April 22: Going to California

So we're finally here, just east of San Diego in southern California, heading north on the Pacific Crest Trail.

After a whirlwind week of moving out of our apartment, packing and unpacking and packing again, dehydrating food, sewing, making last-minute adjustments to our gear, filling prescriptions, seeing the dentist, having farewell meals and saying goodbye to our friends and family, we're finally here -- with our packs on our backs and nothing but the trail to occupy our time.

Flying into San Diego from NYC via Denver on Thursday we glimpsed the fractalled oranges and reds of the Grand Canyon in NW Arizona. We marvelled that Eliza's mother was down there somewhere on an adventure of her own. Shortly, looking north out over the deserts of Southern California, we began to see the foothill beginnings of mountains come rising from he sands. Is this our destination? we wondered. Are these our mountains? Is that a hiker down there? We were able to identify Palm Springs, CA by comparing our trail maps with the real life sky high relief blazing outside the window and were awe-struck by the snow capped ridgeline of the San Jacintos which towered before us. This was our trail. It will be three weeks before we're up in those icy passes, but somehow three weeks doesn't seem like all that long any more.

We were picked up at the airport, as planned, by Chuck, a pot-bellied hiker and garrulous, sarcastic, 46-year-old unemployed metal shop teacher. He and his older brother, Stewart, who we had to pick up at a bar in downtown San Diego (it's around 3pm in the afternoon at this point), are hiking the trail this year. Chuck seems to know everything about the trail, says he's been researching it seriously for five years and section-hiking for a dozen. His brother is going through a crisis (as Chuck informs us while his brother is in the grocery store picking up some Scotch before heading out to the trail) and this summer will be good for him. He rolls his eyes and sighs that just about everyone out on the trail is going through some kind of crisis. That's a interesting angle on it, I thought. Am I going through a crisis? I don't think I am as of yet. Together these two are an absolute riot, positively offensive and chauvanistic, rude and rowdy -- all in all, a distinct pleasure to be around.

After a couple of brief stops to sure up our supplies and send out our food drop box and bounce bucket, Eliza and I are standing at the border, alone in the late afternoon gloam of the hot setting sun. A snaking cloud of dust drifts away behind the diminishing form of Chuck's SUV.

This is what we had been planning so long for. This was the beginning of the end. It seemed all too natural, standing there. A myth come to life that turns out to be wholly believable and absolutely real. The scene was beautiful and aside from the bloated bubble of nerves exanding violently in my stomach, we both felt perfect. So we snapped some photos, did some southern terminus acrobatics, climbed around on the monument, strapped on our packs and set out for Canada.