A Hiking Tale From The Pacific Crest Trail

Chapter Five

I interrupt this regularly scheduled blog post to bring you this important flashback from my hiking husband.

So far, you’ve all been hearing my “voice” telling my side of our crazy Chaos Origin Story, but have you ever wondered about Nick’s perspective and what went on for his half of our Grand Adventure thus far?

Well, wonder no longer!

Nick definitely had his share of trials and tribulations while hiking the Pacific Crest Trail and I wanted everyone to hear his “voice” telling his side of things before I continue on with our story of Chaos.

So I hope you enjoy my hiking husbands first ever blog post!

And fear not, I shall return for Chapter six.

-❤️ M

Living The Dream While Saying Goodbye

So there I was, alone in the rain, just steps away from the border between Mexico and the United States.

My whole life on my back and my new home under my feet, frozen in silence, watching my world drive off into the distance.

It was so clear just seconds ago but now, with every breath it became less and less, with every turn the glimpses became fleeting and even harder to make out and then suddenly, gone!

Out of sight but so very far from out of mind.

The emotions were next level, never in my life have I felt every imaginable feeling at the exact same time. Too many to process or understand and way too many to feel at the same time, especially here in the rain.

This is my dream right?

Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, 2,650 miles from Mexico to Canada, I've dreamed of this for years and I'm here now!

I should be through the roof happy, over joyed even because I’ve made it, it's real, it's really happening, right now!

Oh dear lord, it's really happening, can I even do this? 2,650 miles is insane! Six months doing this thing, living this, all of it is absolutely crazy!

I'll tell you one thing, no matter how much you think you understand what a task this lunacy is, there is no other place but standing on that trail, where it hits you quite the same.

Shit just got real and it's all on me, just like I wanted, right?

RIGHT?!

But hold up now, it's not just me, what about my wife who said let's do this, she said let's make this happen, she said today not some day, she said why wait? She gave up all the comforts of a "real" life, no matter how bogus we felt it was, it still gave some sense of security, no matter how false and now that was gone too.

She gave it up and added a massive bag of uncertainty, a huge leap into the unknown and took on this massive challenge, all so I could be HERE. So I better love it, every goddamm minute of it, I better be skipping down trail and singing at the top of my lungs.

Regrets have no place here, no room for a changed mind or a new plan. It's this now and it better be worth it because this was YOUR dream!

Now, did my wife ever say that? Never.

Did she really deep down even feel that way? Of course not.

But have you met me? Maybe, maybe not but either way, know this, I want, no need, everyone to be happy, maybe especially happy with me but that's another therapy session, err ahh, I mean blog post.

I want people to be happy so bad that I will try to change things pre-emptively just to prevent their possible future unhappiness.

Try that craziness on for size!

It fits a lot like a self designed, perfectly fitting straight jacket. Oh so snug and completely handicapping.

Because of that I feel like I am never 100% where I am in any given moment, I have too many thoughts on the feelings of others to be able to stay fully present.

I’m feeling way too guilty to really feel my honest emotions because what if I haven't earned that feeling or what if my happiness is possibly costing someone else.

Will my current, care free joy now be balanced by massive unhappiness down the road for me or others?

Anyway, lets set aside the deep seeded lifelong mental health issues that feel like who you truly are but it take a lifetime to realize that its just a childhood trauma response that you've adopted and carried with pride as if it makes you a better person but are just now realizing that its something you not only can, but should, leave behind.

Wow!

Let's look at more of those big feelings, I stood there humbled by not only my wife but our two small offspring, these two little guys that have no real idea of what we are doing or for the length of time we will be doing it.

We took them away from everything they had known in their short lives minus us, something we quickly learned was plenty for them, we were enough, they trusted that if Mom and Dad said this was the plan then it would all go just fine.

Ha, no pressure there at all.

This had to be fun for them or at least not awful, they had no say, this wasn't their dream or their choice. It wasn't their fault Mommy and Daddy had traded all the stresses of a 9 to 5 world away only to bring a thousand different ones in.

We owed them whatever sense of normalcy and calm we could muster but how?

We didn't know what was coming next week, let alone the grand total of where this adventure would take us.

Then there is the rest of my family, these wonderful humans who made it a priority to see me off on my big day.

Both my Mom & Dad, who have lived up to that title and beyond. They’ve supported every crazy idea we’ve come up with, every change of plans or change of heart, they were there, supportive as ever, our biggest helping hands, always and our best friends through it all.

Then there is my sister, whose heart has beat in time with mine ever since that very first day when I held her in my small 5 year old arms.

And her own little family which consists of my brother in-law and my nephew.

