Hiking was beautiful again today. This section is infamous for being a hellish and miserable 100 miles. The heat is said to be unbearable. The views are nothing great. Water is nowhere to be found. Many people even skip a big chunk of this section, as the trail crosses the Mojave, by opting for a 20-mile road walk, which effectively cuts off some 30 miles of trail. This year, however, none of these factors are living up to their notorious infamy.
All morning we had views of the arid, colorful Antelope Valley to our north as we looked out from under a patchy, alternating canopy of black oak and coulter pine. At noon we crossed Pine Canyon Road and were lucky enough to arrive just as a car was dropping off a huge watermelon. A couple other hikers were hanging out there slurping down huge sections of plump red fruit, cut into enormous arm-length sixths lengthwise. To our great surprise, one of the hikers there turned out to be Stewart (now "Moose") -- one of the brothers who had dropped us at the border our first day on the trail, five and a half weeks ago. We caught up with him for a while, amazed to be seeing him again at all. It turns out that his brother Chuck ("Spike") was having a difficult time keeping up, ended up getting sick, going home to San Diego, not being able to take it at home, and finally returning to he trail in Stew's jeep to drive around as chauffeur and trail angel for what has been referred to as "the family" -- Moose, Dat and Bobboh. These guys are pretty damn funny. They are headed up the trail and bringing a party right along with them. "Campfire every night, wine all the time," grinned silver-haired Stewart, raising up his Gatorade jug full of Merlot. They are making a point of stopping at every bar, grill, or restaurant within three miles of the trail, and I think they've been successful so far. While very amusing, it is odd to listen to men in their late 40s talk about getting drunk with the same breathless adoration as freshmen in college might. We figure that some of these guys come out onto the trail to find themselves, to rediscover some lost sense of what it all meant once, only to find that they can just as easily drink themselves to sleep every night out here as at they could've at home. I'm certainly not judging. As they say, you hike your hike, I'll hike mine.
The last 6 miles of the day took us over some rolling footills just on the southern edge of the Antelope Valley. It was a bit tedious, but still comfortable and very beautiful. Our goal for the day was Hikerstown, yet another Trail angel stop, this one a bit less popular than the last two for whatever reason. Apparently the owner had a rocky start getting acquainted with the PCT hiker community a few yeas ago when he bought the place. At first he thought people were trespassing, which he didn't like. He hadn't known a thing about the trail before moving out here from Hollywood (he's in the movie industry) and suddenly here he was, on a spot that hikers had always come to in the past for water and camping. Next thing, he decided that it sounded pretty cool, got a few hikers to help set up the place so it would be a comfortable, functional place for folks to stop. Two people stuck around, helped him build some little buildings and set this hiker village up, refused payment and headed on down he trail. Well, Richard figured that maybe all the hikers would want to help out so generously. The next day, some hikers showed up and he handed them some paintbrushes and started in on what he'd like to see get done. They had just hiked 18 miles and weren't too keen on the idea. Then, Donna Saufley at Hiker Heaven in Agua Dulce heard abou it from some hikers and she started warning people not to go there. She takes her job as trail angel very seriously and doesn't apparently like to hear of othrs doin a sub-par job. Also, she's a bit of an alarmist and a firebrand. Long story short -- it took a while for Hikerstown and the PCT to come to terms with one another.
We had heard all of this and definitely wanted to check it out. With my mother coming to visit in a couple weeks, we'll still have a few days to spare between here and Lone Pine, so we figure it's best to spend days where we are welcome unconditionally and free of charge rather than push on until we are forced into getting hotel rooms or staying in uncomfortable places.
Hikerstown turns out to be a pretty low-key, strange kind of spot. It is a fenced in property with lots of little building facades running te length of one of its sides, piled with junk and vehicles, arranged to resemble subtly an old mining town or something out of the Old West. There is a saloon full of chickens, a spot in front of another building where an old kiddie horse toy on springs faces a naked female mannequin with a missing arm, other random artsy piles of junk. There is an outdoor shower next to a small garage which houses Richard's Ferrari, and a hiker lounge with TV and DVD player, couches and chairs. A pretty white horse and donkey parade around with the six fat dogs.
We were welcomed by the groundskeeper, Bob, and shown around. There were about eight other hikers already "in town," relaxing in the yard, watching a movie. We hit the cold outdoor shower right away. The dust has been particularly bad these past couple of days. I think that this is the filthiest I've been yet.
Richard decided to have a barbecue for dinner and so made us all chicken and hotdogs. It was very filling and kind of gross. I spent the following hours in food coma. Everyone is laving in the morning, but Eliza and I may stay.
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