July 9, Day 66
0 miles [1195.4]

All I wanted was a day off. I got one and instantly regretted it—what a hard day. It started out so nice. I splurged for coffee cake and an Americano at the cafe and ate on the patio with “Conflicted”, who I remembered meeting at lunch in S.L.T., and we talked about the MeatEater podcast. For twenty minutes he schooled me on the finer points of the Pittman-Robertson Act and how hunting drives conservation, how hikers think they’re stewards of the outdoors but really it’s dedicated hunters, taking every opportunity to interrupt himself and me at times to mock rabid social inclusivity in a type of Liberal comedy character. He’s awesome, unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Waited and caffeinated until the Post Office opened—no package. “Trash Bath” and “Combo” hung around patiently but eventually grew weary and bid us a hasty see-ya-later. A small part of me thinks that’s the last time I’ll see either of them, yet I’ve had that thought before and been wrong. We kept checking right up until he, the singular postal worker, closed at 2 P.M.—still no package. Demoralized by the consequences. Adam was visibly stressed and moody, I tried to give him space and chatted with other hikers congregated outside the country store and anxiously watched the day pass. Felt trapped. Tried to forget the time and drank a few pricey tallboys even though my subconscious told me I’m spending too much and it wasn’t going to help in any event. No resupply and with little food in my bag I ordered a “gutbuster” from the deli; a monstrous knife-and-fork burrito bordering on vulgar who’s contents tasted uniformly of everything I had seen exit the kitchen. Braved the free, frigid public shower long enough to turn my surface grime to sludge, I couldn’t hold out long enough to use soap. My towel probably took the brunt of my filth. Sat, sat, sat. Fell into the social media hole. Zeros aren’t fun, Sierra City kinda sucks. Currently it’s well past hiker-midnight, I wish the others around me would stop talking.

July 10, Day 67
20.6 miles [1216.0]

Another rude wake up by the local gang of bullish, squawking Steller’s jays. Began The Wait and saw lots of hikers arrive, many of whom I recognize. “Dingo”, who we met on Day 2; “Twerk”, pink shirt and all; even “Sticky Fingers” caught back up. Sarah and Kevin who have been immobile or asleep the past 48-hours have seemingly beaten their collective food poisoning and are looking much better. Talked with “Clean Turkey” who’s already been here for three whole days waiting for a replacement debit card. Yikes. Apparently she has made friends with the local family of loggers and was given some fresh roasted corn last night. Friendly postal worker Rick (we got to know each other on a first-name basis) had our resupply package. Huzzah. Snapped a hasty photo and laced up my new shoes. Snazzy, fresh, sproingy. Divvied up our food and immediately headed out. Hot. Hilly. Humid. An immediate 3,000 feet of ascent in the first eight miles. Forced myself to snack at Packsaddle campground, Adam cruised by me like the bump on a log that I was. I’m practically invisible to him, it seems. Beleaguered I shuffled up second steep, unrelenting hill, overwhelmed by dark thoughts. Sobbed and kept walking because you can cry and hike, sitting just feels even worse. Pulled myself together before camp. Dinner was our hard-earned gnocchi meal prepared with pepperoni and olive oil. Adam eked out a small smile and we made a few crass jokes, I felt a lot better. A guy in a wide-brim hat and pale blue Columbia PFG rolled into camp, introduced himself as “Tooth Fairy” and ate dinner with us. My calves and Achilles are exceptionally tight, I wonder if that’s the terrain or my new kicks.

July 11, Day 68
35.0 miles [1251.0]

Better day but I’m certainly not getting my calories correct. Despite this, we absolutely crushed 35 miles! Not only a 30 but five more on top of that; my new longest day by more than six. I remember days in Scouts where ten miles seemed like another solar system away, hell that was a day’s worth of travel. Warmer start which was a nice motivating factor to leave the comfortable confines of my tent. Floated through miles and miles of dense, thick pines and firs covered in woolly moss like chartreuse spring vests. Hardly saw Adam at all, the few times I did he didn’t look happy about anything. Lunch cheered us both up. During a longer downhill section I ran (it’s still not clear to me why people like running). I nearly tripped and I let me knees buckle and sat down instead of hurling ass over pack. Stood from my burning wreckage and took limb inventory and noticed a hunk of skin missing from the knuckle of my thumb. Surprised not to be hurt worse. Note to self: don’t go home on injury. Passed more than 20 hikers, many of whom I saw in Sierra City. Water sources are getting farther apart, I should have filled up under the bridge but we pressed on. Used the last of my water to rehydrate a chicken risotto Backpacker’s Pantry for dinner. Legitimately thirsty but it’s hard to determine the true severity, just like hunger. There’s water a mile or two up trail. Body is sore but it’s nothing new. There’s a shrill whine of mozzies are all around me. Thirsty, just like me.

