Looking across Vallecito
Valley at Oriflamme Mt.
at sunrise.
Rodriguez Truck Trail Oasis with
refreshing fog drifting over
Vulcan Mt. in the distance.
Scott, international
man of mystery, tries
to keep a low profile
on the trail.
More fog moves in at day's end. Yahoo!
Hot temperatures and bad blisters made me cranky, and a real joy to hike with. The decent into Chariot Canyon on an old rutted road was steep and each step pounded on my feet. Probably the only thing that kept Scott from abandoning me on the trail was the fact that it's a community property state and also that he doesn't know how our stock portfolio is doing while we are out here. Actually, I wasn't that bad, just mostly a crybaby. It could be said, in fact that it was Scott's fault that I descended into the depths of despair on that day. Someone had said that when trail life got to you, you were supposed to imagine what you would be doing if you were back home (I think they meant sitting at your desk or paying bills.) I said as much to Scott who said, "Well, let's see...you'd be sitting in the back yard reading a book and listening to Stan Getz while drinking a gin and tonic with your cat next to you." Needless to say, when you are standing on a hot trail, unwashed, aching, itching from a heat rash and wearing a shirt that is so dirty that it can stand by itself, waterworks are not far away.
(Scott has yet to give me a birthday or anniversary present and said he would "make it up to me on the trail." Could this verbal encouragement be my gift? I wondered. Well, happy birthday to me!)
Hiking out of Chariot Canyon to the next crest revealed that we had now entered the desert environment that we had viewed from the mountains earlier. I stood looking out at the arid flanks of Granite Mountain and further, past Scissors Crossing, at Grapevine Mountain. The landscape was completely treeless and forbidding, but, at the same time, beautiful. It was very hot. Tarzan Hot. (to quote Neil Simon.) We continued now, without even chaparral for company along the trail. The area in which we were walking had been burned by a fire a year or two previous, which added to the starkness.
Soon, we reached a detour to an important water source. While planning our hike, due to our late start, I had read up on water sources extensively. The names "Pioneer Mail Trailhead" and "Barrel Spring" held for me, a certain fascination as I wondered about these places. Now we followed "Rodriguez Truck Trail," as it wound downhill, northwest to a small valley containing a green meadow, like a hanging garden surrounded by desert, and truly a sight for our sore tired eyes.
Still, the walk downhill hurt my feet badly, and the 1 mile to the water seemed endless. I finally succumbed to exhaustion, heat and pain from my torn up feet. I sat down on the road and, suddenly,to my embarrassment, started to cry. All of the day's frustration came pouring out. I wondered what in the world I was doing out here and if I could make the rest of the hike. You plan and work and pack and condition your body and then plan some more. You think to yourself that you can survive whatever the trail dishes out with a little perseverance and a sense of humor and then, 4 days into the hike, you find yourself laid low on Rodriguez Truck Trail, sitting in the dirt, sobbing. An indignity. Without a word, Scott kindly emptied his pack of gear and took our water bottles down the road to the spring while I sat in a sea of gear, waiting.
(My mother had a saying when I was growing up: "In THIS house, we don't solve our problems by crying." Looks like Mom was wrong...)
As I sat, I noticed the hot breeze had cooled and as I looked west, I saw an unbelievable sight. Clouds were moving in. Mist was oozing between the folds of Vulcan Mountain to the west. A mirage? As I stared, sure enough, a bank of fog was working its way east toward us. Incredible. As I absorbed this visual refreshment, my trampled spirits lifted and, when Scott came back with the water, I found I was ready to continue.
We stopped for dinner and wet our bandanas, rubbed them over our bodies and stood, letting the cool breeze dry us before hiking a few miles more. Its funny how some Frito Lay Bean Dip and a sponge bath can restore spirits in a way that all the luxuries back home so often fail to do. I went to sleep with a smile on my face looking at the stars, very glad to be out here.