20240613 Wrightwood to Lake Isabella (mile 653)

Writing this from Lake Isabella where we are staying at the Kern Motel, so named for the river Kern which flows down south from the Sierra through this way. The area has seemingly seen better days. At the gas station slash liquor store, the shelves seemed empty of most things, apart from energy drinks (four new looking fridges, stacked with colourful cans and humming loudly), fish bait, and dick pills. The vibe was upbeat enough and the spotty teen behind the counter was holding himself well against the seemingly endless onslaught of requests and retributions from the customers coming in and out. I purchased four Evians and a small bottle of Jim Beam and headed back to the laundromat where Grace waited with Two Books and Big Shrimpin' (trail names now becoming the standard way of referring to anybody). In the blazing heat I was glad that we had made it down off the hills, even if the town displayed all the hallmarks of a place grown a bit too comfortable with its methamphetamine usage. It really felt like we were out in the heart of the desert now, which felt strange given the enormous lake for which the town took its name, and the knowledge that we had got off trail to hitch a ride here at Walker Pass - typically seen by many to be the official end of the desert section.

The journey from Wrightwood had been eventful, and it seemed a very long time ago that we had set out for a slushy afternoon ascent of Mt Baden Powell. The delirium of the days that followed hardly seems real enough to recount, and involved impromptu pizza parties in the desert, a collection of crusty outbuildings in the middle of nowhere known as 'Hikertown', and an all-night march through the Mojave along the Los Angeles aqueduct, a notoriously desolate section of the trail. The aqueduct walk had marked the beginning of a surreal 48 hours, beginning in Hikertown and ending in the sleepy town of Tehachepi. It had been an oddly dark night, with the new moon barely rising and just the lights of the stars and the distant town of Lancaster to give us any indication as to the landscape. The stars themselves were incredibly clear, and it was interesting to mark the passing of time by the progress of the constellations overhead, and to watch as the core of the milky way ebbed into and out of view as the night wore on.

Despite being over 500 miles into the trail at that point, it had felt like our first introduction to the real desert, due in part no doubt that it had coincided with an early-June heatwave. With temperatures soaring to 105F (I am still unsure what this meant in real money, but as more than one person remarked to us, it was 'hot as balls'), we had been relieved to finally roll down off the windswept hills at dawn two days later to Tehachepi.

The Tehachepi stop had been long awaited by myself as the triumphant arrival of a new pair of glasses to replace those which I had lost at Mission Creek around a month earlier. It was also, however, the chance for me to lose something else in predictable fashion, and for a firm reminder of the fundamental goodness of many people.

Tehachepi, like many of the trail towns we have visited, is more of an extended and decentralised suburb, and it is not immediately clear where the centre lies. Tehachepi is regarded fondly by many hikers for its hearty selection of eateries (I had a delicious Tom Yum and Pad Thai at the wonderfully named Thaihachepi on our first night), accommodation options, and general good vibes towards the seasonal hikers passing through around this time. When it came to resupply there was no debating that the enormous Walmart would be the main option for those who had no sent themselves a box to the post office. We planned to not only buy enough food for the 6 days to Lake Isabella, but to also send ourselves a box of supplies to Kennedy Meadows, the gateway to the Sierra Nevada mountains, and a known iffy spot for buying food and other goods needed for the hike. Laden as we were at the checkouts with our bags stuffed full of ramen, instant mash, electrolytes and cat food-esque sachets of tuna, an older couple behind us in the queue struck up conversation with us.

Are you PCT hikers?

Sure are.

How wonderful! Let me guess where you're from.

And so it went on. A conversation we are well rehearsed in by now - but one which never gets old nonetheless. We learned that their names were Greg and Lorrie, and by the time we had all made it to the car park they were insisting that they give us a ride back to the post office - a short drive or a baking hot 1.3mi road walk (unfortunately pedestrians are second class citizens in the land of the free, the only country where I have ever encountered drive thru ATMs).

Hardly believing our luck, and thanking them profusely, we bid them goodbye, grabbed our packs from the boot, and skipped into the air conditioned lobby of the post office.

Shit.

What?

I've left all the food in their car.

Panicked, I dashed back out to the car park, but of course it was too late. With no idea really who our benefactors were, what car they were driving or how to contact them, all I could do was curse. I had enough food to get me back on trail, but nothing to post ahead to Kennedy Meadows, and apart from anything else I felt that a morning had been wasted in Walmart when I could have been doing other more important town things, like sitting down and scrolling on my phone.

I got my glasses, and we had plenty of sympathy from the other hikers in the post office, but I was hardly in the mood, and skulked off to the improbably delicious Kohnen's Bakery to eat an eclair and lick my wounds while the afternoon heat died out. They also sold postcards and Hofbräu München, and so by the time we began thinking about how to get back to the trailhead later that afternoon I was in much repaired spirits. It was then that I received a text:

Hi Danny, this is Windwalker. Are you two missing a food bag?

Bingo. Windwalker was an ex-zookeeper turned aviation instructor who we had been hiking with since the aqueduct (he got his name for his flatulent hiking style). He had stayed at the same hotel as us the night before, and it didn't take long to follow the thread and discover that Greg and Lorrie had left a message for us. Against all probability, they had not only remembered the hotel we had stayed at and left us a message with the front desk, but also, it transpired, driven around town for quite some time looking for us, including going all the way to the trailhead (twenty minutes away!).

On the phone to Lorrie I apologised for the hassle and explained that we were not going to go hungry and that the food was intended to be posted ahead, to which she immediately insisted that she would send it ahead for us and stoutly refused all offers to reimburse them for the trouble.

The kindness of strangers has been genuinely humbling on this trip, and I am touched at the lengths people have gone to to help us on our way. While Lorrie and Greg undoubtedly deserve special mention for going the extra mile, I have lost count of the number of smiling faces that have greeted us at trailheads with water, snacks, or, best of all, ice cold cans of coke. The hitches in particular have been a blessing, not least because they so often come at the end of a long stretch of walking, when you most desperately need a ride to town to clean yourself and eat something that does not need to be rehydrated with filtered river water. Having been told that the hitch to Lake Isabella was a difficult one, we had barely been stood at the, road for five minutes before a smiling Australian pulled over for us. Grinning in a vest and snapback, he turned a GoPro to each of us in turn as we introduced ourselves, revealing to us once we were in the car and hurtling downhill towards town that he was a budding YouTuber and was in the middle.of making a travel video about a road trip up through the Sierra and into Death Valley. He was an extremely interesting man, and wasted no time at all in telling us about his research into Bigfoot, and about his calling as a spiritual medium - even going so far as to give Two Books a reading right there in the car. Stunned into silence, I could tell she was in awe.

Back in Lake Isabella, I passed a large sign for 'guns and ammo' next to a prefab church and a boarded up RadioShack. A shirtless man on a bicycle gave me a leathery stare as I walked along the sidewalk in my pyjamas. I smiled to myself - we were now roughly 25% of our way through the hike. What a life.

Having a lovely time.