All of them together gave us the final confidence to pull the trigger on all this craziness and provided us both a landing spot when we were finished and a safety net we didn't even know we needed yet.

And finally, there’s my 85 year old grandmother who hiked right up to the terminus and sat on the monument which marks the beginning of the Pacific Crest Trail just to see me off, whispering wise words of safety, encouragement and love.

All these wonderful humans that are my very backbone, are here just for me? Am I worthy of that? Am I worthy of them? Am I worthy of all this sacrifice? Can I live up to it? Can anyone deserve them all? Can the trail live up to several years of hyped up dreams and beautiful YouTube videos?

Who knows?!

So many questions, no real answers, so many feelings and no way to process even one.

But maybe I wasn't meant to, maybe I was meant to feel ALL the things. We wanted to feel alive again right? What's more alive then to feel all the things, to feel overjoyed and sad, achievement and trepidation, hopeful and scared, worthy and not, confident and humbled, ready and so very, very not.

All those feelings just hopped onto an already heavy pack on the unexperienced shoulders of this unprepared little hiker and off we all went, hoping that through time I would dial in all that I carried.

I could do a shake down of not only my trail gear but all the things I carried with me, the good the bad, the light and the heavy.

Learn what was necessary and vital, then slowly shed the rest along way.

Well, except the excess gear, that goes in a hiker box somewhere, leave no trace after all.

Now I had nothing but miles and time, a whole lot of walking and anyone can just walk, right foot then left, over and over, so simple really.

And as I walked and closed in on that momentous first mile marker I was struck by just one little quote, a quote from a man who had just given everything he had in life to a wide eyed little boy.

This man said with a twinkle in his eye "Charlie, don’t forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted."

Then Charlie wondered "What happened?"

And Mr. Wonka replied "He lived happily ever after."

So from the words of a man who had chased down his lifelong dream and lived it, right to the ears of a boy who had just then began to live his, off I went, to live happily ever after.

A Hellish Climb To Get To Heaven

I just hadn’t ever imagined happily ever after would begin with such a downpour.

Not just rain but a storm that in retrospect foreshadowed so much of things to come.

It was the first small hurdle here and now, so on came the rain pants then jacket and down the trail I went for the first few miles that this late in the day start could buy me.

Now this part I could do!

Walk, eat, walk some more, find a flat spot before dark, set up camp, sleep and then repeat. Easy, right?

Just as I'd done on plenty of prep hikes around my beautiful green home state of Oregon.

I had that part down but there wasn't much green in sight, not a tall tree anywhere and this places couldn't even dream of what a moss covered log looked like.

Rocky and rolling, pokey and exposed and for some hard to understand reason a very wet and windy desert.

My normal miles per hour hiking pace was not showing itself when I checked in with my Fitbit.

This was my first day though, I wasn't looking for any land speed records, tomorrow was a new one and that would be when this trail would see what I could really do.

Tomorrow came and I got up early and soon hiked into a very popular first night camping spot for most who left the Southern Terminus on their first day.

It was Hauser Creek, home to "flowing" water most of the year with about 9 to 10 campsites.

It would have been a fun place to camp with all the other hikers that I was sure would have been here on any normal night on the PCT in April, but this was March 10, an early start by anyone's standards.

I'm sure there weren't many hikers here the previous night, only two had signed the log book before I did, late in the day yesterday.

Out of the fifty who got permits, forty seven said, nope not happening which left the three of us very wet hikers out here, too brave, determined or stupid to stay away.

Hauser Creek was a ghost town, I couldn't help but feel the lingering feeling of all those hikers who had past through here before me.

I mean no one quits before you get this far, right? If you get yourself all the way to the border I would guess you at least make it the first 15 miles.

So all those hikers with all those big dreams and amazing plans all went right through here.

So much new excitement and energy.

So many trail and life long friendships began here.

So many trail families (tramlies) formed right here.

It was empty now but it still held so much meaning, an empty place had filled with such a sense of community and comradery.

It was a place I had never stepped foot in before but it felt like a group I already knew.

My people had been here, they understood this dream, they got me, they knew I wasn't crazy.

I was sad for them to not be with me physically but I felt them all the same.

It was meter filling, right to the top, which was a good thing, because that's right where I was head next, to the top, the top of my first real climb, right in the heat of the day.

The climb out of Hauser Creek is equally as infamous as the camp spot itself. It is no joke and is ready to break the high spirits of those coming from the creek bed below.

The trail giveth and the trail taketh away.

Switchback after switchback I made my ascent towards Lake Morena waiting high above, a 70° day felt more like 90°.

