Guardians of the Legacy: Never Give Up

Hi, everyone!
I hope you’re doing great! Thank you so much for joining me for another chapter of my PCT adventures. This was one of the most emotional moments, not only on the trail but in my life. It’s the kind of memory I want to keep forever. It defines my essence and inspires me on my journey toward the person I want to become. Without a doubt, the PCT is leaving an indelible mark on me, one that grows with every step I take.

Intro

In my previous post, The Piped Winds Of The Desert,I shared how I reached Tehachapi after catching a ride at Willow Spring Road. That section is famously known as “the highway of wind turbines,” and it truly lives up to the name. I’d never seen anything like it before. While Uruguay has a decent amount of wind energy, the wind farms there don’t have the same density or variety of turbine sizes I found here.

Windmills close to Willow Spring Road

Reaching the city felt magical. A kind stranger, familiar with the trail and aware of how many hikers need rides, stopped where I was waiting. Barely 30 minutes had passed since I sat down with Magic Man for a drink when a woman, likely in her 30s, offered us a ride. I got into the car along with another hiker, and like many vehicles I’ve seen in the U.S., it was packed with stuff everywhere.

With a smile, the driver said:

“If you can, just climb on top of everything. Nothing will break.”

Without hesitation, I settled in among the belongings and enjoyed the ride into town.

Tehachapi

Before the PCT, I had never tried hitchhiking. But during this month in the U.S., it has been an incredible experience. I’ve never waited more than an hour for someone to stop. Many times, like this one, I didn’t even need to do the classic thumbs-up gesture—someone just showed up.

Our driver was very kind and took me straight to the home of Richard and Barbara, trail angels highly recommended by other hikers. When I arrived, I was blown away. The backyard was covered in lush green grass, soft and perfect, free of thorns. It was such a stark contrast to the dry, harsh terrain I had been crossing just 24 hours earlier.

Barbara welcomed me with warmth and kindness. She had transformed a large part of her property into a hiker haven, offering not just basic comforts but true luxuries.

The Kitchen 

R&B Hiker Kitchen

One of the most impressive spaces was the kitchen. It was huge and filled with food donated by other hikers or provided by Barbara herself. Having the chance to cook my own meals felt like such a privilege.

Going to the supermarket to pick up fresh fruits, vegetables, or meat and then preparing a proper meal in a comfortable space, surrounded by other hikers, was priceless. This wasn’t just a break from the trail—it was a way to reconnect with the joy of eating well.

Hunger on the trail is something unique. Even after eating large portions, I’d feel hungry again soon after. Constantly eating at restaurants wasn’t sustainable, so access to this kitchen was a true blessing.

Me with my homemade meal

The picture above says it all: on one side, my homemade meal; on the other, my freshly bought resupply from Walmart, ready for the next PCT section.

Trail Magic on site

The place was so spacious and welcoming that trail angels would come by to cook for us. One evening, we organized a barbecue together with other hikers and trail angels. There were beers, great food, and even better stories.

Trail Angel doing a Barbacue

Among the trail angels, I met Cuz, who gave me some amazing tips to lighten my backpack. One of his ideas was to get rid of my bulky roll of Gorilla Tape and instead wrap a small amount around my trekking poles. While the tape would lose some of its stickiness over time, I could easily restock in the next town and even share it with other hikers. This simple trick helped me carry less weight without sacrificing the functionality of such a versatile tool.

Moto’s 70’s birthday celebration

Meeting Hikers

When I arrived at this place, I realized there were many hikers around, but I didn’t know any of them. I knew Rafael, a friend from Uruguay, was planning to arrive soon. He had started the PCT in 2023 but had to abandon it at Tehachapi due to the extraordinary snowfalls that year. I thought about staying an extra day to see him, but for now, I was surrounded by unfamiliar faces.

Bossbae and Birdcall

I started chatting with a couple, Bossbae and Birdcall, who you can see in the photo by the kitchen. They were incredibly friendly, and I first talked to Bossbae. It was one of those typical trail conversations—why we were hiking, what motivated us. We had a lot in common. Both of us enjoyed physical exercise, something evident in their well-maintained physiques, and they also had a creative side. Birdcall was writing a blog, and Bossbae had an incredible talent for drawing. They were such a charming pair. Like me, they had started the PCT in early April, so we shared that journey as well.

Our excitement was palpable; we had already walked over 1,000 km. It felt surreal.

My Trail Mates

Most of the hikers at the hostel were in small groups, as by this point on the trail, people tend to find their “tramilies.” With my hiking strategy, though, I hadn’t really settled into a consistent group. I’d been hopping between groups. My last hiking companion, Arthur, hadn’t yet arrived in Tehachapi. I wasn’t sure if he was still on the trail or staying elsewhere.

Walking alone didn’t bother me. In fact, I didn’t feel the need to join a group at this stage. I enjoyed setting my own pace, having time for reflection, and allowing myself to get emotional. Every day, I would recite my mantra, Don’t Give Up, and think about moments in my life that resonated with the poem’s verses. Meyer’s beautiful words became my anchor:

Don’t give up, you’re still in time
to reach and start anew,
to accept your shadows,
to face your fears…

Reciting this poem became a daily ritual. It helped me process past actions, envision changes I wanted to make in my life off the trail, and connect deeply with my journey. Many times, it moved me to tears, giving me strength during tough moments and shifting my mindset when I felt lost.

Britt and Mona

One hiker who immediately caught my attention was Britt (@backcountry.britt). She had a highly unconventional approach to hiking—especially to thru-hiking.

