Day 23 – Big Magic in the Great Unknown
Day miles: 17.5
Trip miles: 410
The morning began with a Walmart breakfast. I had gotten some delights the night before, and now I would eat them. I made myself an instant coffee with hot water from the bathroom faucet, then ate a microwave burrito, some blackberries, and several danishes. That’s where I’m at with my appetite – a bottomless pit.
Yesterday I booked a ride on the Rockin’ 66 shuttle bus for us today at 9am. Draggin, Stormy and myself hopped aboard. Those two got off after a mile or so to connect their footsteps. I took the bus all the way to the post office where I had left off yesterday. I was happy to have a slight distance advantage, and planned to walk a short ways to McDonalds and wait for the gang to catch up there.
I hung out at Mickey D’s and had a coffee. There were a lot of workers there, but it seemed disorganized and chaotic. Stormy, Draggin, and Blueberry showed up, in that order. After grabbing some water, we were ready to go hike our route around the fire closures. Towely and Business were going to be a day behind us, but would likely catch up in Cuba or Chama, our last stop before Colorado and the San Juans.
I had seen Chef again that morning on the bus. He was going back to the hospital, still having issues with his foot. Despite taking antibiotics, the swelling had worsened and the infection didn’t seem to be abating. I felt bad for him before; now I was worried. I was glad he was taking it seriously and getting it looked at again. Once something gets infected out here, it can get out of control pretty fast.
Our band of four started walking out of Grants and through the adjacent town of Milan. New Mexico has some interesting town names. Lest Cuba and Milan conjure up images of exotic, far off destinations reserved for tourists, the wealthy and clandestine, allow me to burst that bubble now. They’re kind of dumpy. Milan is just an industrial extension of Grants, and Cuba (our next stop), while nicer from a hiker perspective, is still just a cluster of businesses along a road where potential just seems to repeatedly sputter, cough, and die amidst a clankety pile of crushed beer cans. Fortunately, I’m a hiker, so pretty much any town will do.
We stopped briefly at a curio shop and trading post in Milan, just because it looked too interesting to pass up. It was filled with saddles, old guns, pottery, and various other such items. A flea market outside begged for patronage, but heard only the sound of a large freight train chugging by.
We hung a right on highway 605. The road had a decent shoulder to it, so we just walked along and traded stories. At one point, we found a large shade tree and took a break. The road was lined with barbed wire on both sides, which is pretty common in New Mexico. It therefore becomes a challenge at the end of the day to find camping that is not just along the roadside.
605 is a paved road, initially four lanes and then two. We walked and walked and, as far as we knew, there wasn’t any water for over 25 miles. We passed a few water troughs behind fences, about an eighth to a quarter mile off the road. But, since we didn’t need water yet, it wasn’t worth hoping a fence just to see if they actually had water or were dry.
At around 4:30pm, a lady pulled up and off to the side of the road across from us. She asked us if we needed water and said she lived 15 miles up the road. She offered to drive some back for us. We were elated, and kept walking, but we never saw her again.
We took a break on a small bridge, still thinking she might come back. There was no shade, so we decided to hike on. Stormy and I were first out.
After a few minutes, we realized that a truck had stopped back by the bridge. Blueberry and Draggin were talking with the driver. We didn’t have the energy to walk back, so we just waited until the truck pulled out and passed us. We learned from the others that we had been invited to get water from a ranch about a mile up the road! Apparently the lady we saw earlier had gotten busy and she phoned the gentleman in the truck to see if he could help us out. Pretty incredible!
After a mile of excited hiking, we made it to the ranch gate. Our host was Effrin Sandoval, a member of a large and very well known, long-standing family in the area. He met us at the gate and we followed as he drove down to a well.
We were on Effrin’s father’s land, but it had been in the family for a long time. I believe Effrin said his Great Great Grandfather was the original purchaser. He told us that his well had the best drinking water in the county. It was 100 feet deep, so not deep enough to be tainted by any uranium (there are uranium mines in the area), but deep enough to drink without the need for filtering.