Shade was scarce but the breaks still came much more frequent.

Now I was in it, the suck that I had been instructed over and over by my YouTube thru-hiking mentors to embrace.

So with open arms I leaned in for a nice long hot and sweaty hug and up the climb I trudged.

Seeing my first other hikers was both uplifting and empowering because I was not alone, not the only dummy who started in a rain storm and seeing their struggles up this climb gave legitimacy to mine.

We are all in this and it's tough.

I am weaker then some and stronger then others, I am not in over my head.

I've got this, no, we have this and we will see each other at the top, eventually.

Right?

But is there, in fact, a top?

This isn't some circle of hell and I'm not just meant to keep walking up the side of this mountain forever?

No, but once done, I felt I had pushed too hard, trying to prove to either myself or other hikers that I belonged but in the end, really had only made it more difficult for myself.

I had summitted, ready for what was next and boy was I glad to hear what exactly was next!

The Oak Shores Malt Shop in Lake Morena less than a mile off trail!

Heaven awaited after a climb out of hell!

A Root Beer Float or two, maybe three, was just the thing on that slowly warming day.

My backpack came off along with my shoes and the feet were elevated.

Us hiking folk often look like homeless people outside such establishments, those who know our plight get it and those who don't just stare.

Oh and did I mention they had WiFi here too? Time for some much needed check ins, unfortunately, evey single one of my drop off team was currently out of range.

It would seem they were all in the process of getting my wife and our boys all settled into an RV park ten miles outside of Julian, California.

That was the place that my wife and boys would call home over the next week or so.

A place we hoped would have some kind of signal but now it was very clear that it would not.

I prayed for an easy transition for all, that Megan would be filled with confidence on the new parallel journey she was taking both with and without me.

Give her peace of purpose and hope for all the winding roads ahead.

I prayed for my own peace of mind as well, knowing my little family was soon to be alone in the desert.

I stressed endlessly about all that was out of my control, about the boys happiness and Megan's stress level.

It was so hard not to have my hands in it, not to be able to help.

I know my presence can help with her own self confidence at times and now I was gone. The reality of this plan slapped hard again, out of nowhere.

Interrupting the cool Root Beer Float and bringing a sense of guilt instead of the happiness that it once brought.

How selfish am I? I'm not worthy of this, no matter how hard this can be at times, there is no sympathy for myself, this is of my own creation.

What are you doing out here? Drinking Root Beer Floats with your feet up while Megan wrangles two small children and a giant dog in the desert? What have you asked of your little family?

I felt this all, dark and deeply for about five good long minutes, then God sent four wise men.

I guess I needed an extra.

I may be a son of God but I'm not thee Son of God, so one extra wise man couldn’t hurt.

They pulled up and parked, ran inside and placed a food and drink order, then proceed to sit at the very same table as me and strike up a conversation just like it was nothing.

I would struggle mightily to ever do the same but thank God, he knew and quite literally, that it was exactly what I needed.

I will avoid social interactions like the plague, which is crazy because 99% of the time, once I'm in it, I love it.

I love talking to people and most new people I find insanely interesting, especially out here.

It really is another big battery charger for me and these guys were like four massive ones.

They asked about everything I was doing and listened as in my very long winded way I told them all of it, not a sign of boredom or lack of interest among them, which is impressive because it feels like I get that a lot.

They were impressed by all that I was out here trying to achieve and equally, if not more impressed, by my wife and all she was doing to make it happen.

They shared their stories of growing up in this area and now all coming back together to explore and bike and just live in all those wonderful memories.

The idea was so magical, to be friends and stay friends for so long, to come back and experience that together, to be there for each other all these years later just as they were as kids. Just wow.

Their food came and they ate and joked with each other, teasing about the old days and all the hijinks of their youth, they laughed and reminisced with me as if I was just one of the gang.

I told them that I had to get going, miles to make and all.

They would never know how much that moment, on some rickety old metal table and chairs outside of the Malt Shop and Store in Lake Morena meant to me.

In my mind, those four wise men were the heart and soul of this small town and a beginning to this adventure that I would carry throughout.

I knew it was the first of many moments ahead but it was so unexpected and those are always much more special.

So, out of Lake Morena I went, ready to tackle the world, full of life and bursting with hope.

That is until the next break and a little peek at the map. It was time to check what I had achieved along with the miles yet to come.

I had told my wife I would see them in four days, she would be counting on it.

I felt like she needed me there to help feel confident in what we were doing, needed a break from the crazy kids, needed some certainty in our newly uncertain world, at least that's what I thought in my mind.

So I WOULD be there in two more days, no, if, ands or buts.