Mona Resting

Britt was hiking the PCT with her furry companion, Mona, an absolutely gorgeous and lively dog who seemed to radiate joy as she bounded along the trail. I had crossed paths with them the day before; they had camped a few miles ahead of Arthur and me. Late the next morning, I met them again in a valley where they had stopped to rest. Now, I had the chance to spend some time with them at R&B hostel.

Talking with Britt, I discovered that she and Mona were seasoned adventurers. These two brave souls had already completed the CDT together! Naturally, I had endless questions about her experience hiking with Mona.

She shared incredible insights about their journey. Walking with Mona, she said, created a bond far deeper than one typically has with an animal under normal circumstances. You could see it—the connection between them was extraordinary, and Mona seemed so happy on the trail.

When I asked her how she had the courage to take on this adventure with Mona, her answer was strikingly simple yet profound. “It’s the same as when any of us decide to hike the PCT,” she said. “It’s about choosing the risks we’re willing to take and how we want to experience the journey.”

There were, of course, challenges. Sometimes Mona gets tired and doesn’t want to walk. In those moments, Britt carries her on her shoulders and keeps going. I was absolutely amazed. This kind of bond and love between them was nothing short of extraordinary.

Britt and Mona’s approach to the trail left me in awe. Their partnership embodied resilience, trust, and mutual care. They are two souls I will always remember from my adventure.

Guardians of the Legacy: Never Give Up

Among the many hikers I met along the way, there was one person who stood out. She was a girl who seemed like she had been there longer than the rest. She was comfortably lying on a cot in the corner, with a few neatly arranged personal items around her. Bárbara had given me an excellent tour, but my memory isn’t great at retaining all the details. However, this hiker reminded me of something wonderful when she said: “Diego, there’s free ice cream in the fridge.”

My mind instantly lit up. I have a serious sweet tooth! Free ice cream was a blessing. I thanked her, rushed to serve myself some, and then came back to sit and chat with her.

Renee

As I sat down, I realized she knew my name, but I hadn’t even asked for hers. Or maybe I had, but as I mentioned, my memory is terrible. I asked her again, and she said her name was Renee. I immediately recognized that her name wasn’t of American origin. It’s quite common in Spanish, but it probably comes from French because of how it’s spelled. As a child, I had a friend named Renee, and she once told me her name meant: “the one who was reborn.”

It’s incredible how much information our minds can process in just a few seconds. All these thoughts ran through my head as I sat down to chat with Renee. But the moment I settled into the chair, I felt a sharp pain in my hip. The heat, dust, and my new backpack had caused a sore that just kept getting worse.

My Hip Wound

Renee noticed the pained look on my face and asked what was wrong. I explained and showed her the wound. Her expression immediately turned to concern. She went over to the hiker box, searched for a few minutes, and came back with a thick bandage, similar to moleskin but much sturdier. She said: “A few days ago, I saw this in the hiker box. I think it might help with your wound.”

Once again, the trail reminded me of one of its core lessons: “The Trail Provides.”

My wound was pretty bad. Although it wasn’t infected thanks to the iodine I’d been using, its size was worrying. The fact that this extra-thick moleskin was in the hiker box, that I returned with my ice cream and sat next to Renee, that she noticed my pain and remembered that bandage… It felt like too much of a “coincidence” to believe.

Renee didn’t just give me the bandage; she also showed me other useful items in the hiker box and even shared her food with me. She had made a big salad and offered me more than half of it.

Our trail stories

After eating, we moved over to the lush green grass, with the mountains as a backdrop. The place was stunning. We started the typical hiker conversation: “So, what made you decide to do the PCT?” My story is already well-known, so this time, I’ll share what Renee told me about her motivation.

Sunrise in Tehachapi

Motivation

Renee loves traveling and dreams of exploring the world in unique ways: riding a motorcycle across Africa, living off the grid in the mountains, volunteering in wildlife reserves, and, of course, hiking the PCT.

Her biggest inspiration came from the book Wild by Cheryl Strayed. This powerful story of self-discovery deeply resonated with her. In Wild, Cheryl shows how it’s possible to find a path to happiness even when life feels like it’s falling apart. What’s truly impressive is that Cheryl completed the PCT 30 years ago, under much tougher conditions than today. The amount of trail magic, information, and resources we have now doesn’t compare. That makes her achievement even more remarkable.

Interestingly, Renee and I had this conversation in the very city where Cheryl started her journey. Another one of those magical coincidences the trail seems to offer.

Her history

Talking with Renee over the grass

Renee was born 29 years ago in the Netherlands, where she grew up, studied, and worked as a teacher for five years. Later, she decided to save up and move to Australia. There, she bought a motorhome, lived, and worked while exploring the country. This kind of experience is common among young people seeking temporary work in countries with favorable migration policies.

For Renee, this adventure was transformative. It helped her clarify her future: she wanted to settle down in her home country but without giving up her passion for exploring the world.

As we talked, I noticed her excitement when she spoke about her family and friends. She carried small objects that reminded her of her loved ones. Her connection to home and her adventurous spirit blended beautifully.

Family connection

Her backpack drawing of the swallow, the mountains, and her on the trail

For those who want to understand Renee’s bond with her loved ones, all they need to do is look at the drawing on her backpack. That artwork was created by a PCT hiker who wrote a book about the trail. The illustration depicts a small girl admiring the vastness of the mountains, searching for her path among them. It’s a difficult road, one where we don’t know exactly where it leads. This, I believe, encapsulates what lies behind this adventure: there’s a clear trail, but the destination remains unseen. We know there’s something waiting for us at the end, but we can’t stay fixated on that final goal. It’s out there, yet it’s invisible.

