CDT: From Lava Fields to Pie – Grants to Pie Town

Between Grants and Pie Town, the CDT turns into another “choose your own adventure.” We can endure long road walks, wrestle with scorching black lava fields, or attempt a blend of both. It’s a stretch that tests our patience — fortunately, the promise of fresh pies at journey’s end makes everything just a little sweeter.

CDT Day 122 — Roadwalk out of Grants

Most hikers, ourselves included, pick the Bonita-Zuni Alternate out of Grants — yes, it’s 10 miles longer, but we’re talking mostly gravel and dirt roads instead of anxiety-inducing highway shoulders. And, it still takes you a bit through the lava fields if you connect to the Cebolla alternate (which is 95% road walking). This version cuts off quite some slow-going miles through the extensive lava fields on the red line. 

In the morning, we schedule a bus to pick us up at 11 am to get to the post office, which is quite a bit away from the cheaper motels and the Walmart. It takes us some time to rearrange all our packages at the post office. We pick up a box of our beloved dehydrated dinners as well as medication, sending a resupply box ahead to Pie Town (which basically only sells pie), bouncing our spare gear box ahead to Silver City, and shipping gear back to Ryan’s home base in California.

The staff at this post office isn’t making it easy for us, being very strict with all kinds of rules. It’s the first time at USPS that they don’t bounce our unopened box for free (something every other trail town post office did without blinking). And, make us after-pay for our unopened bounce box from Chama. Because they are not Priority. Apparently, all the other post offices on trail are bouncing unopened non-priority boxes for free out of courtesy? I’m not sure.

Leaving the post office, the lure of town comforts is still too strong to resist. The Bonita-Zuni route starts at the western edge of Grants, but getting there without distractions is like trying to pass a gauntlet of temptations. First, to get a fuel can at the seemingly only place in town who sells them right now — the 1912 market, a little delicatessen-giftshop-coffeeplace. We discover that they make panini, so we get them to pack them out. They never make it to our backpacks, though because we decide to eat them right away.

Next, we bump into 9 Lives and Sidequest, who share our town strategy: Staying in the room until checkout (mostly 11 am) to get our money’s worth, then have lunch and/or find a place to pack out something nice to eat (usually a sandwich if available) out from, then start walking/hitching.

Then, we don’t want to walk back in the opposite direction to get to a sandwich shop that we didn’t hear anything great about anyway and Domino’s is next door, so pizza it is. We then hit McDonald’s for cheap Powerade refills. Ryan tops it off with a milkshake that promptly makes him regret his choices this morning as he ate far too much. So, yeah, a typical town departure for a thru-hiker.

Okay, but now, we finally start walking. No distractions anymore, we promise. We cross a big interstate via a bridge that has a highway that is no picnic either. No sidewalk, but at least a decent shoulder keeps us semi-safe. The scenery shifts to a dusty outskirt of mobile homes guarded by barking dogs, Trump flags, and bullet-riddled signs. It’s not pretty, but it’s definitely not boring, there is a lot to look at.

This road isn’t too bad to walk on as it’s not very busy and most cars slow down for us, but it’s still not pleasant. This makes me look up deaths on the CDT and if anyone ever died on a highway walk. I found one, but I’m sure there is a large dark figure. Walking on any kind of highway is the most dangerous there is on the entire CDT, in my opinion.

The pavement gives way to gravel as we enter a canyon. We looked forward to this one as asphalt roads are hard on our joints. The dust kicked up by passing trucks coats our teeth. It’s a Friday, which apparently means everyone and their cousin is out joyriding on these back roads. We’d have packed fewer snacks if we knew we’d be inhaling a five-course dust meal. At least the scenery is nice: desert grasslands mingling with oaks, steep rock walls loom on either side. Even an abandoned sofa and TV set, like someone tried to furnish the canyon as an open-air living room. We keep our spirits up by playing music and dancing as we go.

We get to an electric well, the first place after 11 miles to get water. Next one is in another 6 miles (also an electric well), then 3 miles (a windmill). We get it confirmed by Shovel and Ready who are in front of us as they got out early today. The water situation on the Bonita-Zuni Alternate is pretty good.

There even is reception, so Ryan can watch his baseball game (he’s a big Dodgers fan). I write, he cheers for the Dodgers, and we share cold leftover pizza in our little dust-kissed oasis.

CDT Day 123 — Hiking on a 3,800-year-old Lava Field 

This morning is so cold, I even have to put my rain pants on to keep the cold wind away. My mind leaps ahead to the Gila River section, where we’ll cross that stream over a hundred times. Rising early to dip my toes in frigid river water at dawn? Uh, no thanks. Just thinking about it has me shivering.