This thinking was unwise in any form, on any trail and in any circumstance but especially bad for what the trail was cooking for tomorrow.

I found a campsite as the day started to wined down, sat in my tent making notes on the day and formulating a plan of attack for an early rise and the miles I needed to make and the time I needed to make them in to stay on schedule tomorrow.

It was a good plan a perfect plan and somewhere God just laughed.

Down Came The Rain And Washed The Hiker Out

I wasn't aware of God’s laughter until about 3am and it sounded less like laughter and a lot more like another down pour.

Rain, rain and rain, an early departure turned into a rain delay and a 5am plan was quickly zipped away after a peek out of my tent.

I thought I got rain the first day? Ha! It trickled the first day compared to this.

So I sat in my tent and neurotically waited while stressing about miles. Every hour that passed was at least three miles added to my journey over the next days. Oh boy.

I began to get desperate, any let up in the rain, no matter how small I would pounce.

My current cell signal was so weak that my weather app wouldn't load, luckily the signal was enough to text out, not to my wife of course, she was firmly planted in the middle of the desert with no signal. How comforting.

Instead I was able to reach my Dad who had recently flew home with the rest of the family and he was able to get a good look at the weather system headed my way.

He spoke of a clear window from about 9am to 11am and depending on how far I could get, after that would be up in the air as far as clear skies. He said if I wanted to go, that was the time but he suggested either just staying put or being ready to set up within the first few hours of hiking if the weather returned.

My Dad usually gives some pretty sage and well thought out advise but always gives us the clear option to take it or leave it.

So naturally, I left it, right there in my warm tent and headed out to hit the miles and hard, for as much of a respite as the dark clouds would give me.

I hustled down trail, hitting my first real good pace of the my journey so far.

Three miles plus an hour WAS possible out here in Cali, all you need is some storm clouds chasing you, a crazy mileage goal and bunch of guilt. Trifecta achieved!

Alas, no matter how determined you are, mother nature cares nothing of your goals and soon the rain returned, this time with a vengeance. The clouds set up camp right above my head with no plans of going anywhere anytime soon.

It was an example I should have followed, just set up my own camp and do it quick but no, I had a lesson God wanted me to learn and my own fight for control of my circumstance would be the tool he used.

That, and buckets and buckets of rain.

Now let's pause for a second, hold that water as they say, trust me, there is plenty more to come and let's discuss weather, especially being wet on trail.

From and outside perspective, in the "real world" what's a little rain?

I mean if you park too far from a store in Oregon, just the walk back to the car can leave you dripping, add in loading groceries or a multitude of oh so helpful children and you can be talking drenched.

That sucks, for sure but the car has a good hard roof, a heater, maybe even some cozy heated seats. It takes you home, maybe even right into a dry garage, you unload, then those damp clothes can come off, into the dryer, fresh clothes await in the warm house, blankets and hot cocoa and just like that its over, within 30 minutes it's like it never even happened.

Out on trail, not so much!

When the rain starts any amount of wetness your clothes get, they are now that way until the big yellow sun dryer in the sky can make its way back out, same goes for you.

Sure you can set up camp, in the rain, trying to keep the inside of your tent dry not just during its construction but also while you unload the hopefully dry contents of your wet pack into said shelter, all while hopefully maintaining its dry interior.

Then comes the wet clothes, if you have packed right, you should have a set of dry clothes to change into, so where do you change into said dry clothes?

Not in the tent, you will soak the inside.

Not outside where you will soak your dry clothes.

So let's say you're quick and pick the lesser of the two evils and get into the new clothes fast, do they stay very dry with your wet body in them? And even if they do, where do the wet clothes go, outside the tent?

Luckily most tents have a vestibule, which is a small space between the inside and outside with a cover but not connected to the living space of your tent, perfect right?

Yes and no.

Sure, your tent doesn't house your soaked things but now they sit on the wet ground, ground that in the desert is not used to water and can turn to a lake or river real quick, trust me on that, trail turned rivers are no fun, more on that very soon.

So here you are dry-ish, warm-ish and then morning rolls around and you need your hiking clothes back on, because if you don't change them, your dry sleeping clothes will also become wet hiking clothes.

Now if you haven't experienced waking up from a day of hiking and sleeping on the ground to face another day of the same, but first you get to crawl out of your warm sleeping cocoon and put on now freezing and wet hiking clothes then you are missing out.

Missing out on one of the worst feeling imaginable!

My point is this, rain in the real world is mildly annoying, rain on trail, especially for the uninitiated can be down right dangerous and that danger was real and about to hit.