The Path Is The Reward

Obsessing over reaching Canada, over completing this incredible journey, means losing sight of what’s important. The final goal is so far away, so remote, so unattainable, that if you only focus on achieving it, you miss out on many things. First, you lose the joy of the journey itself. Second, it becomes harder to complete. Any small setback can throw you off balance, tempting you to turn back home—an option always within reach. It takes courage and determination to press on, or, more simply, the ability to enjoy the little things that arise along the way. This is beautiful to say, but staying distracted from the hardships, the pain, the problems, and the things you lack is no easy feat.

Renee and I were starting to understand all of this. Each of us carried our own story, our own backpack filled with dreams, and we vibed in different ways.

Her gear

I was struck by her mountain gear. Except for her La Sportiva shoes, everything was from brands I’d never heard of. As we started talking about her equipment, it quickly became clear that she had done extensive research before making her decisions. She found a balance between cost, weight, and material quality by exploring blogs, manufacturer specifications, and more. It was a MARVELOUS effort. I loved chatting with my friend Renee about gear and admired her for avoiding the temptation to just go with the brands most hikers use.

In this sense, we were very similar. As you already know, Roadrunner doesn’t align much with “buy and discard” philosophies, and I felt much of the ultralight gear trend leaned in that direction.

More Hikers Join To Talk

The Challenges

Hours passed as I talked with Renee. We even separated briefly to handle resupply tasks and other trail chores, then came back together and continued chatting. Astonishingly, we never ran out of topics.

Renee is incredibly social and friendly, so I was surprised she wasn’t surrounded by a group of hikers sharing this rest time in Tehachapi. Unable to suppress my curiosity, I asked, “Are you hiking alone?”

Her expression changed. It was as if she returned to the present moment, and I noticed a mix of longing and a hint of worry in her face.

She answered, “No, my friends are further ahead on the trail. I stayed here two weeks ago because I’ve been dealing with terrible pain in my foot.”

In my head, I thought, “Wow! She’s been so attentive to me, and I didn’t even ask how she’s feeling right now. How selfish of me!” She explained that the pain had started on the top of her foot and worsened over days. When she arrived in Tehachapi two weeks earlier, the pain became unbearable, and she decided to rest. She saw a doctor, had an X-ray, and even consulted Blaze, a well-known sports doctor in the thru-hiking community.

Lessons

Renee shared her beginnings on the PCT with me. She started the trail on March 25, nearly two weeks before I did. Renee had also faced the challenging sections, like Mission Creek, San Jacinto, and Baden Powell. She made decisions based on the information she had at the time and the advice of other hikers. She felt a bit regretful for skipping some parts.

While I had chosen to stay on the trail through those sections, I completely understood her decisions and didn’t consider her journey any less titanic because of them. What we face out here is incredibly tough, and part of this “game” is determining the level of risk we’re willing to take. This conversation was good for both of us, as it helped her release some of the weight she’d been carrying recently.

The Physical Problems

Her foot issues led her to separate from her trail family and focus on recovery. The possibilities were a sprain or a stress fracture. Her foot looked better, no longer swollen, but there was still some pain.

We talked about her injury, how it happened, and what the doctors had said. Gradually, she seemed more optimistic. The tests she did didn’t cause much pain, but on the trail, you never know what might happen. This uncertainty caused her anxiety, and I could see her emotions fluctuating.

I completely understood. I’ve had several injuries throughout my life, and much of the challenge is understanding what’s happening with your body so you can find a way to resolve it.

The Fear

Renee was afraid that this injury might mark the end of her PCT adventure. She had come so far, yet there was so much more to do, and time was not on her side.

For international hikers like us, the time restrictions on our stay in the U.S., far from our families and homes, make these setbacks especially hard to overcome. Quitting becomes a tempting option that can easily cross your mind.

This feeling, this hidden fear of failure, starts creeping in. You become your own worst enemy.

Don’t Give Up

looked into her eyes and felt there wasn’t a single trace of surrender in her gaze. She wanted to continue; she was determined to keep going. She was attentive and listening to her body, but she was convinced she’d keep trying. A person with a resilient soul, someone who doesn’t easily give in to adversity.

In some ways, Renee reminded me of myself—of how I refused to give up when the emotional crisis five years ago hit me hard. I had just shared everything about that time with Arthur while we tackled the toughest section of the PCT together. Now, here I was, encountering someone facing a tough situation of her own. It was hers and hers alone to overcome.

All of this moved me deeply, and I decided to share with Renee my source of energy, my motivation to keep going: the mantra that came to me in the darkest moment of my life, a time when I didn’t know how to move forward.

There’s still life in your dreams

I couldn’t say my mantra in English; it didn’t feel authentic in any language other than my native Spanish. I translated it on my phone, shared the translation with her, and then recited it in Spanish.

She listened intently to every word. I noticed it was nearly impossible for her to follow what was written, but she watched my expressions as I spoke. I felt she understood the essence of what the poem by Mayer made me feel. Deep down, I feared that sharing something so powerful to me might seem ridiculous to someone else. But in this case, I felt confident enough to do it and hoped to convey that message of strength to Renee.

Renee thanked me for sharing the poem. I noticed she was emotional, and it made me happy to see it had touched her.

