After lunch I sat on the porch at Kennedy Meadows Resort and Packstation. A decision weighed heavy on my mind. “Am I done with this hike?” I asked myself. The thought had first occurred to me several weeks ago. Back then I chose to keep hiking and reconsider the question if I still felt the same after a couple of weeks.
First, I relived the last couple of weeks on trail. I had become increasingly distant. I thought constantly about achieving the miles I planned to hike or what I wanted to accomplish when I returned home. The scenery around me had been spectacular but sadly I wasn’t present to appreciate it. Next, I considered my list of reasons for coming to the PCT. As I pondered it all it was clear I had experienced or accomplished everything I set out to. “If I get off trail now will I have any regrets?” I thought. There I sat for hours mulling it over. The decision became obvious. I was indeed ready for the next chapter in my life.
That evening Retriever, Play-Doh, and I gathered around a table in the restaurant for dinner. We discussed my plans. They had become good friends and asked me all the tough questions to ensure I wasn’t making a hasty decision. In the end, they were very supportive. After dinner we retired to the bunk room and spent one last evening laughing together.
In the morning I said goodbye to Retriever and Play-Doh. Then joined some other hikers for breakfast. When asked, I shared my plan to get off trail. “So you’re quitting!” snapped one of my companions with bitter disapproval. I knew criticism of my plan was inevitable. I half expected the remark to sting but when it didn’t I grew even more confident in my decision. People have unique reasons for coming to the PCT. Some hikers are determined to complete every step of this grand trail, some come to the wilderness to heal from trauma, and others seek perspective. I decided my companion and I simply had different priorities. “Hike your own hike”, I thought to myself as I smiled and changed the subject of our conversation.
The trees leaned sideways in the winds of the coming snow storm. It was Monday morning and I stood beside a lonely two lane road deep in the mountains. I needed to reach Bridgeport to catch a bus to Mammoth Lakes. Three hours dragged past and I counted only three cars. I was beginning to lose hope of catching my bus when I heard a car stop abruptly behind me. A smiling young lady leaned out the window and shouted over the wind, “So do you want a ride?!” I recognized the car as it had passed some time ago. I climbed inside and my hero laughed as she explained that I had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting a ride out here. She had turned around just for me and I thanked her profusely. Then she grabbed first gear, matted the accelerator, and my head hit the seat back with a thud as we rocketed up the road. I watched with amusement as she expertly rowed through the gears of the manual transmission, nailed the apex of every turn, and chatted with me casually as if maintaining this breakneck speed required little effort. Once we reached Bridgeport she graciously offered to take me the rest of the way to Mammoth Lakes and we arrived in no time flat. I handed my hero some gas money and we said our goodbyes.
Mammoth Lakes was a calamity of strange events. Shortly after I arrived the entire town lost power and I camped out in a cold dark hotel room. The next morning the mountains above town were blanketed in snow. I knew Retriever and Play-Doh were up there somewhere and I said a little prayer for them. That afternoon I learned my flight to LAX at the local airport was likely to be canceled if power wasn’t restored. Missing my flight from LAX to Atlanta would be very costly and I quickly secured a rental car for the journey out of the Sierra and across the Mojave Desert. The scenery along highway 395 was breathtaking and I became thankful for the unplanned detour as I gawked through the windshield.
I sat in a busy terminal of LAX as the clock struck midnight. After three months of isolation the crowds here initially made me uneasy. However, now I was lost in thought and couldn’t hear the cacophony. I scribbled the first of my trail stories into a notebook. I didn’t know it then but these stories would eventually become the blog you’re reading today. A swirling wave of emotions washed over me as I reflected on the incredible people and views that defined my life over the previous months. My experience on the PCT meant more to me than words could ever express. I knew then that while the sun had set on my PCT adventure my hiking journey was far from over.