In
the morning I walk back to safeway to resupply, marveling at the warm
empty streets of Salida, the closed-up shops with their windows
reflecting the early light. There are no breakfast places nearby so I
buy gluten-free toaster waffles in addition to all the usual- salami,
mayo, chips, bars- and eat my leftover spaghetti on the waffles back at
the hostel. It's awesome. Then I sit in one of the overstuffed chairs in
the comfy hostel living room and work on my blog while a couple on a
bike tour pack and repack their panniers. The couple is young, cute
hipsters with tattoos. They're biking from West Virginia to Oregon-
although they don't know where they want to live or what they want to do
when they get there.
Just
before noon the small Cambodian restaurant tucked into a side street
finally opens, yay! (it was closed yesterday), and I order a big bowl of
chicken coconut soup. It's begun to rain a little and I eat my soup at a
table facing the window, watching the rain. The rain lets up right when
I'm ready to hike out.
"Hey
hikertrash!" I'm walking towards the highway where I'll hitch back to
Monarch Pass when I hear the familiar call. I turn to see a man with
wild blond hair beckoning me over to his vehicle. His name is D-Bone,
and he's a long-distance hiker who lives here in town. He offers me a
ride back to the pass. I can't believe my luck! It would've been a hard
hitch otherwise. I put my pack in the back seat, next to a sleeping
toddler in a carseat.
"Cute kid," I say.
"He's
conked," says D-Bone. D-Bone is originally from Alabama, but he's lived
in Colorado for eleven years. As we drive to the pass D-Bone talks to
me about Salida- "All these yuppies with ten thousand dollar mountain
bikes, but I'm only mad because I want one too" Ski towns- "Flat-brims
smoking dubs, call em skittles because everything they wear is neon"
Accidental thru-hiking- "The second time I hiked the AT I only had five
hundred dollars, ate out of hiker boxes and drank a lot of olive oil, my
sister didn't recognize me when I was done." He hands me a handful of
photos from the center console- tiny climbers clinging to a nearly
smooth wall of rock. "That's me climbing El Cap. Took us a day and a
half." By the time we reach Monarch Pass I feel as though I've made a
friend.
"I don't want to stop talking," says D-Bone, as we say goodbye. Me either, I
think. "It's my day off," he says, as he gets back into the car. The
kid is awake now, gazing out the window. "I think I'll go fishing." I
wave as the car pulls away.
It's
2:30, and I only plan on hiking 11 miles today, which will get me to
the last water before a long dry stretch. The trail for the next two
days is gentle, relatively- it meanders along the ridge at around eleven
thousand feet, no massive climbs. Today it's cloudy and cool and the
tread is still wonderful, on account of the Colorado Trail, and I listen
to podcasts as I walk and look out at all the layers of mountains in
the distance, watch a storm do its thing on the horizon. I think about
life after the trail, things I want to write about that aren't hiking,
people I wish I could be talking to/hanging out with right now, and
where in the world I would go/what adventures I would try and have if
money were no object.
There's
a small undeveloped campground and a dirt road at the stream where I'd
planned to camp, so I have the luxury of a pit toilet and a perfectly
flat spot in which to pitch my tarp. I heat up water for instant lentils
and eat dinner in my sleeping bag while looking at my maps, thinking of
how little I have left of this trail. I can't even begin to process
this summer, much less imagine that the trail is actually going to end. Oh well. One day at a time.
Photos on instagram
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Saturday, September 5, 2015
CDT day 120
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