Day 46: Mile 572.9 - 566.5

And then things go wrong.

I was fine when I went to bed last night, ate a usual dinner, did my usual writing (although I cut it a bit short), got into my sleeping bag and drifted off. But when I woke up this morning, my stomach was complaining. Ok, I got up, dug a cathole, felt a bit better, then went back to bed. Hoped it was just a little discomfort, something that would go away with a bit more sleep. Slept a bit, but when I woke my stomach was, if anything, more upset. I dug another cathole, then noticed that I was starting to feel nauseated, did some dry heaving. Went back to lay in my tent, contemplate what to do. Dozed off, then when I woke I was getting chills whenever I changed positions, and feeling more nauseated; did some more dry heaving but was able to suppress the actual vomitting.

By now it was almost noon. I couldn't stay here: I was dry camping, and had less than 2 L of water left. But where to go? The next water source was 10 miles up trail. I could good there, maybe rest for a day or two and recover: I had carried out enough food for 8 days to get to Kennedy Meadows, but if I couldn't get that far, I could bail out early at Ridgecrest about 2 days earlier, so I had enough food. Or I could turn back, go down to the mountain to Interstate-58 about 6.4 miles back and try to hitch a ride back to Tehachapi. That is, if I could get service done there, and if I could get a room in Tehachapi.

The drive to stay on trail, to go the 10 miles, was very strong. I had heard hikers going past in the morning--less now with the midday heat kicking in--but was feeling antsy to continue on. And going back, while rationally the safer course, felt very bad. These are the types of decisions I have trouble with: where one way is ambitious and what I ultimately want in an admittedly ideal world, and the other way is safer and likely more sensible. I always have trouble letting go of the former, and am always suspicious that the latter is tantamount to surrendering to my cowardice. So I mulled over this, going back and forth, as I lay without trying to move too much, in my tent which--while in the shade of a grove of short trees, was nonetheless getting hotter. Eventually, I pulled out my phone and starting researching the two options, checking the terrain up trail, checking the impact on the schedule, checking hotel possibilities in Tehachapi. When, out of the blue, I got a phone call from Ian.

He had happened to log in right before I started editing my PCT logistics spreadsheet, and saw me inputting negative mileage. Which was weird, so he called. And thankfully so! Two other guys had camped here last night but they had left around sunrise, and the passing hikers had trickled to nothing in the heat, meaning I was alone: with nobody to assume another perspective, the arguments just swirled in my head. But now, with Ian, I was able to talk through everything with someone else, sort out the spinning yeah-this's and but-that's, and start seeing clearly. And ultimately, I realized that heading back to Tehachapi was indeed the wiser course, although I  didn't know if I could get a hitch, since I might not have signal. To which Ian piped up, well, it is Memorial Day, and Tehachapi isn't far from Palmdale, and Palmdale isn't far from LA, so I could drive up and give you a ride. How long would that take you, I asked. He looked it up: about 2 hours. I was hesitant to ask him to do that--that's a long way, and then he has to drive *back*--but he kept saying it wouldn't be a problem, and so finally we agreed that I would head back, he would head over, and we'd meet at Interstate 58.

Ok, I had a plan, time to execute. First, book the hotel; easy enough, I had LTE. Done. Second, break camp. Ok, not so good. This took three times longer than usual, because every time I changed the position of my stomach the nausea would sweep over, and it turns out I change my stomach position a lot when packing my bag and tearing down my tent. So lots of pack one thing, then wait for the stomach to settle, then pack the next thing, then wait for the stomach to settle, and so on. And when I finally got my bag packed, and the tent struck, I strapped it all on and felt the weight, then had to wait for yet another, stronger wave of nausea to pass. And I wondered, can I even make it down the mountain?, and I realized, I don't think I could have made it the 10 miles to the next water source! But crouching there, under the low branches, the bag feeling a lot heavier than I remembered, my limbs feeling a lot weaker than I remembered, I suddenly got a surprise surge of energy. No idea where it came from, but I gave thanks, then grabbed it by the horns and started hiking.

And hiking was actually good; the stomach seemed ok with the continual, monotonous movement. Kind of like rocking a restless baby. It was hot--early afternoon--and I had little water, but I was going downhill and as long as I kept moving, I felt I was ok.