Time to reach out and start anew

Renee decided to return to the trail the next day. The excitement that lived inside her radiated through her skin, her face, her voice, her eyes—through her entire being. The mix of joy, uncertainty, and anticipation filled the R&B Hiker Hut. This blend of emotions, fears, and certainties was a constant on the trail. I’ve come to understand that this whirlwind of feelings is what makes the PCT so extraordinary. It’s about facing a new challenge every moment. And yet, the solution to these challenges is so simple: just keep walking.

Renee Trail Photo

I watched the excitement and solidarity of the hikers rallying around my friend Renee, and my eyes filled with tears.

Her plan was to reunite with her friends, who were resting in Ridgecrest, the last town before reaching the iconic PCT gateway, Kennedy Meadows. The idea of it all felt surreal—only 200 kilometers separated me from starting the hardest section of the trail, the Sierras. For Renee, it was even less. She had arranged a ride from Tehachapi to Ridgecrest to meet her trail family.

The Legacy of Mamma Bear

Meeting Renee was as impactful as another encounter I’d had earlier on the trail. In a previous post, PCT Stage 03: Idyllwild To Big Bear, I shared the story of a legendary Trail Angel at Interstate 10: Mamma Bear. At that time, I was struggling physically, recovering from a poorly planned resupply that had left me drained by the time I reached Saddle Junction.

At Mamma Bear’s Trail Magic, she gave me a metal plaque that said, Never Give Up. It deeply resonated with my mantra and the tough moment I was going through. That small token was an emotional boost that helped me keep going, fueling me to continue walking.

Mamma Bear Legacy: Never give up

Now, back in Tehachapi, that difficult chapter felt like a distant memory. I felt strong, capable of walking 20 to 25 miles a day with a normal amount of effort that my body could recover from during rest. And then, a thought crossed my mind: the energy that Mamma Bear had given me needed to keep flowing. I decided to pass the plaque on to Renee.

At first, she couldn’t believe I was offering her something so meaningful to me. She hesitated to accept it. But when she saw my determination and understood the significance of this gesture, she agreed to take it. Renee carried several sentimental items with her, and I felt that Mamma Bear’s plaque fit perfectly among them. It would be a constant reminder. Tough times were ahead in the Sierra Nevada, and her foot was still healing. But the important thing was not to give up and to keep walking toward our dreams.

In that moment, I felt like I was returning to the world the power Mamma Bear had given me. It felt like we were becoming guardians of the legacy: Never Give Up.

Time To Start Again

When Renee left, I was overwhelmed by mixed emotions. Part of me wanted to start hiking with her, to share more experiences and even help her with her recovery. But I also felt the pull to stay true to my own path, committed to not skipping a single step of this incredible trail. Before I could get back on the trail, I had one last detail to take care of: my new phone had arrived. It wasn’t just about staying connected—it meant taking better photos to complement the ones I captured with my camera. I spent the entire day setting it up, updating my maps and apps. With everything in place, I was ready to face the challenges ahead.

Back On Trail

My friend Cuz drove me back to Willow Spring Road, where I had left the trail. There, I ran into Magic Man again, the Trail Angel who continued to help hikers tirelessly. After a brief chat, I said goodbye and got ready to hike. 

Ouch I Did it Again

As I tightened the hip belt buckle of my backpack, I heard a crack. The buckle broke instantly. My heart sank. “No, not again! This can’t be happening!” I thought.

Broken Hip Belt OF My Backpack

I knew the drill with Osprey’s warranty process and quickly arranged to get a replacement backpack sent to Bishop, my next big stop in about two weeks. For now, I had to improvise. Using extra guy lines from my tent and zip ties, I rigged a temporary fix. It worked, but it was far from convenient. Every time I needed to adjust the strap, I’d have to untie the knots. Still, it was my best option for the time being.

This whole situation filled me with worry. Facing the Sierra Nevada with a compromised backpack only added to the challenge. I couldn’t ignore the anxiety brewing in the back of my mind.

Hip Belt solved with my tent rope

Don’t Let Fear Hold You Back

The backpack issue had delayed me by over two hours, and starting late meant I was now facing my biggest weakness on the trail: hiking in the late afternoon and into the night. My initial plan to cover 20 kilometers quickly became unrealistic as the day slipped away.

Sun going down in Willow Spring

The terrain remained similar to where I had left off—semi-arid, with countless wind turbines standing like sentinels along my path. It wasn’t the smooth restart I had envisioned, but there I was, walking the PCT again, ready to tackle whatever came next.

As I adjusted to my patched-up backpack, doubts crept in. Was it the right call to keep going without fixing it properly? Then I remembered Cheryl Strayed. Thirty years ago, she had walked this same trail with a heavier pack, less trekking experience, and the fears of being a solo woman on a much lonelier PCT. And yet, she kept moving. I could too.

Sunset On The Way To HW 58

It’s okay to question your decisions. But once you make them, it’s crucial to focus on what lies ahead. Dwelling on the past won’t change it. If I needed to make a different call about the backpack later, I would. For now, staying stuck in a loop of second-guessing wouldn’t help.

A Familiar Trail Register

Trail Register 5/16/2024

I finally reached HW58 and found a Trail Register near the water cache. Flipping through the entries, I spotted some familiar names I’d seen before: Buttbee, Cinderella, Salty Bear. But the one that stood out the most was Roadrunner, FL. Her name consistently topped the list, and knowing she was just a couple of days ahead was inspiring. I wanted to meet her.

I also thought of Renee and her friends. They were likely much further ahead by now.

A Windy Night

The stretch of trail along HW58 wasn’t great for camping. It felt barren and uninviting. Despite the late hour, I decided to keep walking. Night fell quickly, and the wind was relentless. The good news? I was so focused on the conditions that I forgot all about the discomfort of my makeshift backpack fix.

