Day 18- Jenn

At the end of day 18, I am exhausted and feel so good. We busted out some huge mile days leading up to today, and now I'm feeling it. Day 16 took us out of Big Bear and into the back mountains. We started out with 6 other hikers and felt like it was major party time, since there was also booming bass and rave music coming from somewhere yonder. We all thought we were going a little kooky until someone finally asked if anyone else heard it. It went on for as long as we walked. It grew fainter as we dropped into canyons and crossed mountain tops, and then cranked back up when we got closer to the source that we never found. I don't know if it was the snow, amazing views, great company, or good music, but we were cruising at an amazing pace with 18 miles done in no time. I don't know what our initial goal was, but we felt good so we kept on going. Our first couple of water sources were dry, but we did find an awesome toilet in a wooden stall in the middle of nowhere. We hiked and hiked until we didn't feel like hiking anymore, so we set up camp in a boulder field and watched the sun go down while our dinners rehydrated. 24 miles done. Boom. Day 17 was pretty epic, mainly because of the healing powers of the Deep Creek hot springs and naked old men wearing white tshirts. Seriously though- it was magically healing. We made it to the pools at around 2:30 and hung out for about an hour. It wasn't crowded, which I hear can be a problem, but it was a Monday so I guess that made sense. In the course of an hour I was offered "medicine" twice and saw more wiener than I wanted to, but it was a much needed stop for our tired bodies. We left feeling great, hiked out of the Deep Creek area and into another creek where we met a self proclaimed Reptile Guy who lives in a trailer on the northern end of the creek, trains hunting dogs, and in his free time collects data on reptiles and amphibians in the area. He gave us water, told us all about the rubber boa and mountain snakes he found, and warned us of the hot uphill stretch to come. Ha. Clearly he didn't know that we had been walking for 2 weeks. We thanked him and moved on, settling at 29 miles in a campsite tucked into the trees. This morning brought the aftermath of a 29 mile day and dealing with new pains made the day frustratingly slow. Things picked up a little bit when we came upon a trail magic ice chest with water, oranges, hard boiled eggs, and Cadbury cream eggs. I had been craving Cadbury cream eggs for the last 150 miles- and as we have discovered, the trail provides. We went up and down and all around the Silverwood Lake area, then back up and out of Silverwood Lake area. It was long and hot, and all we wanted was the Mc Donald's and hotel at the end of the day. It seemed like it would never come, but then it was in sight. And then we were inside. And then we ordered. And then I went to the bathroom. And then my mom and dad walked in and called us hiker trash. Probably the best surprise ever! My mom is obsessively following my tracking device so they planned to drive 1.5 hours from their house to surprise us at the end of the day. I had never been so happy to see them, and I'm petty sure no one noticed, but I definitely teared up. So we ate our mc flurries and fries and told them stories of the trail, then got a ride .5 miles to the hotel (gotta save the walking for the trail) to begin bathing and relaxing.  So now I am bathed and relaxed and all blogged out- so I'm gonna go. Thanks. 

