Been out here for seven days now. Seven days. It feels longer to me. I haven't showered or bathed in that time. The dust that I kick up with each step passes right through my pants and cakes my legs. My pants themselves are pretty nasty. I've dropped a peanutbutter-coated tortilla on my lap. I tore one of the legs on a branch. I sat on a tar-covered telephone pole in Mt. Laguna, which left a stain that amuses Tom. And, just tonight, I managed to splatter gravy on them. (The gravy came from a hiker box in Mt. Laguna, where hikers drop off unwanted items for other hikers to sift through. I picked it up because I have mashed potatoes, but the mess was terrible when I finished eating. NOT WORTH IT.)
Where was I? Oh. Right. Out here for a week now. I'm homeless.
Today we finally descended from the mountains, and into the desert. It was early morning, so the heat wasn't that bad. A flat walk to Scissor's Crossing, where a water cache was set up, then back up again, into the San Felipe Hills. It was hot. I walked, head down, and watched the same drop of sweat roll back and forth along the brim of my hat for an hour. When I bent to rest, the sweat streamed from my hat like water from a faucet, ceaselessly.
We finally caught up with Skywalker, and Tom and I rested in the shade with him as he told us stories of the Appalachian Trail.
We finally made it to the third pipe gate, where another water cache is set up, and made camp along with several other hikers. It's the nicest camp I've had yet, finally not freezing, and we put in about twenty miles today. Still, tonight I really miss home. I miss my family, and my friends.
Still a long way to go. We're 91 miles in.
Good night.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment