Sadness smells like waffles – Crazy Cook is serving

115 – Sadness smells like waffles

The screen of my phone lights up the dark room. The alarm’s sharp trill slices through the stillness, and I groan as I reach for it. 1 a.m. Another job interview looms. Another round of answering questions, flashing a polished smile, reciting my work experience, and trying – desperately – to seem like a functional human being. Not like someone who’s spent the last four months hiking from Canada to Mexico, sleeping in the dirt, chasing sunsets, and dodging lightning storms.

30 minutes later I go back to bed, a few more hours of sleep before I leave Lordsburg to finish my CDT thru hike.

By morning, I’m still half-asleep, clutching a Styrofoam cup of watery motel coffee that’s done nothing to wake me. The smell of waffle batter fills the air as I pour it onto a sizzling iron, watching it bubble and rise. My last cheap hotel breakfast. My last taste of “civilisation” before the wilderness swallows me again.

Crazy Cook calling

By 7 am Lordsburg is getting smaller and smaller behind me while I venture out into the wide open desert. The southernmost stretch of the Continental Divide Trail is pretty empty except for a few fences (fun fact, I didn’t know what a stile was until I kept seeing it on FarOut and eventually had an AHA moment… in case you don’t know either: here), cows, cow throughs and cacti. But the terrain is flat, I am stoked. My feet seem to float over the sand, eager to reach the CDT’s southern terminus at Crazy Cook.

New Mexico doesn’t hold back these last days. Each evening, the sky ignites in bold strokes of orange and crimson, painting sunsets so vivid they feel unreal. The air still feels warm and even after darkness envelopes me, I continue to hike. Darkness has become my friend these last weeks. It’s the burden of the south bounders, or any late season hiking: Dwindling daylight.

Fate of the sobos

“You’re missing things,” my mind whispers, the fomo scratching at the edges of my contentment. And it’s true – I might be. Whole stretches of my thru hike vanish when the sun dips below the horizon. But what choice do I have? Go to bed at 6:30 pm?

A quick glance at my watch tells me I’ve earned my rest. 36 miles. By headlamp light, I scout for a flat patch of ground – a spot without critter holes or tarantula dens – and lay out my cowboy camping stuff. 

After spreading out my tent and my quilt, I sit for a moment, watching the orange glimmer on the horizon. The last remains of another glorious New Mexico sunset. The desert is quiet, still warm and peaceful.

No thru hike is ever the same

The realization hits me with a sudden, almost physical weight. My throat tightens, and for a moment, I want to wail at the stars, to cry out at the beauty I’m about to lose.

“But you can come back,” people will say. The well-meaning words of “muggles” who’ve never thru-hiked a long trail, who don’t understand.

It won’t be the same. It can’t be. The magic of a thru-hike isn’t just the landscapes or the sunsets or the miles. It’s the way the journey weaves people, places, and fleeting moments together into something unique, something so complex and yet based on simplicity: community, connection, movement, nature.

The desert is quiet around me. I lay back, staring at the sky, and let the bittersweet ache settle in my chest. A familiar glow wraps around the night sky: Aurora Borealis.

116 – lukewarm cache water

“Great for tea”, I murmur as I pour warm water from the jerry can into my dented bottles. But I am too thirsty to care. My last full day of hiking before the terminus has gone by fast and I was excited to be done. I sit in the sand, leaning my back against the metal bear box. Ahead, the mountains rise, their rugged peaks etched against the boundless desert sky.

And that’s when sadness flowed through my chest. I won’t hike over these mountains or any. Tomorrow there wouldn’t be the next climb or the next pass of the CDT anymore. 25 miles to the Mexican border from here.

The thing about goals is, as soon as you accomplish them, you lose them. No reminiscing will ever feel as ecstatic as the anticipation, the dreaming. I wonder if that’s the reason why so many people never try to pursue their dreams, because it’s not actually the dream that they want, it’s just the dreaming.

Tomorrow there will be nothing. Real life, I guess. But what is that?

But it’s not just the end of my thru hike, that I have to face: The person who left Canada isn’t the person who reached Mexico.

117 – the end but not really?

First it’s a roof reflecting the early morning sunlight. Then the shapes of buildings tucked in a blanket of haze. I didn’t smell the smoke until I got closer. And just before the village, a string of wire separating two countries: Mexico and the United States of America.

On the final mile, I’m flying. Almost as if a magnetic force was suddenly pulling me south, as if my feet knew the sand path already. I couldn’t drag this out if I wanted to: I made it. The border. I walked from Canada to Mexico.

