July 16, 2017
Trail Mile: 293
Segment 16 Mile 4.1 to Segment 17 Mile 11.1
I hear the engine first, then a voice yelling over the machine noise: “There are tents down there!” I retrieve my phone from the pile of clothing and electronics attempting to pass as a ‘pillow’ under my head. It’s 5:45am. So much for the whole walking miles past the trail head camping area to escape weekend noises. But so it goes, with motorcycles allowed and so many access points, and at least I am awake in time to see the sunrise and grateful to have survived without any stormy mishaps in the night (Steph later tells me that the storm circled and circled, keeping her up for hours. I have no memory of this).Today was a day of plodding along, of easy miles that felt hard, of walking like zombies through a half-dead forest. Sections 16 and 17 fall in the beetle belt – the rust belt for trees – where more evergreens stand dead than alive. In sections that are newly-dead orange-red needles coat the trail; in those longer-gone, a thick coating of chartreuse lichen gives the appearance of green branches. The trees suffer, but the forest is still alive with birdsong.We are at lower elevations all day, wandering up and down among the skeletons, with only a few glimpses of distant hills from the odd bald spot along the ridge. With few views for entertainment, I take up listening and hear:
- Birds that sound like bicycles
- Bicycles that make no sounds at all
- A cat fight
- A bird of doubt whose mocking call “don’t think you can make it” accompanies me all the way up a long uphill
So many motorcycles that I can’t listen to music for fear of being run over from behind. I am passed by:
- Three bicycles
- One quad
- Sixteen motorcycles
- A large herd of cows
It’s quite the experiment in multi-use trail life, and I am still not exactly a fan. The dirt bike riders are the worst. Or they seem that way. It’s so hard to tell how friendly they are beneath their plastic armor of helmets and goggles and breastplates; and it’s impossible to chat unless they stop and turn off engines. Mostly I find myself leaping off the trail out of the way, somewhat annoyed.
But not as annoyed as the mountain bikers who are mostly mountain bike pushers today. Trail that looked cruiser on the maps turned out to be much rocks. And as a foot-dragging zombie walker, I tripped over every single one for 22 miles. Every [stab]. Single [kick]. Rock [stumble].
I’m having lunch at a trail junction, when Steph catches me. We pack up and start hiking, but neither of use is feeling it. So we stop for a nap at the next trail junction which is an impressive .1 miles later. Post-nap I’m not doing much better. The dead trees become the drowsy poppy field outside emerald city. So tired I can’t keep my eyes open. I look ahead, close my eyes for five steps, look ahead… until I decide I should probably just sit down. “I know what people mean when they say they are thinking of nothing,” says Steph, who while physically more awake, is not faring much better mentally.
As with most ridges, today’s are dry, thanks to water’s pesky tendency to run downhill and the whole ridges being on top of things thing. My drowsiness is likely the result of my lazy reluctance to carry more water. The same laziness leads me to skip the next water: a lake, inconveniently located far down from the ridge, as is a pesky tendency of lakes. The next (and only for today) water source after the lake is a creek my notes helpfully describe as “50% cow pee.” But to my zombie-brain diluted urine seems more appealing than a one mile detour off trail.
I end up walking 14 miles on a liter and bit. I’ve done worse in the SoCal desert (or better, depending on your perspective). I enter the cow-pee drainage with trepidation and am relieved not too see any cows relieving themselves. Or any cows at all for that matter. With nary a fresh cow pie in site, I grab water and am chatting with hiker-friends from Salida, when Arcade and Glimmer show up. We find a family-sized campsite a bit further down the trail, and set up for the night. Just as I’m boiling water for dinner the first drops fall. It’s really a matter of when, not if around here. Luckily, for today at least, tents are pitched, camp chores are done and my teeth brushed before it really starts coming down, quieting inter-tent conversations.