By 2 a.m., I was exhausted and ready to rest. I found a small, sheltered spot among a cluster of trees. There was no water nearby, but the cache had been enough to refill my bottles. It would suffice for cooking dinner and getting me through the next day’s hike.

New day, New ideas

The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon. Its rays warmed the air, delighted the eyes, and stirred the birds, whose songs grew louder with each passing moment. My tent was already packed, neatly tucked into the backpack resting on my shoulders, as it had become the norm. It was another day in this simple way of life, where the fear of not being able to carry my pack had dissipated like morning mist under the golden rays of the sun.

Sunrise at Bright Star Wilderness

During the night, I remembered I had a sturdy carabiner in my pack. It was a multipurpose tool I used to secure items to my backpack more reliably. For instance, I often used it to hang my microspikes on the straps of my pack when hiking through snowy sections. This made it easy to put them on or take them off without hesitation—especially helpful when snow hindered my progress or melted away to reveal slippery, wet rocks.

McGyver Times

It occurred to me that I could use the carabiner as a bypass for the broken hip belt buckle, giving me a practical way to adjust my pack. With some cord and the carabiner, I figured I had everything I needed to create a temporary fix.

The solution was straightforward. I tied two fixed knots on either side of the broken buckle, wrapping the cord multiple times around the straps to evenly distribute the pressure the carabiner and cords would endure when I tightened the belt.

Homemade Hip Belt Bypass

I surprised myself with the result. When I connected the two fixed knots with the carabiner and pulled the straps, my pack clung to my hips just as it always had. It was a perfect fit—snug on my hips with a secure adjustment in the front, where the broken buckle used to be. The setup also kept the carabiner from pressing against my stomach, reducing friction between the fix and my body.

I couldn’t have been more satisfied. It worked perfectly, leaving me both relieved and impressed with my own resourcefulness.

“Accept your shadows, …”

I’ve always been the kind of person who didn’t trust my own DIY skills, relying on others to fix things for me. I’ve always admired the abilities of my father and my great friend Gonzalo, who could always find a way to fix broken things with whatever they had on hand.

One memory, in particular, came to mind. Gonzalo and I were biking along Montevideo’s coastline when my bike lost one of the bolts holding the fender to the frame. The fender, now hanging loose, kept hitting the wheel, blocking it and stopping me from riding.

“… bury your fears, “

The day before, there had been a 10K race along that same stretch of the coast, and pieces of zip ties left behind by careless runners were scattered on the ground. Gonzalo searched around and found one with a still-intact clasp. Using it, he reattached the fender to the bike frame. I remember him saying, “This fix will hold up for a long time, I guarantee it.”

“… free your burdens, “

That was over five years ago, and to this day, that zip tie is still what keeps my bike’s fender securely in place.

“… take flight again.”

Now, my friend accompanies me from afar on this journey, and at this moment, I feel he would be very proud to see how much I’ve grown and everything I’ve learned from him.

Trying to identify languages

I was walking along a section of the trail that intersected multiple times with a dirt road, accessible only to motorcycles and ATVs. The path was mostly uphill, and it became clear that my backpack wasn’t adjusted optimally. The knots on the straps were slipping, making the climb more challenging. Fortunately, all I needed to do was tighten my waist straps, and I could continue without much trouble.

At the ridge, I came across another PCT hiker talking out loud while walking completely alone. In my head, I thought, “Wow, this girl’s crazy.” I chuckled to myself, assuming that talking to oneself was the sign of madness, rather than having walked over 600 miles from the Mexican border in just over a month. As I got closer, I realized she was on the phone, using earbuds. When she noticed me, she waved and pointed to her phone. I waved back and continued on my way.

Hills of Bright Star Wilderness

The language she was speaking caught my attention. It wasn’t English, and it definitely wasn’t Spanish either, but it sounded familiar. It was one of those languages with a closed sound, full of clustered consonants. I spent some time amused, trying to guess which language it might be.

Languages roulette

During my first significant job in Uruguay, I was fortunate to start alongside an incredible, kind, and super fun colleague. I remembered her because she loved languages and was fluent in Spanish, English, and German. Her name is Sabrina, and she was always excited to learn new languages. She even used the Duolingo app to play and study languages that interested her. My thoughts turned to Sabri, wondering if the language could be German. However, I ruled it out because I’d met many hikers on the trail who spoke German, and it didn’t sound like them.

My mind kept cycling through people I’d met who spoke their native languages. Canadian? No. Dutch? Maybe… but I’d recently heard Renee speaking in her native tongue, and it didn’t sound the same. Then it hit me: “Oh, it must be Swedish!”

I spent several summers with the relatives of a friend who came from Sweden, and the tone sounded similar. This brought me back to my teenage years. When I was 18, I had quite a bit of contact with this family, the Sanz. It’s fascinating how that connection came about—through Alberto Sanz, a friend of my father’s, whom I consider a grandfather figure.

Separated families

Alberto was part of a social movement in Uruguay during the 1970s that fought against the country’s social inequities. This movement, led by intellectuals, workers, and thinkers, included figures like José “Pepe” Mujica, who later became Uruguay’s president in 2010. However, this social rebellion triggered one of the darkest periods in Uruguay’s history: a military dictatorship.

Thistle flower

During those times, many people were kidnapped from their homes, tortured, killed, or disappeared. It was a period of immense pain, where my parents and all Uruguayans lived under the fear of state terrorism. To protect his family from the regime, Alberto sent them abroad. One of the countries offering political asylum was Sweden, which became the destination for Alberto’s children.

