Days 30-45, Miles 454-702: The Long Goodbye

Kennedy Meadows. Mile 702. The Promised Land.

After six weeks of desert, Kennedy Meadows serves as the unofficial transition point from the Mojave to the Sierra Nevadas. For hikers, it marks the end of twenty-plus mile waterless stretches and triple-digit temperatures, replacing them with snowy peaks and mountain streams. It’s the goal we’ve been pushing toward for a long time. But the Mojave isn’t one for Irish Goodbyes. Before we took on the last third of the desert, we had to bid farewell to the first two friends we made along the way. Shutter had to fly back home for his sister’s wedding, and El Tigre decided to wait at Hiker Heaven until his buddy returned. We went out for pizza in Agua Dulce, one last gathering of the original Sandlot crew who had hung together since the very first day. After nearly 500 miles of hiking together, spending nearly 24 hours a day in each others’ vicinity, we’d formed bonds closer than I would have thought possible before the trip. We all grew sad as we hugged Shutter goodbye, hoping we would see him again down the trail.

We got at least one more day with El Tigre, since we had decided to take a zero day before getting back on the trail. At the pizza joint, the owner’s husband struck up a conversation with us and asked about our plans for the following day. Before we knew it, he was offering to take us along on his business outings near Los Angeles and drop us off at the beach while he had meetings. And so, on Day 30, we went to the beach. 

Kevin loaded us in his van and dropped us off at Newport Beach. We walked the boardwalk and then set out along the sand. I tackled Matt into the ocean, and soon we were all riding the waves and bodysurfing. We laughed as we realized we’d been hiking through the desert just a day before. After some tacos, we hopped back in the van for Kevin’s next meeting in Long Beach, where we grabbed chicken and beer and watched the sunset from the shore.

Day 31 saw us back on the trail. We said our second round of goodbyes, leaving El Tigre at Hiker Heaven to wait for his buddy. Aquaman, Gravy Train, Granddaddy and I headed out, quickly wrapping around hillsides and climbing back into the desert. It was hot and we were missing our friends and lagging from the day off. We found some shelter among a few trees and called it a night.

The next day, we made a few early miles and then hopped off the trail to make a stop at Casa de Luna. This outpost, home of the Andersons, hosts and feeds hikers with a hippie-commune atmosphere. We put on Hawaiian shirts, part of the mandatory dress code, and helped ourselves to pancakes. The rest of the day was spent lounging in hammocks, painting rocks and hanging out with other hikers. 

After the afternoon heat abated, we walked back to the trail and night-hiked a few miles to a dirt road where we set up camp. This was my first time cowboy camping, a practice that would become common in the latter part of the Mojave. Too tired or lazy to set up a tent, I rolled out my sleeping bag and slept under the stars. We made a new friend on Day 33. Mandy, a Nashville native, had started on the same day as us, but we hadn’t really hiked together until we caught up at Hiker Heaven. We introduced Mandy to the long afternoon siesta, a staple of Sandlot hiking, and that was apparently enough to win her over. Within a few days, she was officially part of the gang. In the evening, we hit Mile 500 just before camp, a milestone that all of us had been excited about for some time. We belted out The Proclaimers’ song, took some pictures and continued on to camp on another dirt road.

We didn’t sleep long, rising at 3 the next day to get miles in before the afternoon heat. We wound down the mountain, then climbed around lower hills as we made our way to the desert floor.

By 10 a.m., we’d knocked out 17 miles and reached our destination: Hikertown, a movie set-like compound of Old West buildings, offering shade and shelter from the upper-90s heat on the desert floor. We spent the afternoon lounging and napping, before hitting the trail at dusk for more night hiking. 

We walked for miles along the Los Angeles aqueduct, following its path through the darkness. Finally, around midnight, we flopped down on top of it and fell asleep. All told, we’d hiked 29 miles, our longest day so far.

On Day 35, we were up early again, hiking only a few miles before flopping down under a bridge. It offered the only shade and water for miles, so a long siesta was again necessary. After spending nearly all of the daylight hours napping, reading and eating, we started walking again as dusk fell. We hiked through a wind farm, then wound our way up a mountain in the darkness. As I crawled into my sleeping bag, my eyes stayed open just long enough to see a meteor tracing a path across the horizon, long tail trailing behind it.

The next morning, we hiked through more windmills until we hit the road to Tehachapi. We hitched into town, where we bought a pie and immediately dug in with forks, not even bothering to cut it into slices. A trail angel offered to shuttle us around as we resupplied on food and sent packages ahead, and we gratefully took advantage of his generosity. After a huge meal of barbecue, we spent the night in a hotel for the first time on the trail, provided by Matt’s cousin who lives nearby. It was my first sleep in a bed since before we started our hike. After some time in the hot tub and a comfortable night of sleep, we were refreshed when we hit the trail the next morning.

