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Stopped at: 1st Highway 173 crossing, mile 315.7 Miles today: 15.9
Finally, I got the 10 hours sleep needed to help my body recover, noticably my legs. I was up by 8:30 am, but Marlon was already gone around 7:00 am, when I heard him packing. This morning I wanted to head into the town of Cedar Glen to resupply and return to the trail by noon. There was a parking lot not far from the bridge.
The paved parking lot was nearby, but I wasn't sure how much I needed to walk before reaching the road leading to town to hitchhike. I decided trying for Cedar Glen wasn't worth the effort because of too many question marks and returned to the creek under the bridge to filter some water for the next leg, a 9.5 mile stretch to a hot spring. Six miles after the hot spring was Highway 173 which led into another town.
I caught up with George at Bacon Flats Road, and we hiked together for over a mile before he stopped to fix his umbrella. I wasn't planning on hiking too much further before resting since my stomach was begging for food, and I didn't want to hike a long restless stretch for hours in the heat because of the potential for blisters.
Somehow, I found enough determination to reach Deep Creek Hot Spring during a hot afternoon. In just 3 hours, I zoomed from the bridge to the hot spring, a 9.4 mile stretch- that was an amazing (for me) 3+ miles per hour. Running out of water an hour before the hot springs probably encouraged me to make it to the water source as soon as possible while I had enough energy.
Deep Creek wasn't a typical hot spring: Most of the men here and one or two women were completely nude- naturalists. This place would have been a joy for female and homosexual men hikers, but nothing caught my attention. Those fantasies of discovering some unknown place with sexy, voluptuous, busty women eagerly handing out free sex like resumes at a job fair must occur only in porn movies. If that was the case, then this definitely was not a smut flick. There was even a naturalist couple who brought their children here (the children were in the their swim trunks.)
I had to keep my modesty in check and kept my clothes on along with some other sun bathers and swimmers. George's guidebook had mentioned a rare bacteria originating from the hot springs which could go through the nose and cause health problems for susceptable individuals.
Descending the hill down to the hot springs, I knew the cold water was nearby. I asked a pretty brunette lady carrying a water bottle and a familiar therm-a-rest 3/4 ultralite, "Is there any cold water here?" (She had her bathing suit on.)
"Yes, we got some water over there, but we filtered it," she replied as she pointed over to where the river met with the hot springs like a conflict between completely opposite forces.
"Thanks! I have a filter."
Very interesting place, but diving into a hot spring after 3 hours in the baking sun walking 9+ miles was the last thought on my mind. The surrounding sand was too hot to walk on sitting lazily exposed all morning and afternoon. There was a young couple spending their time under some shade near where I was filtering. I could make out some sexual remarks. Maybe too much heat exposure has dulled my brain like an overused knife, but I expected people to have sex behind the bushes. Maybe I was hoping this so I could write something interesting in the journal.
Twenty minutes later, George caught up and I hung around with him for another 30 minutes before moving on. He had planned on stopping here for the day since it's considered the "best swim hole" on the entire PCT. I might have considered staying also if I had enough food, but I was down to the last pieces of pizza from Dominoe's in Big Bear City.
George declined my pizza slice offer. I did notice a man and a woman (same lady I asked about cold water), both in swimwear, sunbathing on a rock. Even though she had her sunglasses on, I could tell she was looking my way the time I was sitting around, talking, and eating pizza with George. (George told me days later, the lady asked why I took off without taking a dip in the hot spring.)
One guy in shorts who was nude earlier, told us there was a private farm which allowed visitors to park for $5.00, and then the visitors hike their way down to the hot springs. George and I were the only ones who arrived with large backpacks. When we explained to him about the PCT and thru-hikers, he responded, "Yall are crazy."
Based on the guidebook, one alternative town was Lake Arrowhead once I reached Highway 173, 6.5 miles ahead. George remembered a famous Asian-American skater drills there.
