CDT: the nicest farmer in all of New Mexico

My CDT thru-hike is nearing its end, but New Mexico still has a few surprises in store. From the quirky charm of the infamous trail town “Pie Town” – no CDT thru hike is complete without a night in the iconic Toaster House – to the welcoming oasis of John’s Davila Ranch, and finally, the breathtaking beauty of the Gila.

„Did you build this just for the hikers?“

„I didn’t build this for the hikers.“ John pauses. „I built this for you“

106 – CDT legend: no toast in the toaster house

When I open my eyes I don’t recognise where I am. There are no stars above me and I am not lying in dirt. My elbow bumps into a wall. I’m in a house, on a mattress.

Last night comes back to me slowly, the memory of getting to the toaster house – a famous CDT stop.

When I opened the door to the quirky, old house, it seemed empty. No light, no sound, no stuff lying around, but it was also already pretty late. Grateful and covered in dust, I slipped into the shower before picking one of the rooms to sleep in, I was in the middle of changing when the door opens. No knock, it just swings right open. I freeze.

Half startled, half angry, I peer around the corner into the face of a man. 

“Oh hello, I didn’t notice that anyone is here”, I say, about to apologise for making noise this late when I realise that he just opened the door without knocking. I am still peering around the corner, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible.

“My bike is outside”

“It’s dark when I arrived, sorry. I’m about to go to bed”, I’m trying to give him a hint to leave me alone but he is still standing in the hallway.

“I get up around 06 am”, he says.

“Okay, I’ll probably still be asleep but don’t worry about me”

He is still standing there.

“Good night”, I reach out my arm to close the door before checking if it can be locked from the inside. I don’t remember if it does.

toaster house

If walls could talk

The next morning, I was alone, the house was empty and slightly eerie. The cyclist had left already.

I wander the hallways and examine the interior, art pieces and posters and stickers. But also toys and decorations and art supplies from a person who lived here. Someone pinned a story about Nita in the kitchen, the trail angel who started hosting already back in 1982. She and her family used to live here.

If the walls could talk, I bet they would have lots of great stories of adventurous souls to tell. It reminds me of the Lion’s Den in Mazama.

Pie in pie town

Pie town is a CDT trail town that everyone has heard of, way before passing through. Because of the toaster house, because it’s the one place you really gotta send a resupply package and because – well, there’s pie to eat!

At the post office, I grab my very last resupply box, ripping open the cardboard. That’s actually one I bounced a few times, since I packed a few of them back in Spokane in June and didn’t end up needing some. Wraps, candy, peanut butter, trail mix, chocolate bars, couscous, protein bars. All of this food seemed like a good idea 3 1/2 months ago. 2

The cafe is small but cozy, the owner fills a mug with coffee and puts a small coconut pie in front of me. 14$ – but when in Rome, right? It was worth every penny.

The nicest rancher of all New Mexico (and the CDT)`

„Did you build this just for the hikers?“

„I didn’t build this for the hikers.“ John pauses. „I built this for you“

Surely, he has said this line a hundred times, but I laugh anyways. When he first passed by he was wearing a dusty hoodie, now he’s dressed in a Canadian tuxedo* and cowboy boots. “Do you want anything from town?”, I shake my head.

*I just googled why it’s called Canadian Tuxedo: In 1951 Bill Crosby was heading to a fancy restaurant with his buddy, but they were turned away for wearing jeans before someone recognised Bill. When the story got out, Levis made a denim tuxedo for Bill, which became famous.

Hard to leave

John’s Davila Ranch is an oasis, tucked into a long stretch of private land south of Pie Town. It’s a relief after miles of road walking – 30 miles north of Pie Town, to be exact. Equipped with “luxuries” for a CDT thru hiker: showers, a flushing toilet, electricity, Wi-Fi, laundry machines, and a simple pantry stocked with food.

My laundry rumbles in the background as I dig my toes into the dirt, exhaustion washing over me. Yesterday, I hiked 50 miles. Today, I’ve planned another 25. Or maybe, just maybe, I could stay. I could shower in the morning, cook eggs for breakfast, and let myself rest. It’s tempting, but I have a schedule.

I always have a schedule. Once I set my mind to a timeline, I can’t let it go.

