The morning after the storm
Picture of that day can be found on the french page, here
The morning after an absolutely miserable night, where I was cold, wet, and couldn't warm up even with the pale sun shining down on me, I considered hitchhiking to Julian to dry off and recharge. I was feeling pretty down, knackered, and to make matters worse, I realised my GPS was missing after only 500 metres. Just my luck.
As I rummaged through my bag, I heard someone call my name. "Gaspard!" It was Nick, along with Alex from day one, already nicknamed Idaho and another Alex, now called Cucumber. Apparently, they had camped only a kilometre away from me, in an even more exposed spot, and hadn't slept at all either.
They were still heading to Julian, we started chatting and I followed along. Little by little, my spirits lifted, and my energy returned. We trudged on through the freezing day, and at a break, I excitedly tore open a pack of pop tarts, the second one of my life, only to have it crumble into a million tiny pieces all over me.
The lads immediately gave me a trail name: Crumbs. I wasn’t not sure how I felt about it but they all had a trail name, so I didn’t contest it too much. We finally stopped to dry our gear and climbed up into the hills, where the views opened in the far away. "Which way to Mordor?" I asked Idaho.
We had survived the ordeal and once the exhaustion wore off, we started to feel chuffed with ourselves. That night, we experienced our first "trail magic” - two former PCT hikers had set up near the trail, handing out free sandwiches and pops. They imparted some wise advice to us: take a photo of your campsite every day. It stuck with me for five following months.
Then, a group of rowdy teenagers showed up and ate next to us. the only girl , Livie had a gnarly-looking toe, so we did our best to help her out. We only had a 30km hike left to Julian, so at least she would be able get proper treatment the next day. New day, new scenery. The hills were sunny and dry, and the smell of lilacs filled the air. We had to be careful about our water supply, though, since sources were scarce. I was still with the same three guys from the day before, and we planned to share a room in Julian.
I guess we were a crew now. As we trudged through the heat, we caught sight of our destination in the distance - the road in the valley. We'd been looking at it for hours, but the PCT kept zigzagging and toying with us. We were so ready to be done. Finally, we reached the bottom of the hill and found ourselves in a proper desert, complete with cacti and dead branches, the place where you wouldn’t be too bewildered to cross Clint Eastwood.
We made it to the road and stuck out our thumbs for the first time ever. A pickup truck pulled over almost immediately. The driver was a middle-aged manwho frequently picked up PCT hikers. He dropped us off at the brewery in Julian, where we celebrated our completion of the first leg of the PCT.
We had survived storms, extreme temperatures, and my crumbly pop tarts. We were still just starting, but I could feel a newfound strength inside me, along with a strong desire for a hot shower and a pint.
