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Stopped at: Tamarak Road, mile 212.0 Miles today: 3.6
George is an early bird, but I managed to start 30 minutes after him at 6:45 am. Both of us had planned on staying the day at the Pink Motel at Interstate 10. After getting off Snow Canyon Road, the wind howled constantly, which explained the wind turbines in the area. The umbrella was no good, but the wind allowed relief from the heat.
Had I continued last night, I would have gotten lost. The fuzzy trail through the sand was marked by poles, but I wouldn't have been able to see the markers. There wasn't a correct path through the sand, just follow any footprints or head north towards the next marker and then the interstate, but at certain points, it was difficult to determine where the markers were ahead; therefore, it would have been nearly impossible in the dark.
The Pink Motel was the house on the hill among a scattered residential neighborhood and not marked by any signs. Approaching the large lifeless property on Tamarak Road, it appeared to be a junk yard full of half used, half broken vehicles like a scene from a familiar post-war holocaust movie. A PCT register at the entrance gate indicated the house ahead was the motel.
Don and Helen Summerlin, who live on a nearby property, provided this shelter from the wind with their hearts- they do not charge anything and do not expect donations, but donations were accepted. Don probably spent the donations to supply food, soft drinks, and milk. The property consisted of 2 units with sliding glass doors: one contained couches, books, tables- a storage area of sorts where hikers could hang out and sleep; the other was a kitchen. The side of the structures facing away from the interstate looked more animated and life-like, rather than an abandoned property.
The housing unit had packages for hikers who had expected to stop here, but yet to arrive. These hikers knew about this place while I discovered it from others along the trail. Finding this treasure in the howling desert was a like digging for pennies, but discovering gold- a pleasant suprise and confirmed I was better off not owning the guidebooks.
In the kitchen, I pillaged the cooler full of A&W root beers and lemon-lime drinks because I was completely thirsty and the cool drinks felt so good. The refrigerator was powered by propane, and the running water consisted of 2.5-gallon water jug leaned over the side of the sink. When the bowl in the sink was full, it had to be dumped outside, preferably on the plants which needed the water in the desert. The kitchen table had a light above connected to the solar panels just outside, and a sign read, "Use sparingly." We were somewhere between modern civilization and third world, but I found the setup ingenious, but simple. How could I complain when this was more than I expected? George and I ate baked hot dogs from the refrigerator and buns on the shelves.
George took a nap, while I stayed up [photo copyright 2003 by George Li] to write and read some classic National Geographic magazines. One of the 1970's issue had an article on the PCT and mentioned the first thru-hiker, an 18-year old 120-pound kid who hiked with a backpack 2/3 his weight in 3 months. At first I thought it was utterly amazing, but then doubted how anyone can traverse snow and mountains in such a short time. The story seemed too fantastic and certain revelations must have been omitted; nontheless, it was fabulous he was the first to thru-hike the PCT. Eric probably thru-hiked the trail, but I doubt he did it everyday with a 80-pound backpack.
The wind was ceaselessly howling outside with an eerie desert sound, and I began to feel a mesmerzing drowsiness as though falling under the influence of a hypnotist. Who knows how many dirty hikers have slept on the 4 couches here, and I would just be another in a long list of folks. This would have been a decent shelter to spend a zero day tomorrow, but I needed to continue to finish by early October. Again, the haunting reminder of having to complete the hike not by my own schedule troubled me: Would I constantly bypass gems along the trail?
I had no idea I would have to hitchhike the interstate to make it to the town of Cabazon- one problem was pedestrians were prohibited on the on the interstates. At 4:45 pm I walked a mile back to the interstate since I needed food to reach Big Bear City. I felt it would be in my best interest to bring along the backpack (lightened load) to make it appear I was hiking and not just drifting. The intuition paid off when Ronny, a maintainer of the next 25 miles of the PCT, stopped because he saw my backpack and thought I was a hiker.
Ronny was full of information on the trail during the 5 minute ride along the busy 4-lane freeway: The water from the fountain last night was untreated, but should be okay since the source was the mountains (neither George nor I felt unwanted symptoms today), the neverending overengineered switchbacks yesterday were design by contractors and not designed for horses, and they lobbied hard to get the fountain installed at Snow Canyon Road. Ronny sounded very proud to maintain the PCT.
Cabazon was not a very large town. At the local grocery store I stocked up on sandwich products and then purchased chicken strips and a Terayki special from the internal diner. Two and half days of food for $17.00.
Reaching the interstate to hitchhike back to the Pink Motel, I wasn't sure I had enough food for the 65-70 miles to Big Bear City in the next 3 days. A Burger King stood out across the freeway; therefore, I crossed the 8-lane highway to get $1.00 cheeseburgers. The 3 cheeseburgers could be eaten for tomorrow's lunch.
After the hamburger run, I jumped the freeway again to hitch westbound. Fifteen minutes later, Charles from Belgium, heading to West Palm Springs, picked me up in a minivan. He even crossed a couple of lanes to pull to the side pavement, which I was sure didn't give him much time to evaluate me, or maybe he had made up his mind to pick up the lone stranger with a backpack searching for a ride.
"I've hitchhiked to South America as a youth, and that is why I pick up hitchhikers." Charles has lived in the US for 23 years and seemed to be an extremely nice person. His long beard reminded me of the Amish people up north who live off the land. I told him about the thru-hike, and he remarked, "After a while, you must start talking to yourself." It's acceptable to talk to yourself, just don't reply.
With a liberated backpack earlier, I flew to the freeway like Superman to rescue Lois Lane, but hunched forward walking the mile against the wind back to the Pink Motel. The roundtrip was suprisingly quick- completed in about 2 hours.
When I relayed the adventure to George, he joked, "You hitchhiked and crossed the interstate? You're lucky I'm not going to tell your parents." My parents probably would have a stroke if they knew what I was doing in California for the past month.
George and I ate the Terayki special with the dirty rice he prepared with kitchen hiker food while I was gone. I was extremely thirsty again and gulped 3 A&W root beers. After dinner, I caught up with journal writing at 9:30 pm. Each of us swept the floors and decided to leave $20.00 in the donation jar in the kitchen- we didn't eat $20.00 of food, but we accepted much more in hospitality.
A day which was suppose to be a rest day evolved into 6 miles of walking and a mini adventure hitchhiking. Tomorrow will be a difficult day walking facing the wind.