Effrin turned an electric switch and water went gushing out of a pipe. I filled a bottle and greedily chugged it down. It truly wash delicious water! Not having any other prospects on the road walk, we gently asked if he would mind if we pitched our tents and slept there that night. He kindly consented and began giving us a pointing tour of the property.
There was a small, but long, arroyo behind the well, and a mesa up above the little canyon. Stormy, Draggin and I climbed up the mesa to have a look. It offered a wonderful view over the surrounding property.
Effrin also showed us how many family and friends had written their names on the water tank. There were even feuding comments between two ladies dating back to the fifties, each writing disparaging comments about the other. I suppose that me water tank was like old-fashioned Facebook.
Effrin explained that he had a lot of relatives in the area. The Sandoval name is big here! He even drove back to the house to call his mother, who lived in the next hamlet up, to see if she would look out for us tomorrow to give us water.
When he returned, Effrin brought apples and a large bag of chips, along with a jar of his mother Dorie’s homemade salsa. The salsa was incredible, and this gesture really put his kindness over the top. He hung around for a bit telling us more about his family, as well as showing us bits of Native American pottery that were laying around. He said the land was full of relics – pottery, arrowheads, tools, etc. He leaves most of them in place so that his grandkids can see them as they were left behind.
I probably could have listened to Effrin’s stories all night. I was so curious how his great great grandfather had come to initially acquire the land, and how he had been so smart as to get the parcel with the 100ft deep spring. But, it was getting late and Effrin had done more than enough for us. We had food, water, shelter, and contacts to help us with water in the morning when we would walk through the small village of San Mateo.
Effrin drove back to his house and we continued talking about our good fortune. I think the kindness of the Sandovals was the best trail magic I have ever experienced. Normally on road walks that are not part of the trail, people don’t even know what we are doing. It is hard to find camping and water when everything is behind barbed wire. There is little shade and, in our case, we had very few details about what to expect. Just having Effrin help us with water alone was a godsend, but for him to go out of his way to be so friendly and hospitable to four strangers who looked like dirty, grubby hobos, was just incredible. If you ever read this Effrin, just know that you became a very memorable part of our journey north. Thank you!
Sleep came fast. Hot road walks have a way of both sapping the energy out of me and keeping me on my toes. Once I no longer had to worry about where I would find water and a place to sleep, I passed out. Before my last eye closed, I gazed up at the stars illuminating the black night. Just as I was topped off with gratitude, the darkness of the sky revealed the Milky Way and beyond, filled with hundreds of millions of points of light. I tried to imagine what might be out there. What trails might await exploring in other galaxies? What intergalactic paths might bring interplanetary beings together in the spirit of appreciating an even more vast world than this ball we call Earth. But it was too late – I was already staring at the backs of my eyelids, exploring the corridors of real and imaginary in the synapses of my brain while the rest of me lay still, recharging for tomorrow.
Day 24 – Meeting Dorie
Day miles: 26
Trip miles: 436
We had agreed we would hike together as a group one more day, before dispersing at our respective paces. There is a lot of benefit to sticking together when resource availability is unclear, plus we had someone special to find in San Mateo – Dorie Sandoval.
I woke up at 4:50am, trying to make sure I would be ready to hike with the group at 6:30. It was a bit overkill, but sometimes I am slow to get going. I sat up and ate my breakfast. I set my food and trash bag outside my tent, and started to get my other gear ready. It was cold – perhaps in the low 40s. I decided to lay back under my quilt for a bit.
Suddenly, I noticed a pungent scent entering my nose. Then it got a little stronger, and I broke into a cold sweat because there is only one animal that smells like that – a skunk. I am far less afraid of bears, mountain lions, and other animals than I am of skunks. Getting sprayed by a skunk is no small matter and there is no easy way to get clean. Just imagine all of your gear, yourself, completely sprayed. It would be a special kind of emergency.
I froze in my tent and listened. I could hear a rustling in a bush twenty or thirty feet behind my tent. There was definitely a skunk poking about. I rolled over on my sleeping pad, hoping the noise would make it go in the other direction. Nothing seemed to happen. I didn’t dare get out of my tent. It was still fairly dark and I wasn’t sure if the skunk was coming my way.