July 12, Day 69
30.0 miles [1281.0]

Started the day off with an eight-mile hill, the skeeters started even earlier. Just put one in front of the other with Foo Fighters on a loop. At the top of the hill was Lookout Rock—a vista name which must be on the same level of popularity as Main Street—which seemed like a worthwhile snacking point. Ate a few dozen handfuls of fruit snacks and chips and took in the view with AJ, a Day 3 acquaintance and Whitney summit appearance, and “Pilgrim”, someone I’d only seen from a distance. Upon closer inspection it became apparent his sole article of clothing is a bed sheet fashioned somewhere between tunic and toga. A few more miles to Bucks Lake road where Adam and I took a peaceful lunch in full recline. I gave my dusty, gritty footsies a bandanna bath and sat shirtless in reverence of the lack of mosquitoes. He’s in a good mood, it certainly cheered me up. Resupply is Philmont-heavy with items like Mojo bars, Larabars, and even those “Mark”-bars (rice crispy copy), all my rations bring back memories of hiking in the Sangre de Cristos. Elated to get a shirtless mile or so in the evening during that special time when the air temperature dips five degrees in less than five minutes, it was so relaxing I even got a shirtless poop without being attacked. Haven’t had the opportunity to do that since the desert. We busted another 30 which feels great to do, especially after yesterday’s feat. My feet feel sore but a discomfort relative to the amount of distance I’ve covered, Guthook shows just shy of 6,500 feet of elevation gain today alone. Currently we’re perched along the precipice of a massive canyon which is nearly 4,000 feet to the bottom, camp is hella windy. There are a few other hikers I recognize who rearranged their stakes and made as much space as possible. Big Belden hike is coming up, stop looking at the terrain map, it won’t make it any less steep.

July 13, Day 70
21.2 miles [1300.5]

Greeted by gorgeous clouds. Packed and practically fell with the rate of gravity towards Belden. Crossed some railroad tracks and entered “town” which seems like an unfair designation, there can’t be more than 12 people living here. Before I could even set my pack down, a bald man with a plush raccoon tail clipped to his floral print shorts approached and welcomed me before launching into his practiced whispered drug spiel like any hardened festival attendee standing outside the venue holding a cryptic sign proclaiming: “Need Tickets”. I’ve been out for almost a week and Adam let me borrow some cash. We followed “Meow Meow” (more alias than trail name) to his van parked in the back of the already dinky-sized town. His van is a converted refrigerator truck, mostly made out of glass, the clean interior reveals three things: a bed, hardwood floors, and a selection of four other raccoon tails. He filled my jar of wax before 10 A.M, problem solved. Had a fairly sketchy highway walk to Caribou Crossroads, by then I was absolutely starving. Patiently waited for biscuits and gravy with eggs and sausage and a famed blackberry milkshake, the reviews of which had been motivating me for the last few days. Ate and chilled with “Pilgrim”, “Tooth Fairy”, and AJ, as well as “RV”, who I now recall meeting a day outside of Tehachapi and have seen a handful of times since then, is finishing his 700-mile section here. As we wished each other well, I saw him with new eyes; a man well into his fifties who spent 40 days doing exactly what he wanted along with the loving support of his wife and eponymous vehicle which drove town to town for aid and care. It was hard to leave the shaded safety of the RV park but it was a smart choice, especially after losing time in Sierra City. “Tooth Fairy” thought it wise as well and joined Adam and me. Brenda, a true local and quite possibly the most badass grandma I’ve ever met, shuttled hikers back to trail, meanwhile with brash authority telling everyone in the vehicle that if her 6-year-old granddaughter can hike out of Belden without complaining, than gosh darn it, so can we. Began the 15-mile, 5,500-foot assault during the muggiest part of the day. A graffitied trail blaze had a poignant message: “either way, it sucks”. At one of the smaller stream crossings there was a waterfall which had carved out a body-sized pool. I stopped only to remove my shoes and waded in, fully submerged, and tried to escape the hill and heat. Finally made it to the top, crossed mile 1,300, and made camp. Rain looks promising in tonight’s clouds but so far I’ve only had sprinkles.

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