Part Six: Hot, hot, hot

I. Therapy Session in Helena

Tom and I found ourselves sitting in the corner of a quirky coffee shop in Helena, enjoying a rare zero-day in the middle of our Continental Divide Journey. The shop had a vintage charm and modern hipster flair. Wooden bookshelves filled with old books lined the walls. Antique maps of Montana hung beside the counter. Vintage stickers and colorful postcards for sale stood on a rack near jars filled with coffee beans. The whole place offered a blend of warmth, character, and quiet energy that made you want to sit there forever.

As Tom and I sipped our drinks, the conversation naturally shifted from the usual trail talk and veered toward the topic of dating as men in today’s society. It felt like an unusual topic to address with another guy, awkward almost. We both opened up about the struggles we’d faced in finding a meaningful connection with a female partner while taking ownership of our own flaws as well. For me, my relationship history had been marked by a pattern I hadn’t fully understood until recently. I realized that I’d often fallen into a people-pleasing role, overcommitting to relations and losing sight of my own needs just to feel accepted. It was a deep-rooted habit, one I carried from a very young age, not because I lacked love— on the contrary—but because I was always taught that to deserve something, you must work hard for it. Except that, while it could apply to good grades, for instance, it didn’t apply to everything.

Ironically, I had never questioned it until a year ago. I always thought I was just being “caring,” or “thoughtful,” but in reality, I was overextending myself in ways that weren’t healthy for me—or for the people I was trying to please. When it first occurred, the realization hurt. There was often this pervasive notion, particularly in our world today, that men should always have it figured out, and in this instance, I didn’t. I felt ashamed. But I felt liberated too. Finally, I knew where I had gone wrong, and I could start doing the work to better understand myself and break free from old patterns. And I knew it would pay off eventually.

As I talked about this with Tom, I could sense the weight of his own reflections. He, too, had faced challenges. I felt a sense of camaraderie like I wasn’t alone in my thoughts. It was easy to feel isolated in our struggles, especially in a world where everyone seemed to be projecting their best selves online. Social media often creates this illusion that everyone else has it together, that they have the perfect partner, the perfect life. It’s easy to feel like the odd one out when you’re dealing with your own internal challenges. But in that coffee shop, with Tom, I realized that everyone had their own battles. No one really talked about them in the same way we hid our vulnerabilities on platforms like Instagram, but they were there—quietly, under the surface.

II. ‘Tis the Season Again

Wednesday, July 10th – about 50 miles from Anaconda, MT

I woke up to the hum of mosquitoes surrounding my tent. In July, the season had started. They’d been waiting for us to wake up and get outside, and now I was left trying to dodge them as I scrambled out of the tent to go to the bathroom running. 

Since leaving the town of Helena, a heat wave had fallen upon us. By midday, we could already feel the oppressive weight of the sun. We paused for a break, the shade offering a momentary escape, but it was just too hot. By the end of the day, a bad case of chafing took hold of me. I coated myself in Vaseline, hoping it would ease the discomfort, but the greasy balm only made it worse. The burn was sharp and persistent, making every step feel like an additional punishment. It didn’t help that I had to filter water while walking— mosquitoes were the worst near water sources, and I now had my attention split between keeping pace with the group and fending off the vicious insects that had become more like a cloud around me.

By the time we reached the powerlines, I was worn thin. The day had dragged on, and it felt like everything had conspired against me. We set up camp near a few familiar faces: “High Profile,” “Nine Lives,” “Peg Leg” and others. It had been a difficult day, one of those stretches where the trail didn’t offer the beauty or escape I had hoped for. One where it was hard to connect with the trail, the landscape, or even my own thoughts. Instead, it felt like a constant reminder of the challenges, both physical and mental, that this journey demanded.

III. The Longest Day

I woke in the middle of the night, suddenly aware of the sound of rain falling on my tent. “For real?” I thought, laughing internally. I hadn’t put my rain fly on, thinking the chances of rain would be low given the past few days’ forecast. I fumbled for the rain fly in my backpack and threw it over the tent, feeling the cool drops of water hit my hands as I did.

Morning came quickly after, and the rain had stopped. The sun was out, and the mosquitoes too, as soon as I unzipped my tent. It was impossible to escape them. We packed up quickly, trying to get moving before the day’s heat set in. I reached the junction without much trouble, and the Anaconda cutoff appeared—a long, downhill dirt road stretching into the distance. The road was wide and dusty, lined by dry grasses and trees. I caught up with the rest of my crew at a water source. Everyone was feeling good—surprisingly good, considering the heat—and the pace had been solid. The road to Anaconda was mostly flat, which meant one thing: we could push all the way to town today. About 28 miles lay between us and McDonald’s, and it felt like a reasonable goal—if we kept up the pace, it would be a 33-mile day. The idea of reaching that golden prize at the end, a greasy burger and a large soda, pushed us forward.

“Nine Lives” stopped by the creek to get water too. She mentioned to me that she’d downloaded my documentary to watch. I blinked in surprise. The PCT documentary I’d made months ago was still making its way through the hiking community. The recognition I had gotten for it had been strange at first—funny, even. It was just a project born out of passion, something I did because I loved the trail and wanted to share that experience. Fame wasn’t on the list. Yet here I was, getting recognized by people who had watched it. I had become the Frenchman who wore the cowboy hat with a big camera. It felt surreal, but also rewarding in a humble way.

We continued down the dirt road as the heat intensified. We finally reached the turnoff to an asphalt road, which seemed to radiate heat, giving me the impression of walking on a stovetop. I stopped to pet a horse that was grazing by the side of the road, before reaching our last water source for the remainder of the day— a cool, vintage-looking garage tucked on a ranch, with old posters of women adorning the walls and a motorcycle. It felt like an oasis in the middle of this heatwave. I stepped inside, grateful for the shade and the chance to cool off. After a while, Tom, “Lennon,” and “Grazer” moved on ahead, but I lingered a bit longer.

By 4 p.m., I finally left the garage. It was still unbearably hot outside, but I had to keep going. A river ran beside the road for a bit, and I longed to jump in and cool off, but there was no time for that— the Golden Arches were waiting. The road was long, exposed, and offered no shade, no relief. Cars raced just beside me while I tried to squeeze as much as I could to the side of the almost non-existent shoulder. The miles seemed to stretch longer as the sun climbed higher in the sky. I caught up with “Lennon” and “Grazer,” but my body was sore. Not painful, just weary, like every muscle had been working overtime in the heat. The road felt like it would never end. The flat, open expanse stretched before us, each mile another battle against the sun.

Finally, I saw the last turn ahead. The sight of Anaconda came into view in the distance, and I put my head down and kept moving. There was nothing else to do now but finish it. When I reached the Golden Arches, I couldn’t help but raise my fists in triumph. It was the longest day I’d ever hiked, but we had made it.

At McDonald’s, I ordered without thinking. A burger, fries, and the largest Fanta Orange I could get, with as much ice as they would give me. I don’t think I’d ever enjoyed a soda so much in my life. It was cold and sweet, and it felt like the most refreshing thing in the world after a grueling day. 

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Comments 1

  • Nephi : Jan 19th

    What’s your trail name? I read peglegs blog, didn’t know you were in her bubble early on. And I’ll look for your video. Can’t get too much pct.

    Reply

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