So stubbornly on I went, what started as a sprinkle grew, rain jacket and pants came on but as any hiker who has experienced extreme weather knows, there isn't a rain set up in the world where eventually the rain doesn't win.

Rain finds a way, wind and weather find a way.

I hiked past several hikers all in trudge mode, all with different rain protection of some kind, all heads down and marching it out with me.

I saw no one in a tent all hunkered down safe, maybe this was truly the case or just selective vision on my part I don't know, after all, my head was down and in trudge mode like the rest of them.

As I set my sights on Mt. Laguna and began to think of warm food, warm accommodations and some kind of reprieve from the deluge that's when it really picked up.

The trail starts to climb up to the elevated little town, so I climbed up and up and up but all that water was diametrically apposed to that direction and instead came down and down and down.

Down onto any dry part of me it could find, rolling downwards in the shape of the newly formed Pacific Crest River, all signs of trail had been replaced by a down flowing water way.

Sure you start out by jumping from semi dry side of trail to the next, rock jumping and tip toeing to avoid the deep flow but it's only a matter of time, a waiting game and the water is there, constantly and it will wait. It will win and your dry shoes, socks and feet will all eventually lose, it was an inevitability in this circumstance and lose they did.

Once that battle is over, does it really matter any more?

Is the dancing and effort worth spending your limited energy supply?

So I excepted my fate and I trudged on once more, uphill against the current in a desperate search for high ground.

The elevation eventually took mercy and my beloved Pacific Crest Trail, though muddy, changed from its watery ways and returned to me.

I was closing in on Mt. Laguna, just a measly mile away when the full body shakes began, uncontrollable and unsettling.

Well this wasn't great.

I can't say I'm a fan of involuntary bodily movements, it makes hiking to a destination in any type of timely fashion quite frustrating at the least.

That and the fact that the shakes were mostly likely the first signs of hypothermia weighed heavier than all my wet clothes and pack combined.

No one is going to die or collapse in less then a mile I told myself, trying hard to believe it.

Even if it does happen by then I'll be on a road in a town and surely I'll be spotted before too long. I’m sure the local medical center has heaters, blankets and at least half of a warm gown.

Lucky-ish for me I arrived into town still upright and quickly spotted the first establishment with a roof that looked like it may contain at heating system and warm liquid.

The Pine House Café & Tavern.

It was my water in the desert, well metaphorically speaking because this desert had more than its fair share of water in the last few hours.

It was my refuge in the storm, there that's a better metaphor and it was quite literal too, well until I saw the big dreaded sign in the window.

CLOSED.

Well that's it, I'm dead, at least I will die here on this dry covered patio, soaked to the bone but at least no more rain will be pounding on my head.

But wait, this was no time to die, not with voices coming from the inside!

That sound coupled with a much smaller “come on in we’re open” sign.

I took that small sign, that most likely meant nothing with the large and looming CLOSED sign above as a sign, a sign of hope, maybe just maybe someone just forgot to take down this massive, completely unmissable, bold lettered and visible from down the street CLOSED sign down and this small, faded and little unlit sign is what they really meant, come on in, right?

Please!

So I knocked and shortly after the door moved, like the gates of heaven being opened and out stepped St. Peter, also metaphorically, it was the owner of this very closed and dark establishment, she and a few others were just there hiding from the storm and working on renovations for the upcoming PCT hiking season, you know for the people who preferred walking down a trail instead of swimming it.

Not like this drowned rat that stood before her, dripping and looking miserable. Then before I could even fully comprehend her words she had invited me in to sit by the fire to warm up and dry off.

I was right, this was heaven and St. Peter had nothing on St. Owner of the Pine House Café

This damp soul had been blessed and saved on this day and as I walked in searching for that glorious blaze I realized this Saint was not only in the restaurant renovation business but in the mass soul saving business.

I was not alone, other hikers sat, coats off, shoes off, drying out, everything hanging on chairs, all semi circled by the fire all with warm elixir in hand.

Before I could even ask I had been poured a cup of hot black coffee, coffee which only ever passes my lips in milkshake form from my local Dutch Bros. location.

My drink of choice is probably the furthest from black coffee that is made in this world and still technically considered coffee.

On this day, taste buds received no say, flavor was left back on the river trail miles ago and temperature awareness long before that. Down the dark black hot went and quickly a second cup was poured and consumed.

It’s funny how near death changes a lot of stupid personal preferences and a whole new perspective is achieved.

The kindness of one stranger restores hope in all humanity and one big storm gives new respect for mother nature and the nature of trail life and all this in a single day.

Never again would I make such stupid decisions for equally stupid reasons and risk so much in the process.

