I Live to Eat! (At Chinese Buffets)

July 8 2009
Silverthorne to Rawlins

After filling up on another AYCE chinese meal I headed out.

I thought I was done with winter... Looking back on it, I prefer winter to mosquitoes, but I was getting frustrated. It rained on me often, Almost daily since leaving Lake City.

The following is an excerpt from my journal from June 25

“OK! I've had it! Turn off the sprinklers! Stop the fog machine, and who turned the AC on full? I can deal with the snow, though travel without it is admittedly easier, I can take the 30 mile waterless stretches, though I am lazy and would rather not, I can climb, but... well actually I like climbing now, I can take the cross country travel, but this rain is getting to be a nuisance! Headache! Torture? In Washington last year I expected it, every day, and it seemed OK. Here, everyone tells me "Oh no, this isn't normal, June is usually nice, it usually rains just a little in the afternoon" Ok I get it! "I just want two dry days in a row! Please!" I scream at the heavens during a particularly nasty squall. *breaths* Hey! Interesting stat I heard on the news... This is the fifth wettest June on record in Colorado. That is since 1872! Howbout that?

*Breathing didn't work*

OK! And Here’s some other things that tick me off! I was rarely on an actual trail. Thunder storms were always too close. I encountered very soft snow north of Ptarmigan Pass, and I was wearing shorts. My legs are scratched. My Shoes are wet. I put too much gatorade in my water, I lost a sock and a tent stake. I wanged my GPS on a rock and now the screen has a scratch, and it doesn't get a signal when its driving rain under tree cover. I keep crashing through willow thickets. And my headlamp is low on juice!
I should have stayed in Silverthorne and watched soccer, eaten more Chinese food.”
~Me, June 25 2009

Despite the torrential rain, I had more fun the next day. From where I was camped at Williams Creek, I climbed up above tree line for a while in the few hors of morning sunlight before crashing down a couple thousand feet, then I climbed another 2500. It was windy. It was snowing. It was cold. There was lightning.

I made it to Berthoud Pass late in the afternoon and dried a bit in the warming hut. Later that afternoon I was atop Brekenridge Peak, just over 13,000 feet.
The next day, I bagged James Peak in thick fog, finding several ultra runners in the rock wind shelter at the summit.

“"You a thru-hiker?", a youngish guy asks me.
"Yeah"
"Where ya from?"
"Tahoe area, western side of the Sierras"
"You know Scott Williamson?"
"Haven't met him, but he passed me last year in Oregon at about 10:00 pm I think. -I guess He's trying to break that record, unsupported" (PCT speed record)
"Think he'll do it?"
"It's tough, and he needs to average 41 to get 65 days"
"I hear that David Horton is arrogant" The guy says. He holds the 66 day supported record. My brain suddenly hits red alert and ejects out the back of my skull leaving my inadequate, high altitude strained gut to think for itself.
"I've heard that", I hear myself say. And just a second. A hiker at Saufly's last year told me that after I missed the intro to David Horton's DVD!
"That's David Horton", I hear the guy say
"Hi! I'm Joe Kinsler!" I say.” ~Me June 27, 2009
Tatu Joe along with Scott held the unsupported PCT speed record. But that record was broken last year by Scott and another guy named Adam, They actually broke David Horton’s speed record as well.

The runners and I jogged off the mountain into sunlight and pleasant weather. They offered hot tub use and a warm meal, but idiotically I declined, wanting to make it to Grand Lake the next day. I did, and sprained my knee in the process hurrying through a thicket of fallen pines. Never decline a hot meal and hot tub.

After a recovery day in Grand Lake I took off again. The weather for the past few days had been unusually fantastic. It remained so for the first day. With the good weather came mosquitoes in force, but they couldn’t get past my long sleeves and but net! Day two from Grand Lake got severely ugly.

“I usually think after I set up camp... "I coulda gone further, another two miles maybe" Not tonight! I couldn't have taken another step. No sooner was my poncho up and gear in the vestibule, then BLAM torrential rain, biblical rain, like a fire suppression system. It was POURING! I lost almost 1000 feet of elevation at an alarming rate to get here. On the ridge top, it was me and the thunder storm in a face-off. We sprinted at each other before I chickened out and RAN, not jogged, into the valley. "Looking... fault spot, anywhere... c'mon" I said to myself. I found such a spot under a scrubby short pine. I made sure there were lots of lumps too! I can't sleep well without a sharp rock digging into my hip!” ~Me July 1, 2009

With a wet sleeping bag from a river that formed in the previous evenings deluge, I made a heroic sprint for Highway 40 and Steamboat Springs. After a short climb in the morning, the rest of the day was spent of progressivly more traveled roads. It was rural jeep roads, then ranch roads, then a paved road with zero shoulder, then a three lane highway. I walked along highway 40 with my thumb out and was picked up around 4:15 in the afternoon after walking 33 miles. I made it to the post office before they closed! And I splurged on a motel room to dry out my gear. The next day I at at the... you guessed it, AYCE chinese restaurant. I even went to the movie theater and saw an animated flick.