Day 16- Jenn

So many days are not being documented in a timely manner, but without consistent service, being insanely tired, and all the days melding into one, it's surprisingly difficult to separate them and write about 'em. So today is day 16 and we are just about to cram into some sort of vehicle that will hold 7-9 hikers and our bags for a ride back up highway 18 to hop back on the trail at mile 266 out of Big Bear with Cajon Pass being the next "town" stop in 70 ish miles. Between there we have Deep Creek hot springs in about 40 miles which I am really looking forward to. We have spent the last 2 nights at an awesome hostel in Big Bear with a few other hikers just relaxing by a fire and bonding over our trail experiences. A few days ago when hiking through a super hot and forever stretching, mostly dry river bed we stumbled upon a large red bearded man with a tie dye head scarf layed out under a beautiful tree barely covered by an orange sleeping bag. As we walked by we quickly introduced ourselves and kept going since there was a creek nearby to rest in, and I thought he was naked. For the next 2 days Matt and I referred to this man who introduced himself as "Uke" as the Creek Keeper and kept replying the brief and entertaining interaction. He ended up being at the hostel with us and cooking wonderful pasta, pancakes, and supplying some ukulele action inbetween. We also had the pleasure of staying with Hot Foot, In The Weeds, Murt, Mike, Raging Bitch ( possibly the   sweetest person ever), Cliff, Darren, Tarzan, and a bunch of others I'm probably forgetting. We arrived in Big Bear early Friday afternoon and decided on a zero day based on our bodies pleading, in addition to the rumor of a few inches of snow Friday night. We immediately ate, drank coffee, showered, and ate some more before getting settled into the couch by the fire and relaxing. as the night went on a few more people arrived thankful to be out if the cold and getting colder night. We drifted to sleep in our lower bunk bed with Raging Bitch (or suasage toes, or flip flop, or just Caty) above us, and woke up to a winter wonderland of white powdery snow. Our minds immediately went to our hiker friends that we hadn't heard from since Idyllwild, but knew where nearby, hoping the made it into town before the snow. As the day unfolded we met up with people we hadn't seen in days and listened to their stories of the last 80 miles, got on a bus going in the wrong direction for an hour and a half ride back to the hostel, and ate and ate and ate. I made calls and heard voices from what seems like an eternity ago that made me homesick, nostalgic, comfortable, and more motivated than ever to keep going. Hearing those voices I love reminded me how lucky I am, and how lucky I have been. The end.

Day 11 - Matt

"It's all downhill from here" is an expression used in non-hiking life as an omen of disaster. For some reason this expression is used in the opposite way while hiking. As if everything being downhill will somehow make the rest of your miles easier. I have proven this expression wrong, time and time again on this trip, though I wouldn't see the results for another half day. 

So everything was downhill. And we fought our way through mountainside scrub brush, down dizzying switchbacks, and woozily admired blooming desert roses, Lillies, Indian Paintbrush, Sage, and a gathering of many other types of wildflowers I'll never know the names of. We reached the ground floor around noon and walked towards the highway. In the distance we saw a small community of houses. Between us and them was 4 miles of ankle deep sand, an endless stack of railroad cars, and wind so powerful my depleting body could lean deeply into it and imagine itself to be Michael Jackson in his prime. The wind was relentless and took pity on nothing, not even the trail, and footprints that would normally lead us through unmarked sections had been blown away by first light. Over the last year I've learned a lot about adaptation. This trail continues my education as it's made my eye keen to subtleties I would have once been blind to. Unnatural shapes, stacks of rocks, colors that you instinctually know shouldn't exist in these settings, all lead the cleverly lost down a path that doesn't need to be there, to be there. 

Within the 4 miles I found a lost hiker. He was walking towards me and when he saw me turned around and walked the other way. It wasn't long before he stopped and admitted he'd lost the trail. He was wearing glacier goggles and a blue spandex shirt that held his belly over his hip belt like a deflated balloon. Once again, I was inspired by this person for being here alone. I told him to keep on our tail and we'd make it through. Within 50 yards he'd fallen off but I'd spot his bright blue spandex every so often and knew he'd eventually wander out of the wall-less maze. We came upon Interatate 10 and I took a moment to pause within a sandstorm to watch the cars speed by, and the windmills spin in the distance, and freight train conductors humping cars each time with a loud crack that was dampened by walls of wind. A straight object caught my eye. It was an underpass. The trail pushed over sanddunes and into the tunnels where a trail angel had left cookies and apples. I ate two cookies and held the outside of my knee as it pulsed with a pain new to me. I coerced Jenn to keep moving. We were now walking down a trail that split a neighborhood down the middle and towards the back was the Trail Angel house of Ziggy and The Bear. We arrived to a vibe I can only describe as somber. Trail books had told of foot scrubs and dinner with overly eager to please Trail Angels. In front of us were 3 men in their fourties sitting 10 feet apart stating at nothing, a couple who'd called it quits, and en elderly but sharp man who introduced himself as the bear. He was short and round and grumbled when he spoke. He grabbed my hand and my shoulder and sat me down. He handed me blue flavored Gatorade and rattled off the rules of the place. He told us we were welcomed to stay but in the same breath asked when we planned on leaving. "The name of the game is Hike On", he growled. Ziggy was inside watching TV and their neighbor, Carol, went from person to person taking orders for Burger King. The Bear told of his close relationship with the manager of Burger King, the employees of the post office, the town Sherrif, and his distaste for the staff of the local Enterprise rent-a-car.  