There were some decent places to stop during the segment from the hot spring to the highway. There was even another iron/wood bridge spanding the river. I kept moving with the trusty umbrella to allow me to reach town and return to the trail and hike some more. The PCT postings were rare and I had to use the compass to make sure I didn't follow one of the trails leading elsewhere.
When I reached the Mojave Forks Resevoir Dam, I made a wrong turn on the trail when I should have went downhill to a parking lot following what appeared to be Marlon's footprints at an abandoned out-house like structure. I had made the correct assumption initially, but then decided to stay on the trail and walked until some large metal fragments strayed on the path. At this point, I realized this was not the correct choice, but I had the annoying tendency of not wanting to backtrack.
I slid and walked backwards down a very steep hillside and got nasty little soft splinters in my hand when I fell on my hands a couple of times. At the bottom, I headed towards the highway I thought was Highway 173. At this point I was entirely famished.
After a 40-minute stint on the shoulder of the road, I got picked up by a man in a Toyota truck. He informed me this was not Highway 173 and we were heading towards Hisperia rather than Lake Arrowhead. Highway 173 was not far from the dam heading east-west and became a dirt road eastbound, while we were now heading northbound. I was somewhat confused because I lost my bearings when I overshot the trail, but a ride into Hisperia was fine.
When I mentioned I came from the hot springs, he notified, "That hot spring was closed because of the drug trafficking." I suppose he meant the hippie-like culture the people there radiated.
Hisperia was a small town, but stretched out for almost 5 miles. The man dropped me off at a Rite-Aide, but he was the first person I caught a ride with who did not give me his name. The other peculiar situation was he forgot to let me retrieve my pack from the back of his camper shell, and when I reminded him, he sighed nonchalantly, "Oh." To give him the benefit of the doubt, he did pull out a map to explain my locale and where I would need to get back on the trail.
The cashiers insisted the backpack had to be left at the front. I bought a 12-ounce bottle of no-rub contact solution inside Rite-Aide. The store had generic half gallon ice cream on sale for $1.99, which was mermerzingly tempting, and it felt like having my arm torn off to walk away from my heart's desire.
Across the street at Von's, I bought enough food for 3 days. I left the city $37.00 broker. I was extremely hungry when I reached town, but after drinking half of the gallon orange juice, I felt very rejuvenated as though I just left a buffet.
While walking to the edge of town about 2.5 miles away, I guy and a girl riding in a jeep honked and laughed. This was one reason I didn't like visiting larger towns. I guess a guy wearing a backpack in town was an oddity.
I hitched for 30 minutes after the long grueling road walk and got a ride from 22-year old Jeremy, in another Toyota truck. The 1987 truck was geared for off-road racing. Jeremy has been in a hitchhiking situation before so he understood my position. He wasn't going to Highway 173 for any reason other than to give me a ride and then head back to town. First though, 3 friends drove by, and they had something to say to one another- I had absolutely no problems with the slight delay because he was kind enough to go out of his way to give a stranger a ride.
At Highway 173, I thought I got my bearings corrected. The trailhead was a mile down the road right before the highway became a dirt road leading to Lake Arrowhead. It would have been nearly impossible to catch a ride into Lake Arrowhead, and even if I did get a ride, it would be alsmost the same dilemma tring to get back, if not worst because of the night.
Coming off the trail were Jeff and Allison, both geology majors from Cal State-San Bernadino, coming out to this quiet area to study. They met in a class and were now dating. They were also very religious, but didn't belong to any denominations- they worshipped the Lord in their own way. We talked about the PCT mostly, and they were extremely nice and humbling people. Jeff offered some power bars, but I was stuff with food and had 2 slices of pizzas left. "God bless you," Jeff comforted as they walked off to their vehicle in the parking lot.
This has been such a helter-skelter day, but the muddleness wasn't over. When I found the trailhead, I accidentally walked back towards the section I missed instead of walking ahead. Not only that, but I had to scramble over a jungle of fallen trees. I filtered water for tonight and tomorrow and found a place on the sand not far from the resevoir to set camp. In retrospect, it probably would have been much easier going into Cedar Glen this morning.