Just when I was about to find some serious situational religion, I heard a group of coyotes cry out. They didn’t sound that close, but perhaps they were close enough because the rustling stopped. After about 5 minutes, the scent dissipated and was gone. Phew! I felt relieved and quickly gathered up and stored my food. Effrin had said they had skunks and other critters around. Fortunately I would not meet any of them this time.
We left our abode for the night and hit the road. I played a little bit of road hockey and road polo to amuse myself. There is a LOT of trash on the side of highways. If you ever do a long road walk, get ready to see the breadcrumbs of all kinds of sadness and risqué behavior strewn about the road shoulder. Mostly it is a lot of beer cans, alcohol bottles, and other trash.
Road hockey is simply where you target a can on the road, or perhaps even a dried cow patty, and then swing your trekking pole like a hockey stick to smack the object towards an imaginary goal. It’s a simple game. Road polo is slightly more complicated. In road polo, the target object must be skewered, hooked, or balanced on the tip of the trekking pole before being flung towards an arbitrary “wicket,” or target. I like to try and slide the tip of my trekking pole into the open mouth of a can. It requires a bit more skill than road hockey. And so I amuse myself, though it is depressing how much trash people thoughtlessly fling from their vehicles. Really? Are we still doing this?
As we neared the entrance to the tiny hamlet of San Mateo, a truck pulled up and a gentleman stopped to see if we needed water or anything. The locals just seemed to be getting friendlier! We thanked him but explained that we were about to visit Dorie and should be able to get water there. Of course, he knew Dorie and told us her house was just two doors down from the church. And so it was.
Another guy offered us water from his hose before we even got to Dorie’s, but we politely declined, knowing she had been told we would come. We arrived at the church where a huge old tree towered above it. It must have been at least 300 years old. I looked up and saw a woman waiving at us from the top of a driveway. This was how we met Dorie.
It was easy to see that Dorie had a big heart. She was standing there waiving our band of hobos in with a big smile on her face. “I’ve been waiting for you!” she said as she ushered us down her driveway to the back porch. She expressed how excited she was to hear that we were coming and to see us. SHE was excited to see US! She had no idea how ecstatic we were to see her.
She said that we could go inside, but we opted to hang out on the back porch so as not to stink up her house. She was taking care of her autistic grandson, Michael, and also mentioned that is going inside might make him nervous, so we thought it better not to interrupt his routine and to respect his safe place.
Dorie described Michael as severely autistic and mostly non-verbal, though he had recently begun speaking a little, saying things like “hello,” “goodbye,” and “I love you.” Michael was, indeed, shy, but he was curious. He ran back and forth to the door several times to get a glimpse of us, but turned quickly when we smiled and made eye contact. I get it – meeting new people, especially adult strangers, is hard. He had a glimmer in his eye though, and I couldn’t help but feel he understood what we were doing in his own way.
Dorie told us she watched him closely. Sometimes he would run off if she wasn’t monitoring him, or potentially lock her out of the house. That glimmer in his eye couldn’t help but make me feel we had a bond in a certain kind of innocent mischief, or perhaps in the desire to run off to places unknown without thinking too much about it.
Dorie offered to make us fresh tortillas, eggs, and bacon. She brought out cranberry juice and some chips and her homemade salsa. She did all of this with great excitement and a kind generosity that circled her like a halo. We were blown away.
I have never had fresh tortillas like Dorie’s. It was such a unique treat that I want to try to make my own after the trail. I don’t think I could come close to hers, but I will try. As we sat there and ate, Dorie asked us questions about our hike, filled us in on the family’s presence in San Mateo, and opened up to us about her own struggles and desire for adventure.
Dorie was indeed a kindred spirit. She worked at a job for 30 years and retired. Her work allowed her some travel, and she had done a bit on her own. She always thought she would travel more once she retired. However, circumstances changed and she found herself needing to step in to raise Michael. Just like that, her vision of her retirement years changed overnight. She became Michael’s caretaker.
You don’t even have to ask her how she feels about it. She is quick to say that Michael is her number one priority. That’s the kind of strong and caring woman that she is. She puts herself second and has a heart plenty big enough to do so with love and without complaint. But I could see in her eyes that it was tough. It would be a lot to ask of anyone, let alone someone who has already put in the work of working and raising a family.
I was inspired by Dorie’s strength and commitment, but couldn’t help feel sad for her yet unrealized dreams. We asked her where she would most like to travel and she mentioned driving up to see Yellowstone. We explained that we were hiking up through Yellowstone in a few months, and she seemed to light up at the idea of driving up with her sister to meet us there. She was part of our journey now, after all, and we were now part of hers.
I am not sure if Dorie will meet us in Yellowstone, but I do hope she finds a way to make time to go. She connected with all of us on Facebook before we left, interested in tracking our progress along the way. I hope that somehow our journey can ignite a spark within her and maybe her family can help her to take a trip for herself, because she deserves it!
Dorie was an absolute saint, and we all said as much as we walked down the street away from her house, waiving bye to her and Michael. Meeting then was one of the most touching experiences I’ve had on any trail. While Dorie is one of a kind, I’m quite sure her story is like many, many others who find themselves in a life they hadn’t quite imagined due to unforeseen circumstances. I think about this a lot, and no matter how tough these hiking adventures can be from time to time, no matter how painful, I am always grateful that I have the opportunity to pursue these dreams. It is one of the reasons that I write and make videos about these experiences. Because I am grateful, I share the experience with others who may never have the opportunity to do what I am doing, or may need a little inspirational nudge to find a way to have an adventure of their own.
We walked around through the hamlet of San Mateo on our way back to our route. Dorie had told us about her neighbors. They were all related in some way, either as Sandovals or Salazars. Everyone in the village was friendly and waived, and one gentleman stopped his truck to ask us some questions. It was clear that San Mateo did not see a lot of outsiders.
Often road walking experiences are exactly the opposite of this. As we left San Mateo, we just couldn’t stop talking about the kindness of the people there. It might just be America’s friendliest town!
We had to duck under a fence to continue on a dirt road after that. There was a water trough, and two horses, one white and one brown, came galloping over from the far side of the dirt field. They were very excited, and the white one danced back and forth. They weren’t sure what to make of us, but were very curious and seemed to be looking for snacks.
They both finally settled down and walked right next to Stormy, the brown one nuzzling up near his arm. Stormy has a way about him that seems to calm animals. We saw a white pickup coming our way, so we waited since we were in private land.
Dorie’s next door neighbor and cousin hoped out. He was clearly who the horses were waiting for. They immediately ran to the back of his pickup and began prematurely finding their snacks and eating them. The gentleman confirmed that we were heading in the right direction. The horses were either his daughter’s or granddaughter’s (I can’t remember which). He too had an easy demeanor and a kind way about him. We waived goodbye and headed north, a little sad to leave.
The rest of the day was spent waking on dirt roads. We ran into one cyclist riding the great divide and stopped to chat with her for a minute. Our day ended on the grounds of the Sandoval ranch, another Sandoval property that we had been told we could visit. We were looking for a man named Fredo (I believe Dorie’s cousin). We did not see him, but we had the water we needed so do not go down to the ranch building to see if he was there. The Sandovals had done more than enough for us already.
I was tired after a long, but great day. The others, however, convinced me to climb to the top of a mesa to camp with a view. “When will we be back?” Blueberry posed this rhetorical question, and she was right.
The view from the top was beautiful, though the wind made for a challenging tent setup. A few seconds is all we have sometimes in life to decide if we are going to do something, to take a risk, to choose the road less taken to see where it leads. Saying yes can feel hard, but it’s always the right answer.
I fell sleep as the wind went from whipping the walls of my tent, to massaging them in a calm breeze. I had no idea what I had done to deserve the day’s events. But that’s how life goes sometimes. When people are amazingly kind, I am grateful, and I am comforted by the reminder that the fabric of society is not woven together by political or economic lines, but with the thread of human experience, empathy, openness, kindness, and a little adventure in between.
Day 25 – Getting Back on the CDT
Day miles: 24.5
Trip miles: 460.5
I was surprisingly warm waking up this morning in the mesa. Lately it has been chilly enough to need a jacket, but this morning it was not necessary. I did not sleep well due to the wind picking up around 1am. My tent was poorly pitched and, as a result, flapped around in the breeze for hours. Nevertheless, I was up and ready to roll before 6:30.
I scrambled down the mesa and began what would be a long, hot day that would ultimately get us all back on the CDT. So far, our road walk around the fire closure had been fun, interesting, inspiring, and quite beautiful.
In some ways, today felt like we were hiking on the CDT. The landscape was chock full of mesas, arroyos, interesting rock formations, stunning backdrops and the occasional group of cows and rabbit or two. We walked along an old dirt road, which is common in many sections of the CDT in New Mexico. I really had to hand it to Towely, since this route was his brainchild. I was sad that he was not with us, though later today I found out that he was only a day behind and that his achilles was improving.
Most of the day was spent soldiering through the heat. There were two water sources today. One was 7 miles in, and the other about 16 miles after that. It seems like I’ve typically carried no less than 3 liters of water in New Mexico, with the exception of the Gila River section.
I was lost in thought most of the day, thinking about the Sandovals, pondering the next few days and the upcoming road walk to Chama. Soon enough I would be heading into the San Juans. My original plan was to enter the San Juans around June 15. I am running a few days ahead for a variety of reasons. This is fine – it’s just a ballpark date. I plan to take the next few days easy so that I can roll into Cuba early Tuesday morning for a nero, then head out the next day.
We mostly hiked separately today. We were all exhausted by the time we got to our second water source. It was a cattle trough that left little to the imagination. Various aquatic life – bugs, tiny minnows, wormy things and something that looked like a tiny seahorse, bopped around in the tank beneath clumps of green algae. A cow came over behind Stormy while he was filtering water and slurped from the tank.
I decided to treat the water with Aqua Mira drops rather than risk further clogging my filter. Yesterday I filtered water from a very silty cow trough and it took a heavy toll on my filter’s flow rate.
I scooped up two bottles of water and added my Aqua Mira treatment. I noticed a tiny seahorse swimming in one of my bottles. It would be dead soon, and I guess it will just be a tiny protein boost when I drink it. These are the things one gets used to on trail.
My feet are in good shape. My left foot feels great and my blisters are just calluses now. My right foot is largely ok, though I have a tender spot from a legacy blister in the pad of my foot that hasn’t fully healed. It is well on its way though, and I’m hoping that I’m good to go after that.
My feet and legs are filthy every day. It is so dry and dusty here that the dirt finds a way to permeate everything. I use my hands to rub as much dirt off of my feet as possible. I don’t otherwise clean them as I don’t want to use precious water on them and there is no real point. At this stage, they are accustomed to staying filthy.
My dried blister skin smells like dead fish. I sleep in my hiking clothes and don’t change out of them until I shower in town. Is just more efficient this way. My armpits smell like roadkill in the sun with a hearty portion of the onions from a McDonalds Big Mac heaped on top. My shirt has salt bands on it from sweating and my socks are hard from dirt, sweat, and blister juice. But, this is the life of a thru-hiker. I don’t think about these things much, and it is amazing how Easy it is to get used to being filthy all the time.
I’m loving having a new air mattress! I no longer have to wake up and inflate it in the middle of the night. The valve on the new Thermarest Neo Air Xlite mattress now has a one-way air flow system. This means that you don’t have to worry about air coming back out as you inflate. I am also enjoying having gaiters again. They are helping to keep rock and grit out of my shoes. Nothing can keep the dirt out though.
I camped up on a small plateau and should have a view of the sunrise in the morning. I am grateful to be back on the CDT and for my lovely campsite. It’s time to eat, and then for bed!
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