Jenn and I had arrived 4 days ahead of schedule and would miss a vital resupply box. I shared this with Bear, half hinting I needed a ride to the grocery store though part of his rules stated that no rides would be given. For some reason he took a liking to me and he made an exception in exchange for help with the hiker mail. I obliged and off we went down a frontage road that ran along Interstate 10. I only remember one conversation; There'd been three men named Jason in his family. His brother, his youngest son, and his youngest son's son. All Jasons had died. His family decided to never name another member Jason. The new name to pass down would be Paul because Paul had lived the longest. 

I walked back into Bear's carpet covered yard and ate a lukewarm Whopper.  The couple who'd quit left Jenn with their food and that combined with the pepperoni and tortillas I purchased would fuel us through the San Gorgornio wilderness. With 4 hours of light left I decided we should hike on. And so after showers inside a shed and a fast food lunch we packed up and walked into yellow-orange light. My head spun like the windmills in the distance, unable to keep up with everything new it had experienced over the last 11 days. 2 miles flew by with the desert winds pushing from behind and in the moment when those winds stop for the briefest time as the sun drops below mountain peaks and the world goes silent, my body told me to stop. It would not let me take another step forward. The pain in my knee that had been burried under excitement revealed itself again under the familiarity of steps down a trail. I fought it and it fought back, sucking the air from my lungs and bringing over me a pain induced nausea. 

Over the last few years, but specifically the last 12 months, finishing things I start is no longer optional. I've let go of too much and have condemed myself to a life of being good at a lot but great at a lot less. I decided I was tired of the scales  tilting that way and even if I were to never be great at a single thing, I'd see my journies through to the end. But what happens when your body revolts? I began to panic, and I sweat feverishly, and Jenn tried to convince me to turn back but I couldn't muster the courage to turn face on the wilderness infront of me. This journey, even in its relative youthfulness had already been so significant I cried at the thought of leaving it against my will. I sat in the dirt for 30 minutes while Jenn paced around and knew that what she said wouldn't be heard, but she said it anyways. I propped myself up on trekking poles like crutches and hobbled my way back to The Bear's. Two other hikers had arrived. One threw me tiger balm and Bear brought me a bag of ice. 

I willed myself into healing and had silently committed to continuing in the morning painfully or not. The evening was a mix of trail gossip and laughs before everyone cowboy camped like puzzle pieces.

The wind blew hard that night, but I wouldn't have slept anyways. Each time I'd straighten my leg my sleeping pad would blow away from underneath me and I'd claw to get it back. I held Jenn's hand until she couldn't stand the wind and crawled beneath a couch and a table to spend the rest of her night. I remained in the path of madness for it kept me calm. 

