Week 3 Mileage: 265.6
“Big miles, big resupply”
Imagine a place like Hiker Town, and that’s pretty much it—a fenced-off area in the middle of the low desert, scattered with trailers and small buildings. That’s where I was headed, needing to grab my box of prepackaged, over-processed food and get back on the trail.
I arrived at 6:20, having already covered 37.4 miles that day. Picked up my box, took a shower, and even did laundry in the shower—classic hiker trash behavior at Hiker Town! A fellow thru-hiker named Trash Panda gave me some extra food, and I quickly realized I hadn’t sent enough for the upcoming 186-mile stretch. I scarfed down a burrito and a Double-Double from In-N-Out, then charged my gear as much as possible before hitting the California aqueduct. I camped 3.7 miles out of town.
The next morning, I trekked across an exposed desert floor through a wind farm. The heat was brutal, and the wind was relentless. With every step, I fought against gusts that drained my energy.
That day, I met two German hikers, Lenny and Yanny, who had an unusual story from the night before. They heard whimpering near the trail and discovered an abandoned puppy. They could see two glowing eyes—probably coyotes—stalking the little guy, so they rescued him and planned to take him to Tehachapi. They named him Skippy.
By 9 p.m., I had knocked out 38 miles and was closing in on Tehachapi. The next day meant a big climb out—finally past all that relentless wind, nearly 40 miles of it. Now, I was approaching the high desert and Kennedy Meadows—my big stop.
Waiting for me there: my ice axe, microspikes, bear canister, and six days of food. My friends from back home, Captain Planet and Birdo, were on the trail just ahead. I kept seeing their names in logbooks—planning to reach Kennedy Meadows by 5/21. That meant big mileage days for me. After a 38-mile push, I camped in the low desert, then pushed for a 43.5.
It might sound extreme, but I was cruising through the desert, trying to keep my miles-per-day average high before hitting the Sierra.
That morning, I had 22.5 miles left and was on the trail by 4:45 a.m. About 30 minutes later, I heard footsteps behind me—it was Birdo, grinning.
We hiked to the next water source, where Captain Planet and his trail family caught up. Five hikers in total, with one I hadn’t met yet—Nick (can’t remember his trail name) and one named Gerbal. No reference to Richard Gere.
We hiked the rest of the way to Kennedy Meadows together. On these long hikes, especially when chasing records, isolation starts to wear on people. Mental toughness is everything. After four out of five seasons chasing the big hikes and covering 15,000 trail miles, I’m used to it. I can handle four, five, or even six days solo, but having a little human conversation now and then definitely helps.
Kennedy Meadows was packed—more hikers than I had ever seen there, around 30. As I approached, the familiar bell rang, followed by applause from the deck, marking another hiker’s completion of the desert stretch.
It was my fifth time arriving here, and it never gets old. I recognized someone coming down the steps toward me—Phish, a buddy from my first attempt back in ’21.
After catching up, I got to work. I wanted to leave by 5 p.m. I had averaged 37.2 miles per day through the desert and wanted to keep up the momentum.
I ate a ton, resupplied, took a cold shower, did laundry, snapped a few pictures, and sent a postcard to Grandma. Then, at 6 p.m., I hit the trail again—carrying the heaviest pack of the hike.
This was it—entering the hardest section of the hike. My goal was to cover the 201 miles through the toughest part of the Sierra in six days.
I’d done it faster, and I’d done it slower. Phish told me the snowpack was like it was for us in ’21—really low. But I was skeptical. I had a feeling it would be more like last year—five-plus miles of snow before and after each pass.
Most PCT hikers take time to rest and resupply in towns. For me, that takes too much time and extra effort. I prefer the challenge—keeping a 30-miles-per-day average through the hardest section of my entire 7,500-mile journey. No cherry-picking sections to avoid snow—I’m heading straight into it, for the fourth time in early season. Bring it on.