About halfway down the mountain, I passed a hiker snoozing in the shade of a juniper bush (many hikers elect to tackle this section in either the early early morning or, more likely, the late afternoon and into the night, to avoid the heat). Is that you, Dylan?, I asked. The hiker stirred sleepily, looked over, is that you, Charlie? Wait, what are you doing behind us? Another head popped up from the far side of the juniper bush, and it was Dylan and Uno. You look awful man, sit down, they said and I did, dropping my bag. As I explained how I was feeling, they got their gear together, laid out some tarps and foam sleeping pads (the hiker's daytime futon) in the shade of the juniper bush, and invited me to lay down, which I did. They had just been snoozing, waiting out of the hottest part of the day before continuing up the mountain, and advised me to also wait out the heat before continuing. As I lay there, feeling bad about interrupting their rest, I kept talking to at least keep things interesting for them, to keep from imposing too much, and they indulged me in what was likely a bit of an incoherent conversation from my end. They offered me some pepto bismol tablets, which I've never taken before, but I tried it. I lay there on my back for I think a couple hours, while the puffy white clouds overhead slowly closed and grayed, even let loose a couple of fat drops (which Uno took as a sign of luck). It was finally cool enough--other hikers had been stirring and passing us, on their way up--and I felt that maybe the pepto had kicked in, so I got up to head down. Do you need me to walk down with you, Dylan asked, and I declined; I didn't want him walking all the way down just to hike back up. Let us give you some water, they said, and I declined again--they needed it more than me, the next water for them was 12 miles uphill for them--but they insisted and filled my 1 L bottle. And text us when you get to I-58 and let us know you're ok, Uno insisted.

As long as I kept an even pace, the rest of the way down the mountain went ok, though slow. I could tell the pepto had an effect: it papered over the problem, although it didn't solve anything--I knew my stomach was still having problems, just they weren't that pressing right now. Every now and then I would pass a hiker heading uphill, stop to let them pass and chat a bit, although I didn't have much energy for these incidental conversations, and would usually just lean on my poles and stare at the ground. Toward the end of my way down, the trail leveled out as it paralleled the freeway, and here the trail seemed to get longer than I remembered. I remembered three little hills--which were tough because they changed my pace enough that the stomach started to stir--and as I was going up the second one a voice called out and I looked up to see Ian coming down. I got one more hill to go, I said. No, he said, this is the last one and he was right. Do you want me to carry your bag?, he then asked. No, I said, my voice now surprisingly hoarse, I got it. And I managed to get to the car, and I dropped my bag, and I took a swig of the ginger ale he had brought, and I just sat on the bumper of the open trunk for a bit. Evidently I didn't look so good--Ian would say that he knew something was wrong as soon as he saw me coming down the trail.

Eventually I would finally move to the front seat, text Uno and Dylan to let them know I was ok, and then Ian would drive me into town, where I would check into the same hotel--the Surestay Best Western (and this time I reserved via hotels.com instead of reservation.com so my reservation wasn't canceled), get into my room and just lay on the bed and not move for a while. Ian bore with me talking for a while, then went to the local stores and bought dinner and the basic slate of soups and crackers and breads and utensils to hold me over for the next day. After eating a few crackers and a couple spoonfuls of soup, we did a quick shakedown of my pack. As Dylan had noted earlier, my pack was pretty heavy, so we went through and removed some gear I hadn't used, and also reduced my food bag to a 6-day carry instead of an 8-day (now planning to hit Ridgecrest instead of going all the way from Tehachapi and Kennedy Meadows in a straight shot). All this doesn't sound like much, but actually all this went pretty slowly, since whenever I moved the stomach would wake up and mutter and I'd have to stop and wait for a bit. So it wouldn't be until pretty late--past midnight--that we finished everything and Ian got to head home.

So, yeah, this was not a good day. I got sick. I probably got dehydrated (even though I had water, I didn't drink enough since it would agitate my stomach). I had to turn back. But I also get very very lucky. I got lucky when Ian happened to call and help me decide to head back. I got lucky when I got the surge of energy to start hiking down the mountain. I got lucky when I bumped into Uno and Dylan and got to rest, got to unwind my head, got some pepto and water and concern and care. I got lucky that Ian was willing to drive all the way out to Tehachapi to pick me up and into town (over a 2 hour trip for him), then went further and did the emergency nursing of buying food and making sure I would be ok for the next couple days, and then went further and helped me sort out my gear. So, yeah, today was not a good day. But, yeah, today was also a very lucky day, a very blessed day. And a day that reminded me that, even though I have to walk alone--each step is one that nobody but me can take--still there's no way I could have gotten this far, and no way I'm going to get farther, without the help and care of others.

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Some notes:

-- Campsite > Interstate 58 > Tehachapi

-- And, yes, I was a bit rambling with Dylan and Uno. The proof? We talked about dreams (since I'd interrupted theirs) (and there's the mark of a rambling conversation right there), we talked about the FGC and Civ, we talked about getting sick (although he didn't think I had it, Dylan has had giardia before, and there's a story there), we talked about the weather (a classic hiker topic), we talked about other hikers (another classic hiker topic). And that was probably half an hour out of two? Yeah, discursive.

-- At one point, discussing other hikers, I asked about his British hiker I had passed, and as I was talking about him I slipped into my bad Aussie/Kiwi accent. And after a bit Uno asked, are you doing an accent? Yes, I said, or trying to. Oh thank god, she said, I thought you were having a stroke! I wasn't, but clearly the accent needs work if it inspires others to think my brain is losing blood!