Day 11- Jenn

We woke up from our blustery magical night in the boulders on a mountain top to descend probably 10 miles straight down into Cabazon. Downhill is hard. Harder than uphill. Sometimes. The trail was overgrown in places and although beautiful, every purple flower induced a mini panic attack from Matt with the assumption that it was Poodle Dog Bush. It didn't help that we could see exactly where we were headed for hours, with dozens of switchbacks between us and the water tank/faucet with the promise of quenching our thirst. We passed the 200 mile mark which didn't really count because of the 30 mile tail closure we had to hitch around. Our goal was a trail angel house run by a couple known as Ziggy and the Bear, with the hopes of at least an additional 8 miles beyond that to get us closer to Big Bear. We heard that they would do Burger King runs and epsom salt foot soaks if the mood was right. Upon completion of the never ending descent we were faced with a 3 mile flat section that ran straight through wind turbines. Which meant lots of wind. And sand. And a full body exfoliation. Thanks Cabazon. We passed under a bridge that offered trail magic of cookies and apples and the remnants of soda and beer. And a large orange snake. We hobbled into Ziggy and the Bears sometime in the early afternoon where we were greeted by a few fellow hikers and the Bear himself. A friendly old man who had us sign in and take our pictures for his PCT scrapbook. We chatted for a few minutes and explained that we were supposed to pick up our next batch of food from Matt's parents in Palm Springs according to a predetermined meet up that we were 4 days too early for. We were stuck in Cabazon with really no option to resupply unless the Bear agreed to take one of us to the market. Which he did- so Matt got salami nuggets, pepperoni sticks, and tortillas. Luckily, and also sadly, a couple was leaving the trail at Cabazon and gave us the food that would have taken them to Big Bear. We also got some whoppers. After showers and eating, we set out to hike 8 miles to the White Water Preserve for camping- but 2 miles into it Matt started having some knee troubles and couldn't really walk anymore. After a few minutes of debate- we decided it was better to go back to the house and rest for the night than risk it and push forward. The thought of him injured and having to leave was probably the worst feeling that either of us have had- trail or not. Ending this adventure with an injury is a thought nobody wants to entertain- but it's always a possibility. We slowly hobbled back to the house where the Bear brought out a bag of ice and a hiker offered Tiger Balm to ease the pain. Hiker midnight (8:00) came quickly and we grabbed our sleeping spots to cowboy camp in the yard, partially sheltered by the howling wind. As we drifted to sleep, lawn chairs started flying around the yard and we wiggled around like little caterpillars to find safer spots. All I cared about was Matt's body letting him continue on in the morning, and my shoes not blowing away. But we never got a foot soak. 

Day 9 - Matt

Idyllwild to the summit of San Jacinto peak, then on to mile 195.5 - 17 miles

I will let the pictures do the talking (for the most part) 

The morning started at 6:00am. I ate a terrible flavor of oat meal (peaches and cream) with lukewarm water out of a coffee mug that smelled like windex. Trail angel Stacey was meeting us at 7 to give us a ride to Devil's Slide trailhead. Since a large portion of the PCT is closed coming into Idyllwild, this trail, after 2.6 miles of uphill brilliance links you back to the PCT and onward towards San Jacinto peak. 

It was 40 degrees out but the cool morning air felt refreshing to breath in. I made my way up the Devil's Slide and waited at the saddle for Jenn to arrive. 

While I was waiting I peed her name in the snow. 

After some corn nuts and beef jerky we continued on into the wilderness. 

And that is when everything went so right. For the first time on the trip Jenn and I were alone. Thankfully we enjoy each others company. Giant trees lined the trail and I couldn't resist reaching out and touching each one as I passed. As we continued our ascent white snow rested up against the cool side of boulders and at the base of giant stumps. 

After another couple hours of climbing we reached the spur trail that took us up to 10,800ft. Prior to the summit a historic cabin sits, still open to use by those who find it. Inside its cupboards were emergency rations of pasta, chocolate and condoms. We passed on the rations but signed the log book and took some pictures. 

After exploring, it was on to the peak, which I insisted we do with our packs on. We had to scramble up giant boulders to get there and navigate barely visible trails of dirt and black snow that ran across them to find the proper path. After some foul language and heavy breaths I spotted the summit marker. I waited for Jenn to arrive before touching it. As I stood atop the second highest peak in Southern California I thought, "man, I'm hungry." 