Today, Uruguay is a proud democracy, ranked as one of the best in the world. Although I didn’t live through the dictatorship, I grew up in a democratic society. I met Alberto’s children during their visits to Uruguay to see their father during the holidays.

Happiness is much simpler

Grandpa Alberto played a significant role in shaping the person I am today. He was a source of wisdom and an intellectual powerhouse who helped me through some of the hardest moments in my life. I remember visiting him for advice when I was going through a painful breakup. He told me a phrase that has stayed with me ever since: “Diego, happiness is much simpler.”

I think I finally understand what he meant. Life on the trail is simple. There are only a few things to manage. That doesn’t mean it’s easy—it’s incredibly tough—but it is simple. And I am truly happy to be here. Grandpa, wherever you are, I hope you can see me. I am here, pursuing happiness.

Meeting Buttbee

I stopped for lunch at one of the few water sources along this stretch of the PCT. It was a beautiful waterfall cutting through the trail, with generous shade provided by the surrounding trees. The heat made the cool shade and water a perfect combination. Sitting there with my classic tortilla lunch, the hiker I had passed earlier approached me and asked if she could join.

Roadrunner and Buttbee

We ate together, and she shared some delicious noodles she had cooked—what a legend! She introduced herself as Jenny, trail name Buttbee, and told me she was from Sweden. She was beginning a journey to explore the world, with the PCT as her first stop. We laughed a lot about the craziness of what we were doing. Her courage was impressive, leaving her homeland to embark on a solo journey around the world.

After a while, you realize you’re not entirely alone out here. On the PCT, you connect with so many people, each with incredible stories.

After about 30 minutes of chatting, I decided to continue my hike while Buttbee prepared for her routine post-lunch nap. We said goodbye, knowing we might cross paths again on this magical trail.

This Trail Is Living History

The day went on, and I camped near a water source. “Near” is a stretch, as I had to walk 45 minutes to reach a pond teeming with bugs, leaves, and general unpleasantness. Over time, I had developed a technique for handling water from such sources. The key was to fill the bottles from the middle layer—not the surface, where the freshest debris floats, nor the bottom, a fungal ecosystem of green and brown hues. Stirring up the bottom was a disaster; particles would rise and make the water look even worse. Of course, I filtered and treated it before drinking, but this method eased the burden on my water filter.

PCT Sign in the Woods

As I moved along, I felt immersed in history. The trail began to change, and traces of human presence grew increasingly sparse. It crossed a few desolate roads, now overrun by vegetation—a silent battle between human infrastructure and wilderness, with nature clearly prevailing.

The Roadrunner Gets Closer

Dream Sunrise

My schedule had become a routine: up at 5 a.m., walking by 6 a.m. I was driven by an intense desire to reach Kennedy Meadows, a significant milestone in my journey. While I wanted to stay grounded, I knew that maintaining a pace of 42 kilometers per day would get me there in three days. Some hikers aimed to start the Sierra Nevada in June, believing the snow would magically vanish by then, but I couldn’t wait.

I noticed I was catching up to other hikers whose names had frequently appeared in trail registers. Salty Bear, Cinderella, Frozen, and Roadrunner were now just a day ahead. I was eager to meet them! I already knew Frozen—he was a hiking machine—and seeing him again brought a sense of familiarity to this vast trail.

1000 km Marker!

On Day 37, I realized something incredible: my FarOut app had transitioned from counting in hundreds to thousands of kilometers.

In the U.S., everything is measured in miles, and the PCT is no exception. Even international hikers adopt miles for convenience. But I’m a bit stubborn—I stick to the metric system for three reasons:

  1. I mostly hike alone, so I don’t need to coordinate distances in miles with others.
  2. My pace calculations rely on meters and elevation gain. Converting these to miles and feet is a hassle.
  3. As an engineer, I trust the metric system’s precision. A meter, defined by the speed of light, is timeless. A mile, derived from a thousand paces, feels antiquated and inconsistent

Thistles in the Desert Mountains

Reaching 1,000 kilometers felt surreal. Uruguay, my home country, is slightly over 500 kilometers long, meaning I had walked nearly twice its length. I felt proud—not just of the distance but of the steady effort that had brought me here. Walking felt like a metaphor for life: progress through constant, deliberate steps.

Hiker Trash Dumpster TRAP

Descending into a valley, the terrain turned sandy and arid, reminiscent of the Mojave Desert. It was scorching hot, with little water or shade in sight. As I approached a dirt road, I imagined a trail magic spot. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but the PCT has so many surprises that hope lingers.

This time, my premonition came true!

Spilly Billy Trail Magic

At Bird Spring Pass, a water cache alleviated a grueling 35-mile dry stretch. Arriving there, I found a lively group of hikers, lounging with chips and beers. Spilly Billy, the trail angel behind this magic, welcomed me warmly.

I had met him early in my hike. His Mexican heritage had made it easier for him to remember my name back then. This time, I introduced myself as Roadrunner and shared the story behind my trail name. We chatted for about 30 minutes, enjoying cold drinks and snacks. More hikers arrived, lured by the irresistible comfort of this oasis.

But I had plans. I aimed to hike another 22 kilometers to McIver’s Cabin, making it my longest continuous hiking day yet—52 kilometers in total.

The Biggest Trail Magic Gift

As I was about to leave, Spilly Billy stopped me. “Wait! I have something for you,” he said. I dropped my pack, but he added, “No, keep it on—I want to take a photo of you as you are.”