There is an unusual amount of traffic in the morning. Turns out it’s the opening day of deer hunting season. A friendly truck stops and the driver fills us in, explaining all the comings and goings. Not long after, we hit our next water source — just a trickle from a pipe into a trough buzzing with bees. Some of them drowned in the water. I guess we’re sharing the well with them. Bee-flavored water, anyone? It tastes just fine. A flock of beautiful small blue birds shows up, chattering happily and splashing around like they’re at a feathered pool party.

A few miles later, we reach a windmill — the last water for the next 22 miles. It’s liquid, but let’s just say it wouldn’t win any taste tests. Brownish, hay-infused barn water. Even crystal light can’t rescue this flavor fiasco. We are learning to hoard good tasting water when it presents itself as you don’t know what the next will bring.

After connecting back to the CDT’s red line, we face the infamous lava fields — 3,800-year-old basalt formations that test your patience. We follow it for 7 miles NOBO to go over to the Cebolla alternate. And it makes us regret our choices. At least we’re not following the red line SOBO, that goes through these lava fields for days. Even if there would be a soda waiting at a visitor center on the way. 

For the first half hour, it’s fascinating: bizarre, rugged terrain that could’ve come straight from Mordor. But after that initial wonder wears off, it’s a nightmare obstacle course: we have to be careful not to fall into one of the crevices, don’t twist our ankles or fall and cut our skin open on the sharp rocks that would act as human cheese graters. We get lost all the time, as the piles of rocks that make up the cairns in all these pile and rocks are difficult to find. It’s like we’re playing hide-and-seek with them. The sun beats down, and to top it off, we’re sipping on that hot barn water. 

By the time we escape the black rocks, we vow never again. I’d take the boring highway route if I did this over. I’m suer it sucks, too, but at least it’s fast. Instead, we spend hours moving at a snail’s pace, cursing the lava and longing for shade and something, anything, other than animal-flavored hydration. It might be nice as a day hike, when you can take your time and marvel at all the details, but when you’re trying to get somewhere it’s just frustrating. This section from Grants to Pie Town might be the worst one on the CDT. Lots of road walking and these tedious lava fields.

We scramble out of the lava fields just as the sun dips below the horizon. Relief washes over me. Getting stuck in that maze in the dark is a horror show waiting to happen. It would be easy to get lost or to end up like the guy in the 127 hour movie. Instead, we emerge onto a highway shoulder, under a sky fading to indigo. Rock formations loom on either side, and I can finally relax enough to notice how cool they are.

We walk alongside the road while it’s getting dark. At least there is a wide shoulder to hop onto when traffic is approaching. In the light of our headlamps, we reach the La Ventana Arch. After dinner, we wander closer under the starlight. The arch stands tall and majestic, like a silent, ancient window into the universe. The night is warm, the sky full of stars, and for a moment, the day’s frustrations melt away. Tomorrow we’ll see it in daylight, but right now, beneath the cosmos, it’s pure magic.

CDT Day 124 — The Arch, the Mesa and a Long Road Walk

Waking up this morning, I’ve already softened my stance on the lava fields. It was simply type 2 fun. The one that isn’t fun at all while you’re doing it, but afterward you’re glad you did it. It probably didn’t help that we did it at the end of our day.

Today’s first challenge: a Ley Alternate that climbs right up the mesa beside the La Ventana Arch. It’s a fun little scramble, and every puff of exertion is worth it. From the rim, we survey a jaw-dropping panorama: endless black lava fields stretching like ancient scars, yesterday’s rock formations standing guard, and the cliff is stunning on its own. We’re following the rim and initially, it’s more cross-country with some occasional cairns. Then we link up with the Narrows Rim Trail — sort of. We keep losing it, sidestepping cacti and trying not to add “feet full of spines” to our list of misadventures. I make it out unscathed, but Ryan wasn’t so lucky, a cactus poked through his shoe into his foot.

This route definitely takes longer than highway walking, but who wants to stare at asphalt all day? We’ll be getting more than enough of that on the road to Pie Town. Might as well savor this scenic detour. After all, the section to Pie Town is only as ugly as you make it.

Down off the mesa, we return to highway life. Road walking is a monotonous affair. Not much changes around us, walking straight for miles on end, occasionally pulling over for a bypassing car. Thankfully, traffic is light and most drivers pull over to give us space. We wave to show our gratitude for the extra buffer as they are driving fast enough to hit us with a gust of wind as they pass. We decide to try our luck and throw our thumbs out to get a hitch 3 miles down the highway where we get on a dirt road to reach a water source, the first one after a 22 mile carry. We’re still drinking the rest of the barn water, and I’m eager to get better water.

Richard stops, a wildfire fighter fresh off a hurricane clean-up in North Carolina. He’s hiked the Arizona Trail and part of the CDT, so he knows the drill and kindly gives us a ride. He says he’s always willing to help out hikers, as he himself knows how this is. Richard also bestows upon us magical gifts: water, Gatorade, electrolyte powder. Finally, something that doesn’t taste like hot barn water. Sometimes, a small act of kindness can make your entire day. With the hitch, we made up for the lost time on the slow-going alternate this morning.

