting to start with a climb like Miller Peak, but that’s exactly what happened. And not only that. Before even starting north, you have to walk 1.7 miles to the Mexican border, then turn around and climb all the way back.

The path begins leaving the United States. Please don’t tell the authorities…

Then immediately beat your way back to it.

With a complete package.
Five days of food.
And about 5,000 feet of elevation gain the first day.

The climb felt dry, exposed, rocky and unforgiving. The kind of climb where your calves start burning early and never get a break.

I didn’t even count the border detour in my mileage, but my legs definitely did. That first day was hard. A fitting reminder that this trail doesn’t care about your expectations.

But I had a goal, 300 miles before April 15.

So I accepted the consequences.

From cold to heat

Coming directly from northern Quebec, the transition was harder than I expected.

I was used to the cold. Layers, controlled effort, predictable discomfort. The kind of environment where you can always add something, adjust something, manage the situation.

The desert does not negotiate.

The heat surrounds you and stays there. It builds up slowly and suddenly you realize you’re draining faster than you can refill. The sweat becomes constant. Salt dries on your skin. Your shirt stiffens.

Water is no longer just water. It becomes a strategy.

I could feel it in those first days. My body was strong, but it was not yet adapted. My rhythm was off. My effort felt heavier than it should.

It takes time to become a desert hiker.

Vertical reality

What stood out immediately wasn’t just the mileage. It was the climb.

Each day came with thousands of feet of positive elevation gain. Even the easiest days were near 3000 feet. And then some days he just wouldn’t hold back.

The ground rolls incessantly. You climb in the sun, descend into dry valleys, and then climb back up with no shade waiting for you at the top.

The landscape is beautiful. But it makes you earn every mile.

fall into the rhythm

The first few days were a shock to the system.

Heat, climbing, weight on your back, and that specific type of fatigue you only get from walking. The kind that sits deep in your joints and doesn’t go away when you stop.

I hurt everywhere. Feet, hips, shoulders.

Even sleeping seemed part of the effort.

But then something changes, your body remembers it.

Not just how to move, but how to resist. How to accept discomfort without fighting against it. How to move forward without needing to feel good first.

And little by little, it begins to return… trail legs!

Trail characters

The first day I met Toodles and we quickly fell into the same rhythm. We walked side by side through long exposed stretches, swapping stories, laughing about things that probably wouldn’t be funny anywhere else.

Conversations deepen faster here.

There’s no room for small talk when everything around you is real.

At some point, I tried to rename him Ripper Wonton for reasons that made a lot of sense at the time, but he refused. It’s probably a good decision.

Unfortunately, on the fifth or sixth day he had to quit due to a foot injury. Greetings Toodles, you made me laugh, thank you for being part of this journey. Take a look at his Instagram!

That is also the rhythm of the trail.

People appear. You share miles. Then they left.

Patagonian Detour

I hadn’t planned to stop in Patagonia. But the desert had other ideas.

The sweating became constant. My body was not yet adapted and that caused chafing that went from being uncomfortable to inevitable.

Walking started to feel bad for me, so I hitchhiked to the city.

Sitting in a small, slightly destroyed store, scanning the shelves for anything that might help. I ended up buying what was essentially diaper rash cream.

Petroleum jelly. Not exactly part of the dream, but it worked!

And sometimes that’s all that matters.

Change of plans

The plan was simple. Meet Primetime at mile 151.

But the trail doesn’t follow your plans.

There was a dirt road leading to that point, but it was rough, remote, and empty. No traffic. No easy access. There is no way to make it work.

So we adapt.

Turned off at mile 161 on a paved road to find yourself at Molino Basin Campground.

Which meant I had to work harder to get there on time.

More kilometers, more effort and no real choice.

The Mica Mountain Push

Day six.

30 miles.

More than 4000 feet of gain.

Leaving the city and climbing Mica Mountain in Saguaro National Park.

In the heat, with a late start.

A trail angel named Joan, a very brave 80 year old woman, dropped me off on the trail around 7:30 in the morning. I usually start closer to 6. That time matters.

So I had to push.

The south face of the climb was unreal. Thousands of saguaro cacti spread across the hills, all in different shapes and forms. Some tall and straight, some crooked, some with their arms raised as if they were celebrating.

And some seemed to want to fight you. As if they were lined up on the side of the road, ready to throw punches.

I would not recommend participating. They are very pointed.

The climb itself seemed endless. Long, exposed, relentless. The sun resting on your back, the path ascending without mercy.

At some point you stop thinking about the distance.

It becomes step by step and breath by breath.

Mica Peak – 8,668 feet.

Empty the tank

The next day was no easier, 28 miles.

Almost 6000 feet of elevation gain. The kind of day that tests everything.

My feet were destroyed. Blisters forming under pressure points, pain that didn’t go away when I stopped doing it. The kind of pain that stays with you when you go to bed, making sleeping harder than it should be.

But he had a point to make. So I kept moving.

That’s the deal here. Don’t wait until you feel good. Continue until done.

Meeting

And finally, prime time.

We met at mile 161. He arrived late, around 9:30 pm, but I arrived at camp after a very long day.

As an anecdote, I met him in Ashland, on the PCT, on his birthday. He walked into the bank cafeteria where I was sitting with another trail friend, Golden. One of those random moments when paths just cross and something gets stuck.

We ended up going out that same night. Burgers, beers, apple cider. A proper celebration. We were absolutely devastated and still convinced ourselves that it would be a good idea to go on a hike afterwards.

We made it about 1.5 miles, after being “pulled over” by a benevolent police officer for walking while intoxicated. Considering we were right next to the trailhead, he was probably wondering why we were hiking in the middle of the night. He kindly left us wishing us happy journeys.

So we called him.

The cowboy camped right there, on a slightly sloping patch of grass, and we were all spread out. Golden was left completely destroyed, vomiting somewhere in the dark while the rest of us just stood there, laughing and regretting everything at the same time. Finally, the next morning, we realized that the beer glasses had fooled us. We spent the night with our heads where our feet should have been.

So seeing him again here in the middle of Arizona didn’t take much preparation. No great moment. Just a quick catch up, some laughs and we kept moving.

As if no time had passed.

Conclusions from the first week

171 miles.

Over 22,000 feet of climbing.

The first week was a reset. A reminder that experience doesn’t make things easier. It just makes you more willing to go through it again.

You start from scratch.
You suffer.
You adapt.

And little by little, you find your rhythm again.

What’s next?

The first week is over.

The body is waking up.

The desert remains relentless.

And now the real walk begins.