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Stopped at: Creeklet, mile 3.9 Miles today: 3.9
The day began well, but ended with lots of pains and aches.
In the town of Calexica, California, many Mexicans were on the streets around 2:30 am. I assumed they were early birds waiting for work opportunities in the morning as employers came by to draft a few at a time. The bus picked up one person in Calexica, but a few had already departed since Phoenix.
At El Centro, we stopped at a donut shop owned by a Cambodian man who fled to Thailand and then immigrated to the United States. The owner thought I was mixed heritage- half American and half Asian, but I assured him I was 100% Vietnamese. The food was suprisingly cheap: A sandwich with chips and 12 oz soda was only $3.00. I'm very glad we stopped here, the owner was really nice. I talked with one of the girls from Japan (who actually lived in Canada, the other girl was still sleeping on the bus) and a guy from France who spoke very fluent English.
The bus arrived at the El Cajon bus station, just a few minutes from San Diego, at 5:30 am. The Greyhound saleswoman informed, "There is a rural bus going out to Campo at 3:00 pm for $3.00 from here." 9 hours?! Had I known better, I would have scheduled a later bus leaving Houston on Monday. I could spend the day hauling the backpack around town and visiting the San Diego suburbs, but decided to try to reach the Valley Springs Town Center via the city buses and then hitchhike to Campo on Highway 94 eastbound. This became the beginning of a miserable day mostly walking Highway 94!
I strapped on the backpack and started hiking the pavement at 6:00 am. The backpack felt heavy with the 3.4 litres of water in 2 collapsable platypus water bottles (1 and 2.4 litres) which were filled up at a water machine in El Centro. In the unusually cool late spring southern California weather, I had walked nearly 10 miles before giving up and deciding to hitchhike. This would be the first time I ever hitchhiked- I had to leave behind the indignity of constantly being rejected. What if I get picked up by a serial killer? On the other hand, what if I get offered a ride by a beautiful sexy woman who wanted to ravage my body? I liked the latter idea better.
Half relunctantly, I held out my arm and stuck up the familiar right thumb of a hitcher. (I wonder how people with no right thumbs hitchhike.) The first person, a lady, in a yellow Ford Mustang didn't stop, but turned left not far up the road. That started off badly already. Two girls passed, but they only stared, not expecting to give a ride. If they're going to abuse my body, then they have to give me a ride to Campo too. Or at least down the block.
About 20-30 minutes later and walking another mile, Mandy, a 77-year old woman in a small car stopped, "I stopped because you looked clean-shaven." (Aren't the clean shaven hitchers also dangerous?) Originally, I thought she wouldn't stop and didn't bother to look over my shoulders to check, but then she honked while waiting on the side of the road ahead.
Mandy headed along the Highway 94 just north of the border to see a doctor in Tacate, Mexico, where she informed, "This doctor has many American patients." She spoke advertently, and I would have never guessed her elderly status- amazing, how spirited she came across! A couple of times, Mandy pulled off the one-lane highway to let tailgaiters pass on the winding roads because she did not enjoy people coming up behind her. She explained, "I was attacked from behind by a schizophrenic man at a McDonald's earlier in my life."
From the turn to Tacate, I walked to the city of Penotra and asked the postmaster directions: She said the trail starts 10 miles from here. By that time my body was not very responsive in the cool weather, especially with all the ungainly weight on my back and shoulders; I decided to hitchhike again.
Twenty minutes of waiting paid off! A border patrol guard, Freddie, in an SUV gave me a ride directly to the PCT landmark at the border. We discussed the borders and the immigrants during the 10 minute ride. Freddie stated, "People die on on Highway 94 all the time, such as motorcyclists." He was driving very fast, even around the curves and swerving a little into the opposing lane, but I suppose he's been down the path many times and knew each bend by heart. I really didn't want to get killed in a vehicle before setting foot on the trail.
When we reached the border, Freddie laughed when I said, "A woman (from an online journal) complained about the new wall and red sign which will be on all thru-hiker's pictures."
I spent a few minutes taking the mandatory landmark pictures by placing the camera on top of the backpack. The day was still chilly and the sun hasn't peaked out of the sky yet. I wore the polyester undershirt purchased at the very last possible moment from the local outdoor store for $5.00- good decision!
This was mile 0- the beginning! The idea has been molded into reality. A sign pointed the direction to Lake Moreno; however, it was pointing in the direction between 2 jeep roads, one heading to the right and the other to the left. I thought, "Okay, should I take the right or left road? This sign must have been turned by someone or forces of nature to point down the middle of the 2 crossing roads." Then it dawned on my naive backpacking mind, "Oh, maybe I walk down the middle through the grass, afterall, this is a scenic trail." Sure enough, a feint path in the high grass revealed the truth of the sign. This was only the commencement, and already, I almost got lost like a the members of Gilligan's Island.2
The beginning wasn't the only questionable spot, almost a mile into the trail, the trail crossed the first paved road, across from a juvenile center. A man in a work truck directed me to the correct destination and pointed from place to place, "I've seen people going over there, there, over there." His assurance kept me from feeling foolish. The road itself was the part of the trail for a brief .1 mile. For this trip, I decided to use only the data book instead of the guidebooks because I didn't want to be babysat through the trail- I'd like to discover some things on my own during the hike. I've read the trail was fairly well marked and maintained.
By this time, the sun forced its way through the thick curvy maze of clouds. I was sure it would be overcast the entire day and evening until now.
Across the first highway crossing of the trail, Highway 94, someone left 3 bottles of water- the first water cache; however, they were empty. This location wasn't far from the border, so the immigrants could make better use of it instead of the hikers- hikers can get water from the surrounding community.
My body was tight and my bones were aching, but I pressed on about 1.5 miles past the railroad tracks. At this junction, I reminded myself there was no hurry (even though I needed to be complete by October 1st at the latest) and pressing could result in injuries, which would be tragic since this was only the first day. I didn't want to be the guy in the football commercial who injured himself during the pre-game coin toss.
Two hikers walked by, but they didn't notice the semi-stealthy setup behind bushes and a large rock. Even though there were some daylight left, I thought no one else would be passing through, so I repositioned the tent in a flatter spot just a little closer to the trail. Then some Spanish voices approached, and one of the faces noticed me through the no-see-um mesh door of the tent. He guided his campanionions, "Vamos!" and they took off running.
Freddie stated earlier, "We like to catch the runners [or coyotes], the one who leads the immigrants across the border. I see it as organized crime. The people who come over illegally just want to make money for their families back in Mexico. The runners should at least tell their employers [the immigrants], to bring along a gallon of water because the land is not very generous when it comes to water." This was the desert.
Before I started the trail, I didn't think it would change me much. Education is exercise for the mind, fitness is exercise for the body, and contemplation is exercise for the soul. I have spent a good deal of life contemplating; therefore, musing with all this free time alone was nothing new. Maybe this was one difference among people who never spend much time alone as opposed to those who have.