We descended 1000 feet for lunch 1. And another 1000 for lunch 2. We made coffee from the snow melt and refilled our water. 

That gave us the energy to start the technical descent down Fuller Ridge which would eventually link us to a trail that would drop 8000 feet to the desert sands and windmills of Cabazon. Before that we had some fun. 

Found a great (windy) campsite

And had some dessert. 

We also had cell service so there was a lot of this:

The wind that night was wild and loud but it didn't bother me. 

Day 10 Jenn

I'm skipping days left and right- for the most part they are all the same. Although yesterday was better than the rest. We woke up early from a wonderful night of sleep at the Idyllwild Inn and caught a ride with trail angel Stacy to the Devil's Slide trailhead that would begin our ascent to Mt San Jacinto peak. Burning Daylight- a retired sheriff and delightful character- was with us the first few miles of our climb until we broke off on the summit alternate route and he stuck with the good old PCT. From that point on we had the mountain to ourselves. We went up and saw squirrels and trees and snow and a cabin with funny "emergency" things and notebooks with names and notes from years ago. There were 2 sets of bunk beds for sleepy travelers and names carved in old wooden beams. I was a little sad that we weren't sleeping there- but it was barely 11 am and I knew anywhere we slept would be just as good. We continued up to the very tippy top of the mountain and looked around at desert and mountains and wind turbines. All of which would be incorporating themselves into our reality very soon. From the tippy top we started down and down and down, stopping for a coffee break after seeing a hand written note left for some other people who weren't us letting them know that coffee time was only until 10:15. I don't know who it was left for or what it meant, but there were nice little waterfalls from the snow runoff that looked like perfect coffee water. So we filtered and boiled and stirred and ate and enjoyed our first afternoon trail coffee. We were still alone. It was great. We kept on keeping on for miles and miles, taking breaks and pictures throughout the day. I had been slacking on pictures, and then Matt reminded me that we are having this adventure right now and it must be chronicled, because memories fade. "I want to live this adventure forever" we both silently decided at that moment. Miles and miles kept coming at us until we decided on a camp spot overlooking the desert. Unfortunately there was no escaping the wind, but even with its ferocity it was lovely in its warmth, and we sat on rocks and said I love you and looked for stars. The end.

Day 8 - Matt

Zero Day in Idyllwild 

Not much to report. We ate, we lounged, we watched karaoke in the only bar in town. If you remember day 7's tragedy, my pants saw their last sweaty butt crack. I had to lay them to rest. Fortunately, I found a pair of shorts exactly my size in the hiker box outside of the hotel! I threw them in the wash and I feel like a new man. 

