It is 5:28am and neither Eliza or myself has gotten any sleep all night. Last night was the same -- tossing and turning, getting too hot or too cold, clammy, achy, etc. I can only think that we are both full of anxiety, our systems riddled with nerves as we close in on the end of this journey.
I am getting up now in these darkest, coldest last hours of night to get a jump on the day and rekindle our fire.
***
We had a roaring fire and a tin pot of chai tea along with our sparse breakfast before setting out one last time on this trail.
We passed a trekking party of about ten German guys within a half-hour and as we passed them, exchanged "g'morning"s and "where you headed"s, the usual set of pleasantries. They had just hiked Whitney, maybe yesterday, and, upon hearing that we didn't, one of the more boisterous of the bunch called out that we didn't have the balls to do it. I said we've been hiking for five months and ran out of food and he laughed back, "Oh, I've heard better excuses!"
What an ironic interaction to have on the day when we wrap up this gargantuan trip we've been on -- to have someone tell us we didn't have the balls to hike up a peak. All part of what is sure to be a bittersweet re-immersion into civilized society.
We're sitting up on some rocks aside the sandy trail, halfway through our day's hike, nibbling on the last of our rice cakes and prunes. I am deep in fantasy now about hot showers and huge, steaming pizzas, half gallons of ice cream, lying in bed watching TV . . .
But not for another 8 miles.
***
5:00 pm. We have returned to Lone Pine. The PCT is done. We are showered and clean and sprawled out on the double bed in front of the television at the Best Western. There are so many channels to choose from, yet, somehow, nothing seems to be on.
The final eight miles of trail flew by. After a while on dusty, rocky, steep and horse trampled tread, we found ourselves again on a comfortably graded smooth pathway for the final five miles following Cottonwood Pass. At the junction with the Cottonwood trail I tried to convince Eliza to cut down to Horseshoe Meadows early, but she wouldn't hear of it.
A half mile before we finished, on the north face of Trail Peak, we came upon a guy shaking out his shoes on the side of the trail. He said he had started a southbound through-hike in Canada earlier in the summer but had had to take a couple of months off, and was just down in CA doing a section hike. We mentioned that we were only a half mile from finishing and he very kindly and generously applauded our accomplishment, shaking his head, so proud of two people he didn't even know.
Within an hour we stood at the spot at Trail Pass where we had departed before flipping, which we had last seen over three and a half months ago, at a point less than 800 miles into our long journey.
We awkwardly kissed and tried to make a moment of it. It is a strange thing, standing there at the unceremonious end point at Trail Pass just SE of Lone Pine. It looked just as it had months ago; just a little less snow.
***
A funny thing happened later on. We were sitting at the trailhead for the Cottonwood and Trail Pass trails, cooking up a pot of mashed potatoes and tuna when down off the trail came a stream of German hikers -- similar to those we had seen earlier in the day. I immediately whisper to Eliza, "Go on, get us ride." So she approaches them and I hear congratulations all around. I look over and they are each hugging her in turns. "She finished the trail!" they applauded over and over again as more and more of these guys plodded off the trail.
Long story short, they give us a ride down from the mountains to Lone Pine. On the way, we come to an amazing realization -- this guy Heiko is the father of a girl we went to college with. She sang in the chorus and is best friends with Eliza's close high school friend Gillian. He loved to meet a couple of Cornellians and even called his daughter in Connecticut to tell her of the coincidence.
The Germans had just done a five-day trip up to Mt. Whitney and back and were incredibly boisterous and jubilant. Two vans-full met back in Lone Pine at the Best Western where they were meeting the trip coordinator to drink celebratory Heinekens and smoke cigarettes before heading out right away for Ridgecrest, whence they would each head back to wherever home happened to be.
And then, just as we were saying our goodbyes, the coordinator fellow says, "Hey, if you'd like, you can have our room for the night. It's paid until tomorrow."
So they all pile into their vans and wave goodbye and here we are, trail magic to the end . . .
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