CDT Day 4 (5/22/23)

Miles 69.1-99.8 (30.7 miles)

Verbatim

14 miles by 10:15 this morning has me in the Lordsburg Chatterbox. I did a lot of positive day dreaming this morning, a result of a pretty good night’s sleep. I imagined pastoring at —— as a way of being close to L. I imagined how simple it would be to mature and grow a church community. Just be kind, thoughtful, grateful, empower community member’s gifts, and eat together. It would be fun and special. I’m ready to step into a career and pastor. Whether things with L go well or not. I am well. It’s good to hike, and to finish hiking. Then it will be good to work and save and provide for myself.

It was moving cattle day on the ranch this morning. A truck with horse trailer came rumbling along the road we shared. Four horses w/ riders, two cattle herding dogs (border collie and a weird husky mix?), and the truck driver came hoping out. The female driver, an older woman, told me they were moving cattle and that if I seemed to be in the way I should hide. I presume she wanted me to leave the cows’ movements undisturbed. They were gathering the herd this day to vaccinate and brand new calves.

I’m noticing that right now, at noon while I sit in Kranberry’s, that I’m feeling quite a bit of anxiety. I’m looking at the map north towards New Mexico. The state seems so big, with lots of different options and strategies available. I’m alone out here, and the securities in my life I’d counted on the last two years are absent. It’s literally all I can do to keep walking forward. So, that’s what I will do. I think I’ll enjoy a really minimal amount of food, because I know I can get more at the Burro Mountain Homestead to take me to Silver City. From there it will be more of a carry.

I’m remembering that I missed the opportunity to grab the “animal pasta” plastic wrapper that housed the pasta L and I shared two nights ago.

Here in Kranberry’s there’s a group forming in the event room. Many of them are wearing “Lordsburg class of 1970” T-shirts. It’s quite charming to see these older folk from a small town enjoying each other’s company so much. There’s probably fifteen people sitting around a large table. Small town America.

There was no water at the engineer’s windmill. I’m too tired to carry on, so I camped about a mile later. I think I may be just past 100. Let’s check. Apparently I’m at 99.8. That’s good enough for me. Happy 100 Andrew. You did it in four days. Maybe take it a bit slower for a bit. Your calves have some intense sunburn, and your tendons and joints are sore. The miles need not destroy you. Now, to ration a liter of water through the night.

Post Note

This day’s journaling was compiled at all sorts of different points of the day. I remember searching for, and not finding, a grasshopper in Kranberry’s. Nice! I also remember peeing by a water cache that morning. I probably shouldn’t have done that. But, just four days in, I was already choosing to not do the extra work of walking fifteen more steps to liquidate when the urge arrived. It’s incredible what the trail will do to you.

The cows were cool that morning. I did indeed do some ducking and weaving through a wash in which cows were being driven against me. Writing this brings to mind a memory from the CDT in 2022, when I was hustling along with a herd of cows being driven by cowboys. The stampede of forty cows behind you is terrifying. Walking into and through cattle was also intimidating, but I had the advantage of the tumbles and twists and chaparral of a rugged wash.

I did indeed miss my first plastic of the trip… the animal pasta wrapper. Dang… Nothing’s perfect I guess.

I washed my first humus container in the bathroom sink of Kranberry’s. I didn’t want it to smell. I didn’t want to be mauled by a Grizzly in four months because I had rot in my bag. That sort of dedication to “doing my dishes,” as I called it, was not going to last.

On the walk out of Lordsburg there were so. many. grasshoppers. Biblical proportions. Really.

The most important memory from the day is from Kranberry’s. A really gentle, sweet, and excitable young girl sat with her father in the booth behind me. She was probably five or six? I passed them often as I made my way back and forth to the buffet line. When I finally got up to leave she was dancing in the aisle outside her booth. She said, “Are you okay?” and pointed to the ACE wrap surrounding my knee. I thanked her for being so inquisitive and caring about my wellness. I said that no, I was not okay (which is quite the contrast to my “I am well” statement I wrote in the journal that evening). But that my not being okay was in fact okay. I was doing a lot of walking and with that came a lot of pain. I think it was a significant conversation for both of us. It certainly was for me. Her dad finally pulled his face out of his phone and sort of condemned/shamed his daughter back into the booth. Dude. Let your daughter be the awesome kid she was being. She was living her life while you were too busy to live yours. She’s calling you into life. Put your phone down.