Day 7 - Matt

Mike Herrera's to Idyllwild via Paradise Valley Cafe - 25 miles 

I woke Jenn up at 4:41am. We were in the middle of a tent city set behind Mike Herrera's cabin. I'd had three beers before bed but I was ready to go. I let the air out of my pad and the hissing mixed with the grunts, snores and hacks like a tornado of whatever. We were packed up and on the trail by 5:20, escaping the property in the cover of dark. I wanted to see the sun rise that day and even though my motivation was to beat other hikers into town on Easter weekend to secure the last remaining hotel room, I believed my aims to be noble. The sun did rise, and as it did I saw before me the vastness our feet would have to navigate before the day ended. 25 miles separated us from a pick-up truck that was leaving the paradise valley cafe at 4:00pm. It was our 7th straight day of hiking, most days were made up of 20 miles (or foot centuries as I like to call them) or more. I figured I had one more day in my legs and the promise of an off day in Idyllwild would get me through. Holy shit I was wrong. I broke down pretty much from the get go. It was ugly. I think I had the first cramp of my life. It was a Charlie horse and I argued with Jenn over what a Charlie horse was and then I got another. In my other leg. So my day was filled with dead legs but that worked itself out after some electrolytes and some man time. But then came the diarrhea. A hiker named Puppy had warned me of this. And maybe it's because I judged her silently for having an itchy butt and diarrhea, that I met a very similar fate. I yelled at Jenn to keep hiking as I dove into a bush and let it go. The dynamics of pooping in the desert fully clothed are more complicated than they should be. Let's just say it's not pleasant. My day got better after I unloaded the unpleasantries, but only slightly. The miles ticked by like time on a broken clock and the cool temperature of morning was long gone. My pants, the ones I've owned for 7 years, that are made from cotton, are torn in the ass, and have had 3 different buttons sewn on, are giving up on me. My sweat pulls them off of me with every step and I'm forced to hop-skip and yank to get them back over my hips. We climb for an eternity into Anza and some how make it through 20 miles. In the distance we see Lucky, a gentleman in his late sixties who puts the hurt on us daily, lounging behind a bookcase on the side of a dirt road. As we get closer it becomes clear the book case is filled with gallons of water. It wouldn't be the only trail magic of the day. We all chug and refill and move on. My brain was baked. I have a bad habit of not wearing sunscreen or drinking enough water and sometimes I get loopy.  I can usually trick myself into thinking that I feel good and press on as if I were fresh as a dirty sock, but on this day it was all slurs and spills and visions of the Tortoise who I'd passed on day one. No seriously, I saw the Tortoise, laying in the sand in Anza, 150 miles from where we last encountered one another and once again I asked, "are you good?". And once again the Tortoise refused any assistance. I tried doing the math to make sense of it all, but I was never good at math and it just made things more confusing. I concluded the Tortoise isn't real and I moved on. 5 miles to go and there is a piece of paper in the sand held down with rocks. It says: Cold Sodas down the hill. I went down the hill. Lucky beat me there and he smiled from behind a can of generic sprite. I grabbed a generic coke and so did Jenn. Then I dug through the hiker box and found blueberry pop tarts which I consumed immediately. Under the pop tarts was a box of postcards. I wrote one to my parents and left it in the hiker box. We moved on. The last 5 miles were hard, but it was all comical at that point. The top of the mountain never came, the road never showed itself, it rained, we smiled and we somehow ended up at the Paradise Valley Cafe with an hour to spare. We drank beer and ate burgers like crippled savages. A whole crew of hikers we've been leap frogging was there. Thank god I'd reserved that room on the trail. 

We arrived in Idyllwild at the doorstep of the Manzanita Cabins. A lady with an emphysema voice checked me in and told me she'd quoted me the wrong rate and I'd need to pay in cash. I was too worn out to argue. I got the keys, stepped into the room and that's when I had my mini-melt down. Any one who's known me for an extended period of time is familIar with these. They occur rarely and are usually set off by inconsequential things, but under the surface they're brewing. Today it was a hotel room i'd overpaid for that was no wider than my armspan, with a bed covered in plastic, a carpet that smelled worse than me and a TV that still had antennas on it. Didn't this lady know who I was? I fucking hiked 25 miles today. I marched my over-privileged ass into her office and politely told her I'd only be staying for one night. Which I did. 

Day 6 - Matt

Warner Springs to Mike Herrera's

We slept in the parking lot of the Warner Springs community center. There's a fire station across the street that announces every call on the loudspeaker facing the community center. 24 year old mothers cheered on their towhead baseball players until the sun went down. Ants roamed our patch of grass like those static balls in your eyes when you stand up to fast or when your blood sugar's low. It was our best night of sleep yet and when I woke up at 6:30 I was ready to walk to the post office. It opened at 8 and closed at 4. I got there at 7:58 but the postal officer, he was a man, didn't let me in intil 8:10. Waiting was fine with me. I found the hiker box which afforded me a chocolate chip cookie and fruit roll up breakfastizer (breakfast appetizer). A man named Monty came in after me. He was a local and talked to the post officer man as such. He asked me if I was married to the tall woman. I told him I didn't know. He said, "the tall woman at the community center. She said her husband would need a ride back." I confirmed I was married to the tall woman and accepted his ride back. I carried two resupply boxes on my lap and stared at a plastic cup taped to Monty's dashboard with dollar bills stuffed in it. Monty was a greying and jovial man who whispered when he spoke and twitched when he didn't. He mailed 4 important looking envelopes but told me he did nothing but hike the PCT for a living.  He spoke into his Bluetooth for the rest of the drive. 