Megan was fine, what was one more day going to matter, I can't have my hands in everything, I can't fix everything, sometimes it's not even my place to try.

I could have died just to prevent the possibility of stressing her out or breaking my word. Sure if we would have both had signal this could have been prevented, we could have changed plans for a day or two later and it would have been just fine.

We didn't have that joint signal though and news flash we weren't always going to have it, this was a long trail and a whole lot of dead zones were coming our way.

I was going to have to roll with my circumstances and make decision for me and trust in Megan to do the same.

That's all I could do, anything different was just going to lead to something stupid, something that left me here chugging down black evil swill water, one cup full at a time.

Anyway, about an hour later the owner and her crew were calling it a day, all headed home to check out the state of their properties, claiming that this was the worst rain storm they had in this area in over twenty years.

The last time there was quite a bit of local damage due to flash floods and mudslides and they were all very ready to check on the state of their homes.

So a very grateful bunch of slightly more dry but definitely more warm, at least on the inside, hikers, head back out into the rain in search of our next shelter.

We spoke of a general store up the way with a big porch and a plan to split a hotel room for the night. A warm shower and a bed sounded like the greatest thing on the planet right now, a heated place to hang our clothes to dry and plan for the miles and weather to come.

When we arrived at the store, which also is where you book your rooms there was a large dry patio that got us out of the rain but not the wind, it was filled with easily fifteen of us, most who were there before we arrived, all with the same plan.

There were lots of hikers and very limited room accommodations.

Said rooms were booked and split between hikers before we had even arrived and only one of our little group could squeeze into a very strict hiker per room policy.

The rest of us made plans to dry out the porch, some even electing to hang their wet clothes from the roof and just jumping into their sleeping bags right on the porch, all while making plans to head out if and when the rain let up and find a place to camp just outside of town.

I had a shot in the dark third option, my little family was just thirty miles away, nestled in an RV Park down the mountain.

Had the storm reached them, had it hit them the same way? I knew they didn't have service from a text that my wife was able to send a day earlier by driving away from the RV park and toward civilization.

Said RV Park had a phone number on Google though, a number that my wife had had no luck using to schedule our reservation so it was a shot in the dark at best but wet times call for desperate measures and a warm shower along with fresh clothes sounded a million times better then back out into that weather and the great wet dry tent dance that would have to go along with it.

So numbers were dialed, a lot, over and over until finally a voice, a voice that couldn't hear me through our bad connection, sounding reasonably frustrated by my persistence calls.

Eventually my determination paid off and I was able to connect with those manning the phones at the front desk of Stagecoach Trails RV Park, I explained that my wife was staying with them and described our car and trailer, explaining how I had no other way to get in contact and begged them to relay a message of ASAP extraction from Mt. Laguna.

Now remember this, I had yet to have even seen let alone been to this RV park, I was unaware of the size of the place or how far the trek from the front office to where my family was currently set up was.

I also had no idea that said office was already stewing over said family who in their mind had parked, hooked up and were now just living rent free at their RV Park.

The employees had no knowledge of all our failed attempts to book early or the circumstance of Megan and the boys after business hours arrival the day before.

All this coupled with the fact that the storm had hit Stagecoach Trails RV hard, a complete and utter deluge for them as well, most of the day, complete with washed out roads and small lakes forming all around the park.

So, unaware of the task I had asked and unaware of the likelihood of its success, I waited. Waited to hear from Megan as she reached service, or even see her little dot on our Life 360 Family Tracking App move into any kind of signal at all, maybe even a call back from the RV Park with an update on the situation.

The rain had slowed, quite a bit and a window was approaching for heading back on trail if that was the inevitability that awaited me.

I hoped against hope and decided to risk more annoyance at Stagecoach and try one last time, find out if they were able to reach Megan or not and if they had any updates on my possible rescue attempt.

The phone rang and rang, then rang some more but I couldn't give in to cold wet night without an answer, not quite yet, there was still hope.

I had gotten through before and it had to happen again, ring ring ring, click and then silence.

A series of desperate hellos and then an echo, but in a female voice, hallelujah!

I go into my spiel again, hey I called earlier and blah blah blah, any update on blah blah blah, please please please, blah blah blah. Then with irritation in said voice growing, I'm was informed that my wife was right there in the office.

Yay! Perfect timing!

All except for the distant voice I heard, now saying with a bit of frustration, "We don't do this." as the phone is handed to Megan.

She explains her situation there, the rain, the flooding, the misunderstanding with the front desk all while, my frustration grows at the "We don't do this” comment.