RoadRunner Portrait By Spilly Billy

The resulting portrait captured every detail of my journey. My small Uruguayan flag, often sparking curiosity, was front and center. People struggled to guess my nationality—some thought Uruguay was a U.S. city, others placed it in Europe, and a few guessed I was Argentine.

My “new” backpack, already patched with a green cord for the hip belt, was also in the frame. So was my ice axe, its tip covered with a syringe cap I had found in Tehachapi’s hiker box.

This photo immortalized my presence on the trail—a priceless gift. Another cherished token was the “Never Give Up” plaque from Mamma Bear, which I hoped was helping Renee recover and return to the trail.

Reaching Goals

Sunset in Kiavah Wilderness

The sun began to set, and the landscape started to change. It was 7 p.m., and I was walking along the PCT, which was crisscrossed by a dirt road. This road seemed suitable only for motocross bikes or perhaps a rugged 4×4. These paths were a mystery to me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone actually ventured through them. At the crossings, there were subtle signs of human presence—traces of campfires, a few scattered cans, and flat spots that seemed like parking areas for vehicles.

These small details kept my mind occupied. Before I knew it, only 3 kilometers remained to the campsite. I had been walking completely alone, in fact, ever since the trail magic. As the light began to fade, I suddenly noticed a glow behind me. Startled, I turned around to see a hiker moving at an incredible speed, his headlamp cutting through the twilight.

Meeting Rabbit

Rabbit by Spilly Billy

He caught up, and we walked the final stretch together. Rabbit, as he introduced himself, had covered an astonishing 70 kilometers that day. I had managed 53—a personal best. We set up camp near the cabin, cooked dinner, and shared stories.

Rabbit’s goal was to complete the PCT in just 90 days—a stark contrast to my approach. Yet, his energy and determination were inspiring. He even dreamed of redoing the trail at a slower pace in the future.

Last sunlights of the day

Rabbit is hiking the PCT as part of a personal project, aiming to complete the entire trail in just 90 days. It’s amazing to see the variety of approaches, personalities, and motivations that drive people to take on this journey. Rabbit and I clicked right away. Even though his approach to the trail is different from mine, I find it incredible and inspiring to meet someone with his energy to tackle such immense challenges.

Despite his intense pace on the PCT, Rabbit is already thinking about doing the trail again someday. Next time, though, he’d take it slower to enjoy more of what the journey has to offer.

That’s one of the most beautiful things about this activity—you get to choose how you want to experience it.

McIver’s Cabin

I woke up early in the morning, while Rabbit was still comfortably sleeping in his tent. True to my routine, I packed up my tent, prepared breakfast, and hit the trail. I made a small detour to visit McIver’s Cabin, mostly to refill my water for the day ahead.

When I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised. The area around the cabin had plenty of space for tents, along with the shelter itself. There was a great water source nearby, so I took off my pack and hydrated well before continuing my journey. Then, curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to check out the inside of the cabin

McIver’s Cabin Table

The interior was very dusty, but it was still impressive for such a remote and abandoned place. What unsettled me, though, was seeing multiple spent shell casings and ammunition scattered on the table. I know that firearms are far more common here than in Uruguay. In the U.S., gun ownership is deeply rooted in the culture, as I had discussed with Stars before.

Still, it felt surreal. Any one of those casings could have been the end of a life—it’s a thought that gives me chills. But to be fair, I’ve never had any trouble with armed individuals during my time here.

On The Way to Ridgecrest

By 10 a.m., I had already walked around 13 kilometers. Rabbit had overtaken me during a bathroom break, and I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. It was a shame because his speed meant I probably wouldn’t see him again.

As I continued, the trail appeared to cross a major highway. I checked FarOut and realized it was Highway 178, also known as Isabella Walker Pass Road. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the name—it was the same route Renee had taken to Ridgecrest to meet her friends.

On the way down, I considered hitchhiking to Ridgecrest for lunch before returning to the trail.

But The Magic Appears

I was running low on food for the stretch to Kennedy Meadows and, after three consecutive days of walking over 40 kilometers, I felt I deserved a reward. When I reached the highway, a wonderful surprise awaited me:

Hot Dogs Magic

Four Trail Angels had set up there, offering support to passing hikers. And the menu? Hot dogs!

They greeted me with incredible kindness. It was a father-and-son duo who had decided to do Trail Magic at this spot to give hikers a final boost of energy before reaching Kennedy Meadows South. They explained this might be one of the last Trail Magic events for a while since the remote Sierra Nevada would make such activities nearly impossible.

When they asked how I wanted my hot dog, I told them to give me the house special. They got so excited and insisted I try their Chili & Pepper Jack Cheese version. It sounded amazing, so I went for it, even though spicy food isn’t common in Uruguay. It was the right choice—the hot dog was absolutely delicious.

Two other Trail Angels, Cuz and Spilly Billy, were also there, soaking in this last chance to offer Magic before the Sierra Nevada. I made sure to take note of their final tips for the trail. I probably wouldn’t see these incredible people again anytime soon.

It felt like a farewell of sorts, as the toughest part of the PCT was just around the corner.

OMG, Roadrunner! It’s Time to Meet You

While chatting with the Trail Angels, I mentioned the hikers ahead of me that I hadn’t met yet. That’s when Cuz said, “Oh, the other Roadrunner passed by here about 15 minutes ago! She came from Ridgecrest and is on her way to Kennedy Meadows.” My mind exploded—LOL.