Jenn had ordered me breakfast and the German lady who volunteers for the breakfast shift brought it to me as I walked in. Other hikers had arrived while I was away at the post office and the coffee pot was empty. My pancakes were delicious. We had an unknown amount of miles in front of us. The sausage was delicious too. It would be our latest start of the hike. From the go we went up. We'd catch and then lose Lucky, and the Israelis. The trail went from white to red to slate to brown and throughout was decorated with shining rocks like broken glass on a gravel road. It was humid out and the sky was thick with a muted blue. We could see the pass where we suspected Mike Herrera's to be but it was at least 3 more miles. We climbed into some boulders, warming up to their cool sides and finding shade spots. Thunder cracked above and then lightening. Cameron began talking about the effects of a lightening stike on the human body. I wasn't concerned. We pressed on at a faster pace keeping the pass ahead in sight. All we know of Mike Herrera's is that it's "sketchy". A bald man from Washington who spoke with a southern drawl told us two years ago he felt frightened there. We reached a tri-color sign that said Mike Herrera's was 100 yard up. We climbed a goat trail through manzanita to a dirt driveway. I looked around and didn't see any other signs of civilization. Down the driveway we went. The house was a simple brown box. Sounds of laughter and poor guitar met us at the doorstep. An older hiker showed us the ropes. He said it was donation only and then pointed out pavers along the property line. They were stone grinding tools imprinted with triangle shapes. I thought they looked familiar. The old hiker explained that Mike Herrera's family owned a tortilla making facility that also provided the tortilla chips for most of the brands we all know. Mile Herrera was not home. He left his house to Kushe, who made us lasagna. I drank 3 beers and a soda. No water. We slept in the middle of a tent city that had erected on the side yard. There were 20 hikers spread around. At least 5 snored like animals. 

Days 6-8 Jenn

I guess I'm on day 9? I don't know- time is so strange out here. Today I find myself sitting outside our dilapidated room in Idyllwild complete with plastic sheets and a garage sale couch on our first zero day. Our bodies need time to rest even though I really wish we were hiking. I can't help but add up the hours of daylight and calculate how many miles we could have traversed so far- at least 7 after a sunrise wake up with a breakfast of oatmeal and jerky. Instead, we had corned beef hash with eggs and fresh coffee before doddling around Idyllwild on Easter Sunday. The last couple of days have all rolled into one continuous stretch of hiking, sleeping, sunrises, sunsets, hiking, finding water, and meeting people. And then hiking. Waking up to sausage and eggs served in the Warner Springs community center by a wonderful German lady, then walking into the unknown and ending up at the most random house, literally in the middle of nowhere. Having Matt wake me up ridiculously early, too early to argue about it, and subsequently having the most serene morning in the mountains and reflecting on what we have accomplished in the past week. Stumbling upon a picnic table with an ice chest of apples, oranges, sodas, and pop tarts. Pushing through a 25 mile day with an amazing and inspirational older man named Lucky who can out hike us any day, and ending up here in Idyllwild. Each day brings greater adventure, new challenges, unique experiences, and a full spectrum of emotion that the trail will ultimately tease out of you no matter how much you think you've mastered your mind. I'm realizing I'm not even close. So here I sit, with a gallon of water by my side and sunshine on my skin, listening to birds and nature. Breathing in beauty and calm. Craving the challenge of the San Jacinto Mountains and everything else to come.