A Marathon to a Macdonald

I had stayed a day behind in Big Bear, to spend Easter, a day behind my friends, but I wasn't unhappy about leaving the comfort of the group for a little adventure. Alex Idaho would leave half a day after me. I thought it would be easy to catch up with them, but I hadn't anticipated that even with just a 20-kilometer delay, when you move forward, others do too, and if you gain 5 kilometers on them each day, it still adds up to a 4-day delay.

That afternoon, anyway, I was alone and happy, happy to be alone. It was like Mr. Seguin's goat, the first afternoon was spent in an ecstasy of freedom. The landscape resembled a zoo set and seemed suitable for hiding pumas. A thrill had taken hold of me. I was lost in the savannah, isolated, and I delved with renewed joy into the hills, which gradually turned golden in the evening light. I only crossed paths with two hikers who had set up their tent. One of them was Orion, who would more or less do the entire journey at the same time as me.

I continued a little further to a small river. The setting sun grazed the bushes, turning the leaves into small green and golden lanterns. It was rare for me to walk so late because usually, we would start our day early and stop in the late afternoon. For once, I witnessed the sunset. I only had a few kilometers left to go. Not having reached the camp was starting to worry me a bit, but I had set myself a goal and couldn't give up on it.

Finally at the river, once I stopped, I had to face the facts. I would be alone for the entire night. I prepared a quick dinner, mashed potatoes and salmon. People had reported bears in the area, so I hurried to hang my food in a tree, far away from the camp, thinking to myself that it wasn't very clever to eat salmon in bear territory just before going to sleep.

I had also read the comments of people who had bathed in the river. It reminded me of the book "Wild." I felt compelled to experience it myself. I approached the water's edge, guided by the light of my headlamp in the midst of silent darkness.

I undressed and then dipped one foot, and then the other, into the stream. The water was icy. I wanted to live the true adventure of the PCT, to have romantic moments, so I immersed myself quickly up to my neck; I stayed for a few seconds, vigorously rubbing myself to wash off the day's sweat, and then judging that the experience was sufficient, I quickly got out. As I dried myself, I sang, "puma, puma, please don't eat me." I had never felt so alone or vulnerable.

The next day, I thought I would arrive at the hot springs and reunite with the others who were supposed to spend the day there. I set my alarm for 4 a.m. and fell asleep instantly. Waking up with just an hour of delay, I felt like I was late for work. I was eager to see the others again, to prove that I was the fastest, to prove to myself that I was strong, and curious to see the hot springs. The landscape this morning had become familiar to me, less spectacular, allowing me to walk quickly. At the 300-mile sign, I saw Orion again, whom I had crossed paths with the previous evening. He had started a week after me and walked much faster. I thought that he, too, would be someone I would only see once. Fortunately, I was mistaken. Time was accelerating; it had taken just a few days to cover the last hundred miles.

A little further on, I found Thomas' group at the only available water source, along with acquaintances from San Diego and Brady, who had joined them. They now formed a group of about fifteen people, which seemed like too many for a somewhat wild person like me, not to mention the logistics of finding common camping spots for such a large group.

Brady warned me to be careful and pointed out a plant he identified as "Poison Oak". These plants, with an appearance somewhere between a vine and a slender young tree, have a toxic substance on their leaves that not only causes itching but also intense burning and skin peeling, which can take several days to heal. They are mainly found near water sources.

I hurried to reach the hot springs, but once there, it was a letdown: another hiker, Burglar, whom I had met on the first day, told me that the others had left two hours ago.

A dilemma began for me. Should I stay or leave, enjoy the hot springs as I had planned, or catch up with the others? I was annoyed: why rush to catch up with a bunch of ungrateful people who couldn't wait a few hours as agreed for me to catch up?

I decided to enjoy the hot springs.

I immersed myself in the water, alternating between the pools of natural hot water and the icy river. I was determined not to let disappointment spoil my pleasure. The hot springs were full of naked hippies who had come for a day from the surrounding hills.

However, as time passed, my hesitation grew, until I realized that I was only staying out of stubbornness: I had never been the kind of person who enjoys lounging by a pool, and I had seen everything I could see here.

So, I made up my mind to continue chasing after the others around four o'clock. On the side of the trail, I saw a couple having sex, and the man, while with the woman, enthusiastically waved at me. Awkward.

The afternoon was already well advanced, and the only difficulty was that I had to walk at least eight kilometers to find a camping spot. The trail was just a narrow strip along the cliffside, without any flat ground to pitch a tent or even lay down a sleeping mat under the stars. I covered those kilometers as quickly as possible. Once again, I caught a bit of signal, which allowed me to learn that the others would be camping only five kilometers from where I had planned to stop.

