Here we are in Big Bear, at mile 270- something. We're grateful to be staying at David Foltz' (friend of my parents) house here. It's wonderful to be in a real house again, and especially nice to be staying with such a welcoming host. There are so many people who kindly reach out to hikers in all sorts of ways -- offering lodging, rides, food, water, and more. In trail talk they're called "trail angels" and they mete out "trail magic." Certainly we feel blessed by such generosity. Many of them are people who have hiked the trail before and are intimately aware of the difficulty of hiking long, hot stretches of trail with no water, so they establish water caches where they are most needed. Some of them even throw in some fresh fruit or soda. The biggest trail angels of course end up being our personal ones, our friends and family without whom our adventures wouldn't be possible. They offer immense emotional and substantive support. My mom, who is in charge of our mail drops, always makes sure that we're getting exactly what we need and want in each package. It is an incredible amount of work, and those packages are so appreciated. Asking someone for this kind of support seems so demanding. Of course, I've realized by now that kids make such extreme demands of their parents from birth, without even realizing it. At least now I can attempt to say thanks (THANKS!!).

Our last 4 days have been the roughest so far. The day after we left Idyllwild we descended off the San Jacintos via a ridiculous trail that did in 20 miles what it could have done in 7. We would switchback for miles away from where we were going and then uphill before looping back around and coming to essentially the same point as where we started. The trail was also shadeless and we hiked it in the middle of a horrible heat spell, when the temperature climbed to 115 F, with water sources 20 miles apart. We watched with dismay as the horrible desert floor grew closer at a painfully slow pace. We didn't want to go down there! But we wanted to get to where we were going! When we finally crossed the Colorado desert near Cabazon and Palm Springs it was dark and always windy, with wind turbines whirring in the distance on what is aptly called Windy Point. We hiked under the tunnels of roaring I-10 and passed out in a field by a decaying suburb. It would be the lowest point on the trail until the Columbia River Gorge in Oregon. It was loud and hot and terrifying. By far the most unpleasant place we had experienced so far on our hike. The next morning we hiked back down to the highway to hitch a ride to Palm Springs to recover from swollen/blistered feet and heat exhaustion. That day was only meant to be 111 degrees but regardless we checked into Motel 6 and spent the day camped in our room watching gems like "The Family Guy" and "Navy SEALs." We attempted to leave the room at 5pm in our rain gear to buy supplies, as our laundry was still in the machine, but we scurried back into our AC camp as soon we felt the scorching sun, past strange looks from the patrons of the swimming pool. We managed to walk to the outdoor supply store Big 5 at 6:30pm, where I purchased a pair of 9.5 double wide men's shoes to sooth my newly swollen feet. We ordered a taxi to take us back to the trail that night at 4:15am so that we could beat the day's projected 108 degree heat. We thankfully managed to gain some elevation before it got too hot.

And this morning we woke to snow pelting the roof of the tent. California is something else entirely. And we've only seen a tiny part of it so far. Wild.

Love,
Michelle

re: windy point
Michelle, you forgot to mention waking up to terrible ravenous hordes of red (biting) ants crawling through all our clothes and getting in all our food, but I guess that wasn't really memorable compared to the heat...

I knew that place was bad news when I noticed that the cactus were wilting in the sun.

Basically, I learned 2 simple things in hell, er I mean "windy point":

1. 115 deg F and zero shade... no

2. I learned a second thing but I don't remember because my brain was completely fried from the unbearable hellhole furnace called Windy Point.

Actually, a more appropriate name for Windy Point would be "Death Zone" or "Stinging Sands" or "Apocalyptic Valley of the Damned", but then maybe nobody would want to live there.

and I learned one thing at the Motel 6:

3. Navy SEALs are our best defense against evil-doing terrorists, especially when those hardcore commandos are led by Charlie Sheen.

It's soooo good to be getting back into the mountains! Huge thanks from me too, Kay. I wanted to talk to you on the phone, but I never seem to get a chance. And I'll call soon, Mom and Dad.

And thanks so much to Dave Foltz for pasta, steak and all-you-can-eat shrimp. mmmmmmm

love!
gerald/gerry