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Stopped at: Aqua Caliente Creek, mile 115.8 Miles today: 5.2
Before boarding the bus, one of the guards asked if I had any knives, and I relunctantly affirmed because the mini-tool has a small knife. The man grabbed it out of my hands and placed it in his pockets rather quickly as though he felt it had some value. It was only a $4.00 Wal-mart item. I should have just said, "No."
The bus left Las Vegas 30 minutes late because we waited for passengers from a broken bus. Initially, the route was just slightly more than half full, and I was excited about sitting alone for the next 5-6 hours heading to San Bernadino, California, then to Santa Ana. With the passengers from the other route, it became packed like a can of sardines.
The cool Mexican-American guy sitting next to me was from Chicago and travelling to San Diego with his brother-in-law before their vehicle broke down in Nebraska. They grabbed a bus, and the bus broke down about 30 minutes outside Las Vegas. He's going to San Diego for work at his brother-in-law's business and will eventually bring his wife and 2 young children to San Diego. His wife was currently earning her diploma.
"If you want, you can scretch out. You know what I mean?" He offered. I understood and appreciated what he meant by stretching out in the uncomfortable seat, but I'll try to keep my legs to myself during this long trek.
The bus barely made it into Santa Ana on time for the transfer. The transfer bus was loading the last passengers and was taking off any minute. Had that bus left on time at 8:00 am, I might not be hiking the trail today.
I arrived in El Cajon at 11:00 am, but it was another 4 hours until the rural bus arrived to travel towards Warner Springs, where I got off the PCT a few days ago. All the money in the world could not have dared me to walk and hitchhike out to the trailhead like the burdensome first day. Instead, I bought a $5.00 day pass (good for both trolleys and buses, as well as $1.00 discount on rural bus) from the ticket dispenser and took the orange trolley into downtown San Diego for urban exploration.
I had no idea where to get off and no idea where I was heading. Somewhere which looked safe would be good. There were plenty of people at the 5th Street stop, and it appeared like the downtown area. Downtown San Diego was nothing like downtown Houston with the highrises reaching symmetrically towards the clouds. The scene reminded me of Fort Worth, Texas. I sort of liked it this way because it didn't have the white-collar attitude, but I wasn't sure I would want to be here at night though.
Well, here was downtown, and I didn't have any idea where to go next. I could just walk around and find some place to relax or catch a bite to eat. A sign for a public library determined the next step- I could go the library to check e-mail and seek information about the sore knee.
The downtown library has 15-minute short-term access without having to fill out any forms or sign any waivers. In other words, it would be a great place for mischievous computer use like setting off a virus. Internet web pages indicated some hikers used ACE bandages and ice for their troubled knees. Ice was out of the question since I had no plans on carrying along a refrigerator on my back. And then where could it be plugged in if I did? I suppose I could buy some those neat chemical ice packs somewhere.
After a good hour, I strolled back towards the trolley stop. "Where could I buy an ACE bandages? I did see a Rite-Aide after getting off the trolley. I've never been into a Rite-Aide, but it seemed like a general store." There must be some coincidence or good fortune because Rite-Aide had all ACE products at 20% discount, and instead of purchasing the bandages, I opted to buy an ACE reusable neoprene open-patella knee brace.
Back at the El Cajon transit center, I waited 40 minutes for the rural bus. I absolutely did not want to chance missing the bus because it only came once at 3:00 pm to travel out to the rural communities.
There was an elderly lady with her bags sitting on a nearby bench in El Cajon. After some of the transit employees discussed her situation, they fetched the police officer/security guard. He approached her and bluntly demanded, "You've been here for 2 days wearing the same clothes! You need to leave! When I come back in 10 minutes, I don't want to see you here!" The woman was probably someone's mother, someone's grandmother, someone's great grandmother- someone's abandoned blood. She didn't put up an argument and slowly gathered her belongings to leave. I should have offered her some money or done something, but instead, I let her fade away with wounded pride towards the street. Alone. I know what it is to walk companionless- it is a lonesome path. Why did I not help or say something to this lady like I normally would?
As she approached the traffic light lost within the urban surrounding, the officer was with her and they talked for some minutes. He probably wasn't the cruel or stoical man he made himself out to be, otherwise, he would have just let her be. He was probably only doing his job earlier. Maybe one day she'll find a place where the paths are lined with roses.
The rural bus only went as far as San Ysabel. Before hitchhiking to Warner Springs, I stopped in the grocery store to buy some peanuts. (I had loaded up with sandwich products before leaving Las Vegas.) Had I resupplied in San Ysabel days ago, I may have never ventured to Las Vegas and continued with the PCT after Warner Springs.
Urban picked me up in his red Toyota truck. He was heading to work at the youth camp up the road, but decided to drive the extra 8 miles to the fire station at the edge of Warner Springs, right to the trailhead. It seemed he wanted to spend those minutes asking about the trail as though he geuninely wanted to attempt it. I hope the answers embedded something in his mind to one day actually hike the trail. Coincidentally, Urban also worked at the grocery store, where he saw ThaWookie and Island Mama the day we all made it to the Warner Springs (seperately).
About 5:30 pm I was finally reunited with the PCT. So many doubts and questions about returning to the trail when I left Warner Springs, but here I was again. I still had hopes to complete the trail. It was late and I wanted to make Aqua Caliente Creek, the next water source 5 miles away, before stopping for the day. The log book attached to a gate indicated there were at least 5 hikers who were behind me when I left the trail.
The umbrella was a miracle! It wasn't the sturdiest umbrella, but it blocked the sun's torrid shower. The knee brace was a wonder! I could feel the effects immediately because there was barely a sensation in the left knee during descents. Definitely, leaving the trail temporarily turned out to be a great idea; otherwise, I would have continued hiking through pain and exposed to the sun.
The privately owned campsite 1.5 miles from the highway was where I would have stayed had I not left the trail. One of the picnic tables had a couple of 2.5-gallon tanks left by some trail angels or the camp host. At the end of the camp, there was a huge tent and an RV trailer, but no one seemed to be around. Water would not be an issue during this short hiking day.
At a large campsite about 2.5 miles before Aqua Caliente, I saw a man lying on the ground with his head against a tree. At first I thought it was one of those lifeless silhouette cowboys people decorate their lawns and businesses in small towns. As I approached, the skin tone looked lifelike, but the form remained motionless.
He was a skinny, crude-looking man with missing teeth and a V-8 tomato drink by his side. His black cowboy boots and knapsack informed me he was not a thru-hiker, or even section-hiker. He looked as though he was a drifter or derelict, but yet somehow, like someone who was out here for a reason. Maybe this was where he spends his evenings and nights, his home of sorts. We talked briefly, and I quickly moved on because I was a bit nervous. As I walked by, he rambled as though he was schizophrenic. Walking the first half mile past the camp site, I occasionally glanced over my shoulders to see if he was following. He wasn't.
This section of Aqua Caliente Creek was running very well and I knew it was a good place to camp; however, the fear of the man haunted me as though I was in a graveyard at night. "What if he's some sort of serial killer? Homicidal maniac?" I made a great effort to pitch the tent unseen off the trail and erased the footprints from the dirt trail. For the first time on this journey, I had a true fear of death.
Funny, I wasn't too concerned about dying from thirst or bitten by a poisonous desert creature, but the fear of what a man was capable was far more frightening and maddening. Man can be kind, but man can also be the worst of monsters. Tonight, I was not going to sleep well.