I was now in a vast plain, swept by the wind, walking alone once again. I spotted an M&M's on the trail, and without learning my lesson from the incident in Big Bear, I ate it. The sun was rapidly setting. I hesitated whether to walk a bit into the night to catch up with my friends, as my body wasn't particularly tired after an afternoon of swimming. I was held back by comments on the Far Out app describing a poorly maintained trail, overrun by poison oak. So, I was relieved when I saw a slightly sheltered campsite on the edge of the trail. I set up my tent, with some difficulty as the wind was blowing quite strongly, but I bet that it would calm down at night, as usual.

That was a mistake. That night remains the third worst I've experienced on the PCT.

After nightfall, the wind intensified. It brought clouds of dust from the plain that seeped through the tent's mesh and settled on me. Several times, I had to exit the tent because my tent stakes were being ripped out of the sandy ground, and even rocks weren't enough to secure my tent. Dust and sand kept infiltrating more and more, drying out my mouth. I slept in twenty-minute intervals, and after the wind intensified around 2 a.m., not at all.

The situation finally calmed down around 5 a.m., and I dozed off for an hour, covered in a thick layer of fine dust. When I woke up, I felt nauseous with a dry mouth. I couldn't eat, so I packed up my tent and decided to leave. After walking a kilometer or two, I felt better. Once again, hot chocolate saved my day.

The view was also beautiful that day. There were about forty-five kilometers to Cajon Pass, famous for its McDonald's, where a traditional PCT challenge is to carry enough food to last a day. I planned to meet up with the others and stop ten kilometers before Cajon Pass to get there early the next day.

I reached a lake-reservoir. I contacted the others, but they were far ahead, convinced by Burglar to push through to Cajon Pass.

Once again, I felt discouraged. I couldn't go that far.

I went down to the beach and prepared some instant noodles. A family with three young children joined me. The kids undressed and went to play in the water. The water was clear, the day beautiful and sunny. If I had been smart, I would have taken the opportunity to stay there, swim, and wait for Idaho. I took a few photos, making an effort to ensure that the running children wouldn't be in them. I exchanged a few words with the parents, who seemed friendly enough. They had started in early March and wanted to go as far as their children would allow. That day, I had crossed paths with four snakes. Having children here seemed dangerous to me, but in the end, it was probably up to them to judge. I sent a message to Idaho to ask if I should wait for him, but he replied that he had started feeling unwell, with a fever, and he was far behind. He wouldn't be joining me tonight.

I pondered. There were 20 kilometers left to reach the town. It was a little before 2 p.m. I could stay here on this heavenly beach, feeling bored and sulking once again, or I could get back on the road now and arrive a little before 8 p.m. I felt in great shape. That's when I received news from France: a dear friend had contracted a severe case of COVID and had a phase of confusion. I decided to pick up the pace; I wanted to be in a town in case his condition worsened. After a climb of about 400 meters, the rest of the day should be mostly downhill. I was anxious to be far away, but after checking on him, I put my phone on airplane mode and started walking rapidly. There was nothing I could do until I reached the town. I was going to give it my all.

I tried to enjoy the afternoon nonetheless. The trail was so beautiful that day. Thousands of orange and red plants lined the narrow path. I jogged. I filled up with water at ten kilometers from town, but only took the minimum to travel light. So, I no longer had the option to stop because I wouldn't have enough water to camp.

Tonight, I would sleep in a bed. I was going to have my McDonald's. I was moving very quickly, but even as I reached the distance of a marathon, I still didn't feel tired. Just the friction caused by sweat was starting to burn me.

One or two kilometres later, at the bend of a path, the valley revealed itself. The long honks of trucks on the highway could be heard. Throughout the afternoon, they had been getting closer. In front of me, it looked as if the earth had been folded into a succession of hills descending to the highway and spreading out to the road. I thought of Elina Osborne's video, and I felt like I was in one of those moments created by a photographer, more beautiful than reality.

I ran down the final descent, then stopped, taking in the landscape, and ran again. I was almost at the bottom. Only 500 meters left. I reached the road. I had made it. A marathon to eat a McDonald's.

And as I ordered two meals and two desserts, I thought it was the fast food I had most deserved in my life. I took a small paper bag with the rest of my food and ordered a ride to the motel. The friction in my groin area was painfully burning, so my first priority was to wash the grime and dry the burns. I could enjoy a room all to myself.

There was a knock on the door: it was Kiki. I was almost shocked to see her again. I think I had really missed her. I showered and then went to join the others. They were already clean, tired from a long day as well.

I was happy and satisfied. I had succeeded. Fortunately, my friend in France wasn't getting worse; he advised me to continue on my journey.

That evening, I took a photo of myself. I had already lost quite a bit of weight. The trail had already changed me. Still stubborn, still a bit foolish, but already stronger, more resilient.