Our group grew again on Day 37. We’d seen a lot of Mamie, an Alaskan and Appalachian Trail veteran, in the previous few weeks, and she started hiking with us out of Tehachapi. After weeks of hiking with six guys, the additions of Mandy and Mamie gave the Sandlot some much-needed diversity, and we quickly gelled as a group. We climbed about 5,000 feet, through wind farms and over mountains, eventually cowboy camping in a clearing that turned windy once night fell. In the middle of the night, my inflatable pillow blew away into the woods, but thankfully Aquaman found it the next morning.

It was cold and foggy as we hiked out the following day, and we made good miles mostly because it was too uncomfortable to stop for long. We finally took a siesta when the sun appeared, and I got a nasty sunburn when I fell asleep with my shirt off.

On Day 39, we were back in the shadeless, waterless desert. We stopped at a dirt road to refill at a much-needed water cache, and a man pulled up in his pickup truck. “My wife would kill me if I didn’t feed you,” he said, passing out sandwiches and cookies. This trail magic bolstered us as we hiked on in the sweltering heat. After a brief lunch, Aquaman and I found two crevices under a boulder where we found just enough shade to take a siesta. The others kept walking. By mid-afternoon, we were seeking what little shade we could find behind Joshua trees and rationing our water to make it to camp. When we got there, we found a couple PCT veterans had brought trail magic—water, Gatorade, beers and snacks. Having hiked the trail, they knew this stretch was a tough one, and the magic was much-needed.

We’d planned to hike straight through to Kennedy Meadows, but after hearing that Lake Isabella offered the best milkshakes on the PCT, we decided to hitch into town when we finished our hike to Walker Pass on Day 40. I fell asleep in the back of the truck that picked us up, but soon we found that the shakes at Nelda’s lived up to the hype. We camped in a local trailer park that’s friendly to PCT hikers.

Matt went to the hospital the next day to get some foot pain checked out and was diagnosed with an infection. He returned to the trailer park with crutches and instructions to take three days off the trail. Aquaman had been fighting back pain for weeks and decided to take some time off to heal before the Sierras. We all took a zero, trying to enjoy Memorial Day as best as we could while knowing injuries would split our group. Aquaman and I took a swim in Lake Isabella, and we grilled out later with some Israeli friends of ours we’d been hiking with for a while. We also introduced Aquaman and the Israelis to s’mores, a big hit.

Day 42 was by far the worst of the trip so far. We said goodbyes to Mandy, Mamie and Gravy Train as they headed back to the trail. Matt needed at least two more days to rest his foot, so we weren’t sure if we’d see them again. Aquaman got his back checked out in Bakersfield, and was told he needed a week or two of rest to heal it. We sat around in the trailer park, watching TV in the hiker lounge and wishing we were on the trail. The next day, Aquaman helped ease our boredom by renting a car. We decided to deliver some trail magic to our Israeli friends, dropping snacks where a dirt road met the trail. It was a fun excursion and a much-needed diversion from sitting around at the trailer park. We stopped a nearby brewery and struck up a conversation with a friendly local who told us some history of the area and paid for our drinks. We finished the day by watching the sunset at Red Rock Canyon.

Matt’s foot improved enough to get back on the trail on Day 44. Aquaman dropped us at the trailhead, and we said a sad goodbye to him, knowing he still had some recovery time ahead before he could resume his hike. 

After two days off, it felt good to be back on the trail. After about 10 miles, Matt and I realized it was the longest we'd hiked together without part of the group: we'd joined Shutter and Tigre just a few miles in on the first day. We did a grueling 25 miles with 7,000 feet of climbing, a hard day but one that put us in striking distance of Kennedy Meadows the following afternoon. 

After just a few hours of sleep, we were back on the trail, making quick miles on our last day in the desert. By 3:30, we made it, having hiked 50 miles in 29 hours.

As we hiked up to the general store, the other hikers greeted us with a traditional round of applause, a recognition of the accomplishment of hiking 700 miles of desert. 

Mandy had been stuck waiting for a delayed package, and we were overjoyed to reunite with her. Mamie and Gravy had gotten back on the trail just a half hour before we showed up, so we were hopeful we could catch them soon. 

At the general store, we collected the gear we had shipped ourselves for the Sierras—crampons, ice axes and bear-proof food canisters. We were not to have light packs as we hiked through the snow. We also received some care packages from friends and family, which provided huge boosts in morale and calories. 

We set up camp and prepared to climb the next morning. For me, the Sierras are section of the trail I've most anticipated, and I slept little knowing I would soon be among their snowy peaks.