Here we are, first time RV owners, on our first trip ever, out attempting this crazy thing, all with small children, a first time attempting thru hiker in the worst storm this area has seen in 20 years at an RV park that doesn't have phone signal in a possible dangerous situation.

Strangers in an insanely strange world.

We were only asking for a little help because of these completely unforeseen circumstances but handing the only functional phone in miles to someone other then an employee to coordinate a humanitarian rescue effort is just breaking what must be a very important rule.

Whatever!

That's not to say I don't appreciate their efforts, I did, I still do, I wasn't leaving that mountain without their help.

I'd just like to think in extraordinary circumstance maybe your rules could go to the way side without all the kicking and screaming.

I mean is the RV Park Rule God always watchful, even in this monsoon? Just waiting to punish those who allow phone calls and rescue attempts?

Anyway, long story short, Megan and the boys, through many tribulations of their own, eventually made it to Mt Laguna, our blue Honda Pilot pulling up to that general store was literally like a miracle through the mist.

By this time the hiker numbers on the front porch were dwindling, the room keys for those available cabins had been handed out and most had disappeared into their dry and warm accommodations.

Others had taken advantage of the dry window and headed back on trail and none of the remaining needed or wanted a ride to Julian or anywhere else for that matter.

So off I went, happy to see the family again, this was why we were doing it just this way, never be separated for too long, reunited and it felt so good.

There wasn’t a big greeting from the boys, it was like picking me up from work or anywhere else.

They hadn't struggled with the time apart, they would see me again soon, like they always did and here I was again.

It was so simple and exactly how we wanted it to be for them.

I took over driving, to spare Megan from a road she had already learned to hate and the possibility of more weather to come or rising tides.

It's very true that this was not how I saw my day going, but from the very first early morning rain drop on my tent I was adjusting mentally for the trials on trail to come but for Megan this wasn't on the menu at all for today.

She wasn't even at the same restaurant that had this particular set of events on their menu.

She and the boys had been thrust in, quick and hard, they were just waiting out the storm like I should have been and instead got pulled out into it.

For this I was so grateful for all she had been through to rescue me, all while dragging around two little kids and a giant dog.

What was to come was all going to be such a learning curve and this was only the beginning, just three days in and I could tell this wasn’t going to be a normal year on the PCT.

But right now that didn't matter, that was a much drier Nick's problems. Now I was back home with my little family, damp yet saved, heading down the mountain together where the boys could show me our new home for the time being and I could break Megan from her single parent duties.

Everything was looking good, except for the weather report over the next week.

Back On Trail And My Final Miles

Hours later, washed, dry, warm and fed, all five of us filled up the inside of our Little Geo.

Chaos reigned as I jumped between the children, weather updates and map apps, trying to determine our next course of action.

Another big storm was predicted for the next day, so that was out for a return to the trail but the day after that looked good enough.

If I was dropped back in Mt. Laguna I could split the miles into two, fifteen mile days and hike right back into the RV park.

Of course the rain never showed that day, at least not where we were, but the clouds around us told a different story for my fellow hikers still on trail.

It was a good time to take my first zero mile day off.

The next day arrived and here I was again, being dropped off at the same little store with the same porch but a completely different group of hikers on a windy but gratefully much much drier day.

Kisses and hugs all around, for the family of course, the hikers were all new to me and far too smelly to get that close.

Speaking of that, hikers getting close and all, there was a ton of this new found greeting of elbow touching, where normally you would see and hive fives or a handshake between hikers, or more likely a fist bump, now there was this weird lean down and elbow touch thing.

"Hey I'm Jim no trail name yet"

"Hey I'm Butch, I hiked the AT in 2017" Then elbow touch.

What?

"Hey man, it's about time you showed up" Elbow touch.

"Fifty miles down, only 2600 to go!" Elbow touch.

What was going on?

I had been doing YouTube thru hiker trail research for years and I knew the lingo well, fist bumps where real, everywhere and to be expected.

What the hell was this weird elbow thing?

I would later come to realize it was popularized much like how the fist bump grew on trail due to the dirty nature of hikers and hiking.

You just never knowing how good your fellow travelers really do wash up after they have pooped into a self made hole, some doing so for a very inexperienced first time, maybe even attempting to conserve their toilet paper funds at the same time.

The thought didn't always fill one with faith while in the midst of a palm on palm handshake or high five. So a fist bump seemed like a possibly “cleaner” alternative. Cleaner knuckles in theory or at least you’re less likely to be knuckling your own food before it goes down the hatch.

This strange elbow tap must have come from some much more current event oriented hikers and I was clearly out of the loop, which left me confused.

