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.
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