Feeling rejuvenated, we slog a mile down a dirt road to a solar-powered well. It provides much better water from the pipe that comes out of the ground. It’s a little tricky to reach but worth it as the water from the tub again tastes like the same barn water.

We backtrack to the highway, choosing efficiency over novelty, as this way is 3 miles shorter. It’s a boring walk and there is plenty of trash along the way. The roadside litter is like a twisted gallery of human carelessness: fast food wrappers, cans, an entire box of empty Corona beer bottles, Gatorade bottles full of pee, condom wrappers, and even a fleshlight. The backstory behind that last one is a mystery we may never solve, but we offer each other theories, ranging from tragic love affairs to bizarre late-night dares.

Finally, we ditch the highway for a gravel road — a ridiculously straight, 31-mile line to Pie Town. It reminds me of the Basin. Where you walk and walk and don’t seem to make much progress. But actually, we do, as it’s fast walking on these flat easy roads. It also got really hot, hard to believe for end of October. 

But the best part about the road walk is the trail magic we get here. Multiple cars stop, offering oatmeal pies, grapes, oranges — an impromptu buffet in the middle of nowhere. Life is pretty good. One of the kind souls is Nana Man in his trusty orange Subaru, shuttling other hikers around who are sick of this road walk. We can’t blame them.

We have dinner aside the road while the sunset creates beautiful swirls in the peachy sky. Then we push on in the dark, guided by starlight and a desire to reach TLC Ranch, where hikers can camp and get water. Night hiking here is easy — no traffic anymore, simple terrain, and a star-spangled sky overhead. We spot a few snakes, sadly deceased, which disappoints me. We haven’t seen a single rattlesnake yet. I don’t know if we can say we hiked New Mexico when we don’t see one. It’s definitely been hot enough today. I hope we see some soon, as I like snakes, like almost all wildlife. I think they’re very misunderstood creatures, so I relate to them. So many people are afraid of them, but rarely anyone ever gets bitten, and less likely killed. We’ve seen plenty of tarantulas, though.

My hips scream at me over these last seven miles to the ranch. We get slower and slower but finally, with sore bodies, arrive at our destination. 9 Lives and Sidequest are already here, also complaining about their hips. I’m glad, I’m not the only one. A problem shared is a problem halved.

They point us toward water and fruit, which is always such a treat out here. We’ve made it to over 31 miles today, a mileage that I definitely can’t repeat very often. But tomorrow there is pie waiting for us! And after a day like this, we’ve earned every crumb.

CDT Day 125 — Dreaming of Pies

A rooster announces the new day at the ranch, declaring it’s time to get moving. It’s Pie Day, after all! Just 16 miles of dusty, hot road stand between us and sugary, flaky bliss. The weather decides to add an extra layer of challenge: wind. I’ve got a love-hate relationship with it — love the breeze, hate the sensation and noise in my ears. It’s like wearing a leaf blower as headphones.

We get to a junction from where we have 3 miles left. From this road, there are quite some semi trucks turning onto our road, racing by us, which makes these last miles pretty uncomfortable. We keep switching sides, go to the very right when a truck approaches us from the front, swerve to the far left the rest of the time. I’m just waiting to get smashed by a semi truck I overlooked, Final Destination style.

At last, we spot Pie Town, a tiny place so dedicated to the art of pastry that they named the whole settlement after it. There’s basically nothing else here — just a post office that shuts at noon, two restaurants fueled by pie mania, and a hiker hostel. It’s gloriously strange.

We pop by the legendary Toaster House (yep, decorated with toasters) and then hustle over to the pie restaurant, the only one that’s open today. Surprise: They’re out of pie. Seriously? “We’ve got Key Lime… something” they say. I end up with a Coke instead, feeling my stomach growling and my anxiety spiking from all the people and the high volume. I’m hungry, smelly, and now I’m overstimulated. Too much sensory input.

Back at the hostel, though, redemption awaits. A shower! Clean clothes! The resident caretaker, Abram, blesses us with leftover lentil stew. It’s two days old, but at this point, who cares? It’s a cool place that has everything you might need: a full hiker box, sodas, a kitchen, some food, laundry. We score a room just for us and a few spider roommates I choose to pretend don’t exist. Apparently, my fear of people is stronger than my fear of spiders.

By evening, a big bonfire crackles outside, and we dig into potatoes and elk meat, both overly delicious. Unfortunately, it stays loud until 10.30 pm as people are drinking as you can imagine in such a place. Booze, laughter, all that “fun” I don’t quite understand. I’m dead tired, longing for silence. The social buzz feels like static on my nerves. I’m like a cat, wanting interaction on my terms only, and right now, my terms say “bedtime, no people.” I learn there’s another autistic hiker here who does the vanish-and-appear routine too. We don’t talk, but in that mutual avoidance, I sense kinship.

At least tomorrow’s a new day — hopefully one with actual pie.