In less than two weeks, I’ll finish the CDT. And the strange thing is, I’ve realised I don’t want to stop. Part of me wants to turn around and do it all over again. I am not tired of camping, I am not tired of being outside or eating shitty thru hike food or moving all day. I have no interest in returning to “comfort”. Not yet.

Of course, I won’t yo-yo this thru hike. I am not on that level (yet). But if you asked me whether I’d hike the CDT a second time, the answer would be simple: absolutely. No doubt about it. This has been nothing short of amazing.

107 – thirsty on the CDT

The long dirt road winds through a pine forest – a welcome break from the exposed hiking in New Mexico.

Before lunch, I stop at a solar well, where water sputters from a pipe, provided the sun hits the solar panel just right. As I try to fill my bottles for the long, dry stretch ahead, the water comes in irregular bursts. Good thing I’m not in a rush.

After a gnarly climb – rewarded by just enough cell service to receive a trickle of messages from friends – I opt for the CDT alternate through Govina Canyon. Besides a few muddy puddles guarded by a distinct breed of long-horned cows, Govina is bone dry but stunningly beautiful. I take a careful sip of my water, knowing I won’t encounter another source until tomorrow.

At the beginning of New Mexico, I thought my newfound sense of ease was just about the weather. The wind here is a refreshing breeze rather than a bone-chilling force. Nights under the stars are warm, even in the dead of night. My hands are never cold.

But it’s not just the physical comfort. Something deeper has shifted in New Mexico. It’s as if I’ve been subconsciously searching for something – and now, here in the desert, the search feels complete.

108 – almost in the Gila

Dead bugs float on the surface, but the water in the cistern filters clear and cold. I’m too thirsty to care. More hunting camps are tucked away between the pines. A truck slows down, and a young man leans out, handing me two Gatorades. The excitement buzzing in me isn’t just from the sugar – I’m on the edge of the Gila, known to be one of the biggest highlights of the entire CDT.

Later that morning, the landscape shifts. Wide, golden pastures stretch out before me under a searing sun. Sweat runs down my back, soaking into my shirt. Farmers work the fields, their trucks kicking up clouds of dust as they pass, waving as if to say, You’ve got this. A horse trailer with Utah plates stops to check on me. I smile, nod, and mean it when I say, “More than okay.” As they drive away, I whisper it again, “More than okay.”

By evening, I descend to the Middle Fork of the Gila River, just north of Snow Lake. The CDT Gila alternate – practically mandatory for thru-hikers – offers two distinct routes. The low route winds through the canyon, crossing the river countless times, while the high route follows the cliffs and ridges, offering dramatic views. The good news? Connector trails make it possible to mix and match. The bad news? Deciding which route to take feels impossible.

I can do as I please

Grey clouds start to veil the baby-blue sky, I know I should set up my tent but I take my chances and opt for cowboy camping instead.

The canyon is shallow here, its grassy flats stretching between a meandering stream that’s generously called a river on my map. I sit cross-legged on the grass, my pack’s contents scattered around me like the remnants of a small explosion. Food wrappers, clothing, socks stiff with sweat, my battery pack.

It’s one of the last nights on trail. In just a few days, this chapter will end.

Except, it is not. Not if I don’t want it to be. „This is my life“, I remind myself. „I can do as I please“.

But can I? Society whispers otherwise, loud and insistent: This is just a phase. A little break from the grind. Time to pack it up, go home, and get your act together. Be normal again, okay?

American swallows

I glance at the horizon, where the sky blushes faintly as the sun dips lower. What if I keep going? Past the terminus, past the expectations? Plenty of thru hikers do – moving from one trail to the next, keeping the momentum alive like a stone forever rolling downhill.

I don’t know if I want that. But I could. I could spend every summer of my life on a trail somewhere, collecting miles and stories like loose change.

The thought spins through my mind, weightless and untethered, until it anchors itself to another realisation: How many nights will I spend cowboy camping under the stars? Like in total before I die? A lifetime could never feel like enough.

A bird swoops low across the flats. Is that a swallow? They say swallows flying low mean rain. But maybe that’s just in Europe.

Sometimes it feels like I’m living a double life, Maja and Pinecone.