Unsurprisingly, the monument is a somber place. Sandy. Exposed. Uneventful. There isn’t even a trail register. But there’s footprints, there’s a gap in the barb wire fence. Little hints of life and humans.

I rest my hand on the cement marker for a moment, its cool surface grounding me amidst the surreal weight of the moment. This is it – the CDT southern terminus. The end of the trail. I snap a few pictures, my fingers fumbling on the screen, and pull out a snack, chewing slowly as I stare into the vast desert.

What now?

The question lingers in the air, unanswered, when a truck pulls up. A dusty rumble breaks the stillness, and Tim hops out, his presence as casual as the desert wind. He tells me he’s waiting for two hikers – Chipmunk and Extra – who scheduled a ride with him back to civilisation.

If you’re unfamiliar with the CDT southern terminus: you either have to hike back to highway 9 to get to Hachita or you have to organise a shuttle to return to civilisation.

Civilisation. Yikes, the thought of it sends a shiver down my spine, despite the sweltering desert heat. It could be easy. I could get in the truck and in a few hours be in Lordsburg. But I’m not ready for the real world with no trail to hike. The thought feels… scary. The thought makes me want to curl into myself.

Time to yo-yo the CDT

“I’m not ready,” I say, glancing up at Tim, expecting him to look at me like I am crazy. “I think I’m gonna hike back. I’m not ready to leave. Not yet.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t look at me like I’ve lost my mind. There’s no judgment, no confusion. Just a quiet nod.

Shouldering my pack, I turn back toward the trail, my feet instinctively finding their rhythm as I head north. A holler breaks through the silence as I pass Extra and Chipmunk coming toward the terminus. I high-five them both, grinning wide as we cheer for the journey behind us. “You did it!” I shout, and they cheer back.

But me? I’m not done here.

The trail pulls me onward, down a jeep track and back to the familiar path I walked just yesterday. I tread slowly, savoring each step as if the earth itself is saying goodbye. The desert feels different now, like I’m part of it, like I’ve earned my spot to be here. I walked from Canada to Mexico, can you believe it?

I don’t think I can yet. 

This trail is my home now – how do I leave it behind?

After 39 miles, I reach the junction where the CDT veers away, but I follow the dirt road east, toward Hachita. My feet falter after a few steps, and I stop. Slowly, I turn around.

The mountains are glowing in the light of the setting sun. The desert stretches endlessly beneath them, and the CDT winds through it like a thread of silver, disappearing into the horizon.

This is it. My trail. My home for the last four months.

I take one last look. I can’t explain this trail. Can’t capture it in words or photographs. It’s not something you showcase, not something you record. The only way to understand it is to hike it. To let it change you, step by step, until it becomes a part of you.

Montana. Idaho. Wyoming. Colorado. New Mexico. 2860 miles loggend on my watch.

I hiked to Hachita the next day and eventually did get a ride with Tim and Inspector (who got his triple crown! congrats!) back to Lordsburg

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Comments 6

  • Chris : Jan 22nd

    What a great ending! Congratulations and thanks for sharing your journey.

    Reply
    • Speedy Pinecone : Jan 23rd

      thanks Chris, for tagging along and for your comment. feels truly over now, but also hungry for the next adventure 😎

      Reply
  • Thunder Road : Jan 22nd

    Congratulations Pinecone .
    Really enjoyed following your journey…. Not just the adventure itself, but how you shared it. Enjoyed your writing style very much.

    Reply
  • Wendy : Jan 23rd

    Congratulations Speedy Pinecone! I really enjoyed reading your writing & how you felt all along the way. Happily & sadly you’ve finished the trail but you have the memories & pictures of it. A once in a lifetime experience seeing & feeling what we don’t see by just driving by. Be happy for your accomplishment! And thank you for taking us along!!

    Reply
  • Ellen R : Jan 23rd

    Congrats on finishing the CDT! I,too, have enjoyed your writing and following your trail journey. Thank you for taking us along!
    Best of luck with your job hunt. I hope wherever you land, you job will allow you time to continue to enjoy the great outdoors.

    Reply
  • Jenny L : Feb 3rd

    “the sky ignites in bold strokes of orange and crimson, painting sunsets so vivid they feel unreal.” Best description of a New Mexico sunset ever.

    I’ve enjoyed your journey and hope for all the best in whatever is next. And I hope your adventures never end

    Reply

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