I could have stayed in Steamboat for the fourth of July. There were probably going to be fireworks, rodeos, all that kind of stuff. But I got a ride to the trail. Two days before, I thought I was going to be skipping several miles by getting that hitch on highway 40. I ended up getting dropped off just a few hundred yards from where I was picked up. Rabbit Ears Pass is kind of funny. There are seemingly two passes with a long high stretch in between. It is hard to tell where exactly the pass is.

So under continuing rain I marched north toward Wyoming. two days in a row I set up for long afternoon breaks under my tarp. Luckily I had a book.

On the afternoon of the sixth under eminent threat of severe thunder and lightning I contemplated a cross country route:

“I stood on the pass looking down into the valley, down Dale Creek (as my GPS tells me). Thunder crashed above me, an endless sea of gray moving toward me. The trail goes up to 10,500 feet and is ON the divide. I studied my GPS, looking for a route. "OK! Down this creek there should be a trail, cross country for a half mile along the creek, crash up the hill to a road, then cut up to that flat spot, 300 feet up, then traverse, another flat spot, another 300 foot climb... There should be a trail leading to Huston Park, where I can reconnect to the CDT.
It was tough! MOST of it was shwhacking. I was wet. I crashed through an alder thicket, ow... The hills were steep and muddy. I don't recommend it, and though I could draw a line on the map, I couldn't tell the names of the trails and roads I passed. However! I looked up at the pass. It was a mess! Clouds piled up like vehicles in a bad road accident. I could see intermittent flashes On the divide and hear the distant rumble. It did get sunny where I was and by the time I got to Huston Park, the weather was beautiful. The evening sun shimmered. It accentuated the deep green of the grass and trees.” ~Me July 6, 2009

With a slightly limited supply of food, I decided to make a push for Rawlins:

“Even steps, even pace, heart rate remains reletively low. The same four bars of music repeat over and over in your head, but it doesn't seem to bother you. Your legs burn, but you don't notice, there is a rock in your left shoe but you leave it to it's own devices. Flies are no match for your zen-like reflexes. Water remains undrunk, food, uneaten. You practically fall uphill... though not in a fatigued stupor. Its with purpose, diligence, one foot in front of the other, steadily making miles.

This is the "hiker trance" Without it, many solo hikers would quit in the first few hundred miles.

Its amazing the terrain I covered today. I started high, at nearly 11,000 feet. I walked through water meadows, alpine marshes. There were snow drifts. I crossed Battle Pass and started at 9,800 feet, climbing to Bridger peak at 11,000 feet. My pace was... lugubrious The snow patches made for slow going. But once at the top, then begins the descent. (For a much easier 50, start AT Bridger Peak) I jogged down the hill, glissading the short snow patches, leaping over roots, only slowed by the blowdowns. Down through the pines, the spruce, the aspen, sage... fields of shrubs. I got my last water just before the main road. (Highway 71?) It was just before 4:00 I tanked up and loaded my max, 4.4 liters. Onto the road I paced, then trudged, then stopped. Its hot down here! I told my self. "If I get to the road tonight, I'm night hiking on the road instead of the red route" The moon is just past full and rises at about 9:00.

In a moment of weakness I took a ride from a very nice family. BUT! They asked "Do you know where Saratoga is?"

I looked on my GPS, "There is a main road... looking.. aha. yeah. Jack Creek Road. .62 miles." So my ride was a grand total of one mile. One mile which I highly regret, but it was a road. I looked back south, thinking of leaving my pack and jogging the missing mile... nah... I've missed a couple little pieces. Highway 90 and 15 near Silver City, a half mile from the ski resort to Wolf Creek Pass... Hitch on this side, get dropped off on the other. It's one mile... That's what I tell my self.

Just after dark I glanced south-east crossing the rolling sage covered hills. There was an eerie orange glow. "Fire with it this wet?" I thought The glow brightened, then there was a pale orange disk; a disk which rose, turning into an orb. The orb hovered impossibly, jiggling like it was hanging by a rubberband. The orb rose higher, gaining stability, and losing color. I sat on the road eating fritos for nearly 20 minutes watching the ancient, cratered, glowing spectacle, a spectacle that repeats every 28.3 days without fail. Then by the light of the glowing orb, I walked, steadily for nearly four hours, water untouched, food uneaten, that rock in my right shoe, left to its own devices.”