Day One
We rose before the sun. Ate some breakfast. Made final checks to our gear. Put everything in the trunk of my friend’s Honda Civic. Hugged and accepted final wishes for good luck and an unforgettable journey. Then, we began driving toward San Diego and then onward to the Southern Terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail.
As the monument came into view, I will proudly admit that I cried. Two years of training, preparation, saving, and sacrifice had culminated in delivering me to this tiny pixel on a map. We signed the trail log. Took an obligatory photo that we thought would serve as a before photo hungry for comparison to another photo six months in the future. My friend drove back toward reality. COVID-19 was waiting for him. It was March 13th, and we thought the trail was the safest place to be in the world. Far from civilization, we assumed this is where everyone would like to be.
Then we walked away from the monument. A sense of pride washed over me. Everyone deserves to feel as I did at that moment. As we walked past Mile Marker One, it began to rain. There was no more dreaming of the trail. Now, we had to hike it. This would be a completely different exercise.
Day Two
Finding a place to camp at the end of day one was a bit of a challenge. With rain falling and fog clouding our view, we camped near the trail. I awoke to the sound of sand crunching below the feet of hikers passing near our temporary homes. We began a morning routine that we thought we would have to repeat hundreds of times. Breakfast, flavored water, breaking down camp, repacking our bags, and then hitting the trail.
On day two, we climbed for what seemed like forever. Adrenaline was still flowing through every part of my body. Despite the climbs, nothing feels as good as standing on top of something you conquered. On this day, a close second had to be beginning to make trail friends and encountering your first group of trail angels. Making camp with a new friend from Seattle and enjoying hot chocolate, I hoped we were easing into a new routine.
Day Three
My small trail family of three began the arduous process of ascending to Mt. Laguna. Along the way, we met a trail angel giving away beers and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Tired from hiking, I can positively affirm that Coors Light has never tasted so good.
Later that evening, we made camp with 20+ other hikers. Sharing stories over dehydrated meals near a campfire was precisely the reason I decided to hike this trail. Today was a good one. A day I will never forget.
Day Four
It took four pushes, but we finally made it to Mt. Laguna. Exhausted, we found ourselves at the Mt. Laguna Lodge and Trading Post. Snapped back to reality and an internet connection, we could see a rare winter-like storm was headed our way. For me, I found myself fighting serious trail insomnia. Facing these realities, we decided to stay the night. Tucked into a real bed, I realized treating yourself is a part of surviving this journey.
As I lay under the blankets watching CNN, we could see the world was breaking apart. In four days, states had begun issuing stay at home orders. International borders were beginning to close. Unnecessary travel was no longer a priority. Fear around the lack of goods and resources was beginning to take hold. Trail towns began asking hikers to avoid travel. After four days of bliss, the panic over the pandemic met us face to face.
A couple of days later, the trail association which issues permits for the trail asked hikers to go home.
With this on our mind, we could not in good conscious continue knowing we might carry the virus to a rural community with an elderly population lacking access to medical resources. In four days, the dream of a lifetime was halted by a once in a century event. I would spend the next 8 months wrestling with this reality. For now, my dream is on hold, but the fire still burns deep within me.
Be good to each other,
Nathan
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