Day 4 - Matt

The moon shined through our tent so brightly, my body kept telling me it was time to go. I'd roll over, the neo light crinkling under me, check my phone and see: 1:13, 3:42, 5:04 and finally at 5:59 I said enough of this! I unzipped the tent to a warm breeze that pushed open my eyes to see rolling hills, half black half orange and a sun that hadn't yet taken shape. I was sticky from 4 days without a shower but somehow this beautiful morning helped me feel clean. I was low on water but I made coffee anyways. It'd be 16 miles through a desert to Scissors Crossing that trail myth tells me is stocked with water, soda, and beer. As we packed up camp out of the corner of my eye I saw 3 hikers heading down the trail. Possibly unwarranted, I panicked about one of them taking the last beer that may or may not exist. For me, it was go time. Something overtook me and I no longer felt my body. I madly descended down to the desert floor, every decline in elevation bringing with it a rise in temperature. I'd stop briefly in pathetic patches of shade and animalistically devour any food I had in the top pouch of my bag. Tuna, corn nuts, mango slices, emergen-c packets. I'd take one sip of horse trough water every hour or so convincing myself that disease couldn't come from such a small amount. My pace had me catching up with hikers who'd left 2-3 days prior to Jenn and I. Around a bend there were two northbound hikers chatting with a day hiker who confirmed the myths: There was beer! It was 7 miles from that point and I shit you not I made it in under 2 hours. When my feet hit the sandy desert floor I was in sprint mode. Vivid images of brutal fight scenarios passed through my head as I feared a hiker ahead would take the last beer. I looked down at my arms and they were burnt pink. I hadn't sweated in a while and started to get cold even though it was 95 degrees out. The sane thing to do would be to stop in the shade of a shrub and hydrate. Instead, I increased my pace, now finally seeing cars in the distance, knowing that a mythical bridge with mythical beers awaited me somewhere near them. I reached the road. No bridge, but a sign that said the bridge was still a mile away. Ok, no worries. A mile is nothing at this point. And so I ran, still fearful of missing out, leaving Jenn to fend for herself in the desert and justifying it by telling myself she needs solo training for her thru hike. Bleary eyes then focused on something unnatural in the distance: a bridge. A few more turns and there it was. Scissors crossing. A small group of hikers sprawled out in the shade like believers praying to the temple of gallon jugs of water, cans of Tecate, and Pepsi. I approached, still in disbelief and shed the weight from my back in such a way the half dead, heat baked hikers snapped to and chuckled. First, water. I chugged a half gallon remorselessly. Next, beer. I lifted the lid of the cooler and there the cans sat in all their crimson glory. I collapsed to the black and grainy sand, skipped introductions and drained the beer into my body. A sigh of relief, both from knowing I'd made it through the desert in the heat of the day and knowing I wouldn't have to fight someone for this beer, echoed off the highway above. Jenn arrived 45 minutes later and she wouldn't want me telling you this, but she wept upon entering Scissors Crossing. She was embarrassed but for me it was a beautiful moment. It's important to face fear alone and that is what she did that day. I was very proud to be her husband even though she was smelly and sobbing. Julian was our destination for the day and it was 12 miles up the highway. We'd have to hitch. The other hikers were jealous of my smoking hot wife and latched onto us when we climbed out from underneath the bridge knowing it'd be easier to catch a ride with her around. Within 2 minutes of sticking out our thumb, a cargo van pulled up and offered a ride. We sat in the windowless rolling cave in the pitch black elated. We were dropped of at the Front Porch of the Julian Lodge. The rest of the day was filled with food, water, naps, and poops. Amongst all of these comforts I was overcome with the strangest feeling. Though I was basically crippled, shaky and feverish from dehydration, unkempt and smellier than I'd ever been before, I wanted more and couldn't wait to get back to the trail.