The taxi that pulled up the parking lot of the Motel 6 along Highway 14 in Palmdale couldn't be. Could it be?
It was Salvador, with the same "what are the chances?" look on his face that we had. He would take us back to the trail, and, on top of that, he knew the way, sort of. Salvador had half a mind to throw on a pack and join us. The forces that surround us were pushing him out of the business. He was pushing back, but there was no telling what his future held. He took us all of the way to the trail for the same price he charged from Acton a few days earlier. He snapped pictures of us as we pulled our gear out of the trunk, an adventurous patch on his taxi cab mosaic.
The trail descended into a thick jungle of bushes, branches, and muddy meanderings of a stream. The trail dissipated, easily overcome by the challenge. The trail guide defeatedly suggested bushwhacking straight across to the Metrolink tracks ahead and relocating the trail there. Easy enough. The trail rose for a bit and stretched for a tunnel underneath Highway 14 near Agua Dulce. The long tunnel was a cool respite from the heavy sun that day. It was a very active day for snakes and other hikers. The trail on the other side of the 14 took us through Vasquez Rocks Park, another San Andreas Fault feature and named for the notorious bandit Tiburcio Vasquez. Vasquez committed many robberies between Santa Rosa and the L.A. Basin, but was particularly fond of doing work along Soledad Canyon and the southern end of the Antelope Valley where there were many difficult, yet serviceable, escape routes. He was eventually captured at a ranch in West Hollywood, allegedly turned in by his own family, and was executed in 1875 at age 39 for atrocities commited during his 1873 Tres Pinos job. The Vasquez Rocks are striking and otherworldly, so it follows that Captain Kirk and his Star Trek cronies foiled many a galactic menace around these parts, which served as sets for a few different planets over the years, as well as the home of the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers.
For PCT hikers, the big prize is just north of the park, at the Saufley's house in Agua Dulce. Donna and her husband are, perhaps, the most famous trail angels on the entire hike. They open their property up to passing trekkers, with a double wide trailer set up with all of the amenities one could need. It is very aptly named 'Hiker's Paradise.' Donna convinced us to take another 'zero' (Rest day, zero miles) there, as we were so far ahead of schedule. We helped get all of the bikes ready for the big surge of hikers who would be assuredly arriving in three or four weeks, with Chris being a valuable asset to the Saufley's with his bike mechanic expertise. We test rode a few a mile back and forth from the very brief town center of Agua Dulce to get food and watch basketball a few times. The return trips down the country road were dark and intoxicatingly loping.
Donna, understanding of our allergy to 'bonus miles,' drove us down to the trail and saw us off. We had to walk down the streets of Agua Dulce for a spell, but soon we were climbing again, 2,000 feet. We dropped into Bouquet Canyon, near the reservoir. As I was walking down a patch of trail with low-lying grass I paused my foot in mid-air above something that, at first, looked like a stick. I noticed the rattler at the end of the snake just in time, I had nearly stepped right on it. I batted it off the trail with my hiking pole and continued. We camped that night in a little hollow that someone had set up for hikers. There were lawn chairs, random dolls, and water. There wasn't much room in there, but we were able to squeeze our tents in for the night. Beetles came and joined our party. It was either a big beetle wrestling tournament or mating season, probably the former, though it was hard to tell.
The next morning a friendly day hiker named Mario passed by with his girlfriend and gave us some jerky. We followed the curves of the slope for hours, briefly dropping 1,000 feet down to San Francisquito Canyon Road, then climbing that 1,000 back up the other side. We dropped down near Lake Hughes along a gurgling, insect infested stream. We reached a trail angel set up called Red Carpet Cache, which was literally named. There were three decaying red carpets in the grass near a stock of water and the road. The small town of Lake Hughes was a few miles down Elizabeth Lake Road, tucked behind the last ripple of the mountains before they gave way to desert. We sauntered into the Rock Inn, built from steel and granite after the original structure burnt to the ground. The building used to house the post office and a general store. The store moved across the street, and the new post office was personally dedicated by George H.W. Bush in 1989, but the Inn remains with a restaraunt that serves all-you-can-eat spaghetti on Wednesday nights. It was Wednesday. Chris ate six plates.
