Total Weekly Mileage: 242.2
“I Froze”
Onto the basin: 120 miles of flat, exposed high desert walking. Mostly roads, with cattle troughs for water. After picking up my eighth pair of shoes, fresh socks, and a new hat, I headed out of South Pass City. Rawlins was my next stop—a big town the trail goes right through. After 10 miles to finish the day, I did a 45, 43, and 23 into town. I wanted a 50, but lightning and thunderstorms forced me to pitch earlier than planned.
My phone was dead and I was out of food by the time I arrived in Rawlins, which was no big deal because I had planned on taking a nero and using the microwave in my room at the Econo Lodge to heat up multiple over-processed, shitty foods and put myself into a food coma for the remainder of the day. This plan was not to happen—or at least part of it. Rawlins was in a complete blackout when I arrived. Apparently, a lightning strike the night before had knocked out a transformer, and all power was out. The only place open was a food truck in town making killer burgers. Forty-five minutes later, I got mine and checked into the room with no power, then slept until it kicked back on. I was more tired than I thought and was out for two hours, which felt like fifteen minutes.
I headed over to the grocery store, which had thrown out all their frozen food and deli items—basically anything that needed refrigeration was gone. My food options were basically the things I buy for the trail, so no microwave usage for me! Walmart had the same issue. Apparently, the power had been out since 8 p.m. the night before, and it was 1 p.m. the next day by this point. I was able to buy a new 20,000 mAh power bank. No more messing around with power or waiting forever for things to charge. I now had 30,000 mAh in total.
I was back on trail at 9:30 the next morning, well-fed and well-rested. The weather was perfect, and the road walk would be long. I caught six hikers taking a hitch 30 miles up trail. There have been so many people skipping—it seems like it’s getting worse every year. I feel bad for the hikers who actually hike the trails.
The sky was clear when I called it a day at 10:45, so I decided to cowboy camp under the stars. At 3:30 a.m., I was getting rained on. Instead of setting up my tent, I just started hiking. Groggy and grumpy, I pushed on in the rain, expecting the sky to clear at some point so I could dry all my things. This never happened. By 10 a.m., I was soaked to the bone. The wind was whipping too, cutting right through all five layers I had on. I couldn’t feel my fingers and was paranoid about pulling my phone out too much, worried it would get destroyed.
The small town of Encampment was not part of my plan, but I needed to get dry and warm. By 12:30, I reached the road—shivering and spent. It was so foggy I didn’t think I’d ever get a ride, but as luck would have it, the first truck to pass stopped for me. Brian saved me. He dropped me off in town, and I got one of the last remaining cabins. No TV, but dry and a hot shower was all I cared about. There are always a few showers I remember on each one of these hikes, and this would be one of them (the other was back in Chester, CA, when the pay shower cut out on me while I was covered in soap).
Back on trail at 10:30 the next day, thanks to a cool dude named Jimmy, I pushed hard to make it to the border of Colorado. I did by 5:45 and ate and talked with “Rabbit,” who, only two months ago, had left his Amish family to pursue thru-hiking. I asked if his real name was Jedadiah—it was Ben. I pushed another 10 miles out of there, and the next day started hitting rain yet again, but was still able to hit a respectable mileage for the week, even with two half days.
Now it’s onto the big mountains, and it’s starting to get chilly.
