CDT town Lima – like the bean

Day 31

My first CDT night hiking

It’s almost easy to get up at 1 am. Nighthiking to escape the heat and the bugs. What I didn’t think about: a) slower pace because it’s harder to navigate in the dark and b) bears?

While the air is almost pleasant, although not even cool at 2 am, and the biting flies are still fast asleep, I can’t say I’m having more fun going the wrong way and scanning the dark forest for eyes that reflect the light of my headlamp.

It’s so quiet, it’s eerie. No movement between the trees, no twigs snapping. The only animal up and roaming is the thru hiker.

By the time the sun goes up, I’ve only made it 10 miles. And then with daylight, there’s movement between the trees: a human.

From Glacier NP to Lima

Dressed in long pants, a jacket and a full brim hat, I didn’t recognize him at first. Maybe the 5 weeks on trail have changed him too. It’s Twilight. „I thought you’re way ahead!“ he says, we hadn’t seen each other since East Glacier. „I took some time off“, I explain.

He’s just packing up his things and as timing fits, we continue together. Catching up about previous sections and upcoming plans. I’m glad about company. I think we all are, after a few weeks on trail without seeing many hikers, we’re all in need for each other. He easily keeps up to my pace and doesn’t mind when I lose the faint trail in the tall grass a few times.

There’s a steep climb to a long long ridge walk, tracing the geographical continental divide, just before the trail crosses underneath the Interstate 15 in Idaho. Going up we spot something on the ridge line above us.

„Is that an animal or a hiker?“

„I think that‘s a hiker and going southbound too“. Childish excitement fills me, who is this? We climb up, I’m leading the pace, eager to know who this is.

„Oh it’s you“, I say.

„Of course it’s me, who else is out here?“, Fred replies.

We had met on day 2 in Glacier National Park. His hair is longer, his face is tan and he went from lean to skinny. Red swollen bites on his legs indicate he’s been suffering these past days just like I have.

Now it’s the 3 of us catching up while we climb up and down the ridge line. The price for the stunning views over Idaho is the burning in our quads. For a little while we all hike like ducklings in a row. I’ve seen tramilies do that and always wondered how does that work. Like clearly you can’t all have the same pace naturally?

Twilight and Fred tell me they’ve waited in Leadore for half a day, waited for other sobos to show up. But no one did. The solitude is eating at us. Or at least at Fred and me. On the PCT, being alone was a choice. We always had others around us, we passed by camps or lunch breaks and could have just crashed their party. But on the CDT, you can go days without seeing anyone. Or actually, you have to.

Don’t get me wrong, that’s kinda beautiful too. And there’s enough thru hikers who are chasing that type of experience. I once thought I was one of them too. But now, seeing their backpacks in front of me, knowing they’ll be there tonight for dinner. Even if I barely know them, it’s something.

“I’m from Munich”

After a grueling, hot, dusty road walk, we’re sitting in a cool I15 underpass. Waiting for our shuttle from the motel to pick us up at 5 when a white pickup slows down next to me. The driver is wearing thick glasses and looks down on me sitting in the dust, my arms slung around my dirty, scratched, mosquito bite covered legs.

„What are you up to?“, he says with a thick accent. I can barely understand him. He doesn’t seem friendly.

„We‘re waiting for our shuttle to get to Lima“

He looks down on my dirty feet. Looks at me again.

„Where are you from?“

„Two of us are from Germany.“ I point at Twilight, „he’s from California. And there’s a fourth one, from Switzerland“

„Where in Germany?“ His accent seems to swallow half of the words. It feels like an interrogation. I don’t think I want a ride from these guys.

„I’m from Munich“ I’m not. But no one knows my home town.

He nods, „I’ve been there“ and now there’s a faint trace of a smile on his face. „We can get you to Lima“, he gets out of the car and starts moving things from the backseat.

Lima like the bean

The little town of Lima is a tiny but welcome surprise. A gas station with fully stocked shelves: fresh fruit, joghurt, protein bars, burritos, ice cream pints, pickles. The owner of the motel hands us plush towels and a key to the shower – which is basically an unused motel room, dark and brown, true 70ies style. For 10 bucks we camp on the property.

The only restaurant in town is unexpectedly lively and busy on a Thursday. Locals with big hats are lined up at the bar, there’s a shotgun propped up next to the cashier. The glass eyes of a giant moose head looking down on us. And in the middle of the room is an open grill, where the grill master is flipping steaks and burgers, waving the waitress over impatiently. 

I let myself fall on a leather bar stool next to Twilight and Fred, taking the atmosphere in with eager curiosity. This is as real as it gets and at the same time feels like being in a movie. 
Lima, like the bean, not too shabby.