On the morning of Cinco De Mayo we headed back to the trail, two of us spoiled by real beds, the other not so lucky to have volunteered to sleep on the world's most worn out, uncomfortable roll away bed. We climbed out of Green Valley, a steep, hot affair that left us exhausted at the top. We rested for a spell at the highest point we would reach that day, a rattlesnake slithered past, and we barely noted its existence. A section hiker and his son encountered us and was very knowledgeable about the water situation ahead. We would have to plan our water out well until we got to Tehachapi, things were getting dry. Our next water stop was at a cement gurgler at a flat halfway through our day. The water was still and full of leaves and dead bugs, but we had faith in our Swiss water filter, and plenty of Crystal Light drink mix to mask the murky taste. We could feel the filter struggling with the yellow water. We crossed the 500 mile mark of our journey shortly thereafter, and camped at 5,370 feet at Bear Campground. The pleasant, green clearing had the strangest outhouse, the inside walls were covered in cheap cut-away carpet, and the toilet was wrapped in black trash bags. It got the job done. Two terrible things happened that evening. First, my spoon broke. Second, we realized we had been exposed to poison oak.
The next day was a frustrating meander down to the Mojave Desert. The Pacific Crest Trail has to break character in this section and actually depart from any sort of 'Crest' due to the Tejon Ranch's unwillingness to allow the trail to pass through any of their 270,000 acres. The Tejon Ranch owns a tract that was originally a series of Mexican land grants from the San Joaquin Valley, a vast portion of the Tehachapi Mountains, and section of the Antelope Valley and its foothills, where we found ourselves on the sixth. The spurned Forest Service insists that someday Congress will force the Tejon Ranch, a publicly traded NYSE company, to grant passage to the hikers, but until that day the trail stubbornly/maddeningly butts up as close to the ranch border as possible, greatly increasing the desert crossing that hikers will soon hereafter have to brave. The trail seems to fade out as it finally decides to give up switchbacking across the last vestiges of topography and reach the flat desert. At that point it's a straight shot to the 138, and Hikertown, a quaint, if not odd, recreated Wild West town designed specifically for hikers and similar drifters. The operator of the Neenach property, Bob, was very friendly, and we caught a bumpy ride 30 miles East into Lancaster with him and another guest. The poison oak was kicking in with a vengeance, and we needed medicine dearly. I had to take a test in Bakersfield the next day, and certain peculiar elements back in the Western Antelope Valley inspired the three of us to stay in Lancaster that evening at the E-Z 8 Motel and eat pies at Marie Callendar's. Apparently, Wells Fargo was plotting to blow up the Bay Bridge and blame it on (this character) who we encountered.
I had a whirlwind day throughout Bakersfield, a surreal semi-urban experience sandwiched between long bouts of wilderness adventure. I'm not sure if the people I encountered while riding the city bus around Shake'n'Bakersfield that day were any stranger than normal, or if I just hadn't been around other people in awhile, but the revolving door of characters entering and exiting the bus as we poked along through the city certainly kept my attention away from my Bakersfield Californian newspaper. My test ended after the last regional bus left for the Antelope Valley, and a hurried attempt to get downtown and rent a car was futile. My Saturday night ended at another E-Z 8 Motel, only this time next to HWY 99, stranded from Chris and Ryan on the other side of the mountains, stuck in the wrong valley. I sulked down the street to the providently located Buck Owen's Crystal Palace and spent my Saturday night taking in some live country and smothered baby back ribs. On my way back to Lancaster on Sunday morning I encountered another hiker named Gene, who had done the A.T. when he was only 17. He was in his 40's now, and was section hiking the P.C.T. whenever he could get the time. We had a pleasant conversation back up the mountains, he got off in Tehachapi to start hiking to Kennedy Meadows. I caught up with Chris and Ryan mid-morning in Lancaster, crammed in a busy diner on Mother's Day.
Citing sore feet and very bad poison oak, we decided to take the Kern Regional Transit bus up to Tehachapi on the eighth, and return to finish the desert section of the PCT in a few days once our symptons subsided. We were able to stay in my mother's boyfriend's son's trailer in his front yard, which was, in all honesty, the best living arrangement we have had this entire trip. Travis and his wife Mandy were terrific hosts, as were their three daughters Taylor, Lexie, and Kiersten, and their son David. I made a cake with the girls, with a family recipe my cousin Christina got from our Great Aunt Lucille, dubbed 'The Minnesota Better Than Sex Cake.' I told the girls that it was simply, 'The Minnesota Cake.' It is quite delicious though. THAT delicious? You'll have to gate crash our next Thanksgiving and see for yourself.