My life was the trail currently, my brain had left the outside world and had little time to check in or stay current with anything that was happening in the real world. I just had no frame of reference for these elbow touching weirdos!

Forgive my ignorance, it was a much different time.

Anyway, growing global events aside back to the important stuff, miles.

Off I went, massive pine cones, big beautiful trees and even bigger views filled my day. It felt like being back home in Oregon for the first time, but I was a man of two very different homes now, here on the Pacific Crest Trail in Southern California and in our RV back at Stagecoach Trails with the fam.

It was a pleasant balance that I could learn to love, doing what I loved, living the dream but never being too far away from those I loved most. 

These fifteen miles came easier, plus a few more to make the hike back home a little shorter tomorrow, I felt reinvigorated and energized.

The next morning was a beauty, I got up early and attacked the trail.

The Pacific Crest Trail is such a tease, by 8am I could see my RV Park destination, right down there, just a few more miles at most, I was killing it, trail legs achieved but alas no, the PCT doesn't go straight anywhere.

Yes, your destination might be right there but first we must hit every ridge and outcropping in this whole mountain system before heading down. The trail meanders all around and you along with it, wearing you completely out before eventually giving you that teased destination.

But by the time you reach it, you are now to worn out to do much more at then eat, drink and sleep.

All this meandering on a cloud free day, but remember this is the desert and when clouds are not present and even when they are, it gets warm, real warm and this was early March.

I said a prayer for those future hikers staring with the majority in April and signed the death certificate for those starting in late May.

Hopefully their headlamps held a good charge and they enjoyed night hiking.

So after my long exploring stroll all around and every which way, eventually after a downward grade, I had reached the desert floor and it was all smooth sailing from there.

Long, flat, and hot sailing, with plenty of warm wind but me without water, a boat or sails. So smooth and flat, mostly slow and no sailing at all.

This went on for a while, all with the looming thought of at a long, flat, four mile road walk after this stretch was done on hot, exposed, hard concrete.

Yes! My favorite!

This dread barely had time to take hold when figures appeared in the distant desert landscape, surely I wasn't catching up to other hikers at this desert death march pace.

I stared on, trying to bring form to the figure.

One dark blob turned to two and one was much smaller, wait, another blob even smaller then the second, those blobs were the right shape and form of some possible blobs I know but that can't be, I'm still a long way away from the road and my taller blob could never get my two smaller blobs to hike so far.

Why weren't the forms becoming any more clear?

What the heck was I looking at? What was I seeing? How long had I been out here? How hot was it really? Had the desert taken my mind?

And more importantly, what happens to me when my wife finds out I not only thought she was a blob but the bigger one at that?

No wait!

Those were my blobs! My three beautiful blobs! Energy restored! Miles? What miles! There is no heat, there is no sun, no more miles just them, my wife and boys on the Pacific Crest Trail with me!

Hello Family!

And off we went.

Atlas, our oldest, went from running ahead leading us, so proud that he knew the way, to holding tight to my hand like he would never let me wander off again.

My wife took mercy on me and the combined weight of my pack and the miles of the day and took on the responsibility of our youngest son, Fenix. His little legs had done a lot already and he was spent.

She took him into her arms and headed down trail, perhaps regretting just how far they had come out here to meet me.

Fenix is a tank, large for his age and solid and you know what's worse then all that weight on your hip while doing miles in the desert?

Dead weight.

Fenix succumbed to his worn out little body and fell deep asleep.

We trudged on together, both of us weighed down as Atlas ran ahead, weightless and free, beckoning us towards the car.

"Come on, come on, we are almost there."

We'd been "almost there" for awhile now.

Eventually we really were but before our weight could be strapped into the car, a couple of Trail Angels (people who volunteer to help hikers with food, water, rides and all manner of assistance) appeared from the other side of the road.

They asked if we needed anything and were very curious about our story.

We gave her the condensed version because Megan's arms were not going to survive nor was Fenix if we rambled on.

She snapped a picture while telling us how blown away she was by what we were doing, how brave, how unique and how cool.

She'd seen and heard a lot of things on trail but we were one of a kind.

It was encouraging with all the crazy, all the twists and turns and emotional rollercoasters we had been off and on in just a few short weeks.

Mother nature had done her worst, our brains and emotions had been attacked from every angle, fears and doubts a plenty, but here we were again, hiking together on the trail of my dreams, living it, living our Grand Adventure, today, not someday.

The worst was behind us.

We were battled tested and ready for what lay ahead, whatever it was, we were ready.

We would face it together and sometimes apart and come on through to the other side.

Nothing would stop us from having this adventure of a lifetime.

And then somewhere God laughed again.