We were lucky to have access to my mother's truck in Tehachapi, so we could go down to the REI in San Fernando and pick up some stuff we left at Hikertown in Neenach. Bob was only vaguely aware that we hadn't actually returned several days earlier like we told him we would.
We returned to the trail in Neenach a few days later in order to actually reach Tehachapi, trail wise. The trail follows the Los Angeles Aqueduct for the most part at first, as we crossed it shortly after passing the now defunct Neenach Elementary School. The walkway over the water was surprisingly harrowing. Drowning in water bound for the fountains of Disneyland would certainly be a poor way to go. We walked along the artificial bank of an open section of the aqueduct, where I saw a few snakes crossing in the water, then turned North and literally walked on top of the black pipe for a few miles underneath the sun. The aqueduct turns East again, and continues under cement. In a wet year such as this, we could hear the diverted water gurgling towards millions of showers, lawns, and restaraunt tables in the L.A. Basin. We came across a few Southbounders who told us the section was already becoming active with other hikers who had caught up to us while we had been resting in Tehachapi. We made an easy 20 miles that day, camping in the north ripples of the valley beneath what is, essentially, the start of the Sierras. The desert wasn't blooming yet, but my eyes were mostly set on the dark clouds hanging on the edge of the San Gabriels, waiting to spread their tendrils across the valley. The temperature dropped quickly in the night, and we were hit by rain for the first time since the first day of hiking out of Campo. We weren't in any big hurry though, and let the morning sun dry our tent before we took off in the morning. It was another 20 miles through the burnt foothills, having to pause often to ponder which path ahead was a dirt bike trail, and which was the P.C.T. The trail rounded Northeast towards Willow Springs-Tehachapi Road, which runs from Rosamond in the desert up to Tehachapi. We entered wind turbine country, with 100 foot Vestas swooshing above our heads. I may be biased because of my family's involvement in the wind industry, but I think the descending ridges dotted with white turbines framed by the spanning desert and big, clay colored sky behind them are something pretty. There's a lot of time for thinking on the trail, and the color of turbines bounced around my head for a few miles. Why are they all that off white color? (The FAA says so, that's why.) What if they threw in a differently colored one once in awhile, like a pink one for Breast Cancer Awareness Month or something? (Probably would be frowned upon by, again, the FAA.)
We only had to hike a short nine mile section on Monday, the 16th, entirely through wind company property (There's dozens operating out here.). We started at Willow Springs Road near the intersection of Cameron Canyon Road, and ended up meeting up with the Cameron Canyon overpass at the 58, where Travis and his coworker Jared picked us up.
The three of us would take another six 'zeroes' in Tehachapi (Days where zero miles were accomplished.). We had to prolong our stay by one day to wait for a shipment that didn't come in on time. We took advantage of the time off to heal our feet some more, let the poison oak completely subside (Mine was ultimately quite minor, Ryan's was bad, and Chris' was something terrible, he had to drop sixty dollars on special ointments.), and set up our upcoming 27 day push from Tehachapi to Tahoe. I got a library card at the Kern County Library, we ate at very nearly every restaurant in town (Petra, the Greek place, was our favorite, though I am forever fond of Taco Samich.), couldn't get in to see Pirates of the Caribbean at the Hitching Post Theatre and watched Thor instead (meh). We took Rita's truck up to Bishop on the 395, and the up the 168 towards Aspendell in the mountains as far as we could. We dropped some food off in a bear box near South Lake, about five miles off trail, at just above 9,000 feet near some busy trout fishing beneath snow speckled peaks (Okay, I wish 'speckled' was accurate. 'Covered' is more like it.). This food would come in handy as we would be running low as we reached this point and Vermillion Valley Resort was not very hopeful in being open by then. The next two nights were spent in pubs and sports bars in town with locals who insisted on buying us drinks. This seems nice on paper, but we had a hard time dictating the quantity. Bartenders were starting to recognize us. The girl at Hungry Howie's pizza remembered us from Starbucks. The show 'Repo Games' sucks even when you're heavily hungover. We had filled up the black tank in Travis' trailer twice.
It was time to go. Tuesday. May 24th.
Epic thanks to the Dees!