After saying goodbye to the Angels, Cuz sent me off with a shout: “DIEGO! GET THE F** OUT OF HERE!”* His encouragement gave me the push I needed to leave the comfort of the chairs and hit the trail again.

About 100 meters down the path, I came across a Trail Register and rushed over to check it out.

Trail Register At Walker Pass

I couldn’t believe it—Roadrunner’s name was right above mine on the list! She had just passed by minutes ago because Rabbit, who I’d seen an hour earlier, was the name above hers.

The register was filled with names I didn’t recognize. Many hikers I had been following—like Salty Bear, Cinderella, and Frozen—were no longer ahead of me. They had either taken alternate routes or stopped in towns accessible via Highway 178, Isabella Walker Pass.

New Names New Stories

The Moon Guiding Our Steps

In their place were other names that piqued my curiosity. One stood out: Salty Chef. I found it hilarious that there were now two hikers with Salty in their trail names, yet they were miles apart.

Johnny Appleseed was a legend! I didn’t know him from the registers but from FarOut. He had taken the time to add extra water sources to the app, marking the exact mile points. His effort was a massive help to all of us hikers.

Kaka and White Socks had also caught my attention. They were always listed together, and their entries included “Happy Honeymoon.” I suspected they were a newlywed couple from South Korea, walking the entire 4,273 kilometers of the PCT as their honeymoon. It was both insane and inspiring—a true trial by fire.

Don’t Give Up

On The Way To Your Dreams

I left my signature in the register, my heart ablaze with the story of “Don’t Give Up.” Then, I continued toward my dream.

I was on the verge of reaching my first monumental milestone on the PCT—the gateway to the Sierra Nevada was within my grasp.

One day more

Owens Peak Wilderness

That day, I didn’t meet Roadrunner on the trail. Nightfall came faster than I expected, probably because I was climbing hills, and the sun set with surprising intensity. Cold and darkness took over, and I decided to stop as soon as I found a suitable spot. I came across a small campsite packed with hikers. It was late, so I opted for cowboy camping instead of setting up my tent. I thought the wind might bother me, but it didn’t. I slept well, though I missed the sense of refuge my tent provides.

The Portal Day

Owens Peak Wilderness

I started the next day feeling renewed. I was about to reach The Portal, and at least one zero day awaited me to recharge. The challenge was evolving. I avoided projecting myself into the Sierra Nevada just yet; I still had 48 kilometers to go. But that distance felt manageable, especially with the excitement of reaching such a monumental milestone on the PCT.

The Next Time, My Trailname Twin

Descending into the Chimney Creek Valley, I spotted a Trail Register on the other side of the road. I crossed over to engage in that beautiful ritual of checking who had passed before me.

The register was exceptionally neat, with fresh pages and a perfectly working pen. Someone must have recently replaced it, gifting hikers this clean slate to share stories and inspire those following behind.

As expected, Rabbit’s name was there, listed the day before. His impressive physical condition was evident—he must have covered over 70 kilometers in a single day.

To my surprise, Roadrunner wasn’t in the register. That meant we had crossed paths at some point on the trail, but I hadn’t noticed her. I’d have to wait a bit longer to meet my trail name twin.

First Views Of The Meadows

Sequoia National Forest

The landscape began to change—greener, softer, and more welcoming. The scenery felt familiar, almost like home in the rolling Sierras de Minas. Streams converged into rushing rivers, and the constant hum of flowing water filled the air. It made me realize just how arid the trail had been in previous days.

At that moment, I thought about the word meadow and its meaning in Spanish: pradera. It finally clicked why the name resonated with me. Uruguay is mostly prairies—over 75% of its land is perfect for grazing livestock. I often told fellow hikers, “Uruguay is a country of cattle ranchers. We have 3.5 cows per person!” Of course, they didn’t believe me, but it’s true. We’re a country of 3.5 million people and 10 million cows.

South Fork Kern River

The meadows here reminded me of home with their green grass, herbs, and low trees dominating the landscape. The humid air made the heat heavier, but I was exhilarated by how quickly the scenery had transformed. I had already walked over 40 kilometers that day, but my feet kept moving, following the trail.

What I didn’t have in my prairies, however, were these towering mountain chains in the background. The Sierra Nevada loomed on the horizon, with its snow-capped peaks signaling my next challenge. Crossing through these enchanted forests, where human presence would be sparse, meant confronting my greatest trail weakness: snow.

Reaching The Portal

Finally, I made it. After walking along the South Fork Kern River, passing sandy beaches, and crossing a few bridges, I reached the highway leading to Kennedy Meadows South.

I was overwhelmed with emotion. Tears of pride streamed down my face. I had done it—I had reached The Portal. My trekking poles were battered, their tips worn down to nothing, but none of that mattered. I arrived four days ahead of schedule. I planned to use those extra days to cross the Sierra Nevada at a more relaxed pace, perhaps taking alternate routes to deepen my experience.

But that wasn’t what brought tears to my eyes. It was realizing that this small being, from a third-world country, had turned a five-year plan into reality. I was here, on the legendary PCT, living an experience that transcended me as a person.

The reward was immense and deeply fulfilling. My body ached, yet it stood strong. Mine mind had been sharp enough to manage my physical limits. My unbreakable willpower had guided me through this journey, and not once did I feel burdened by walking.

This had been hard—of course it had been. That’s what made the moment so meaningful. I had adapted to new challenges, embraced an ever-changing adventure, and learned how small we are, yet how much we can achieve with determination. All I needed to do now was simple: keep walking

My loved ones in Uruguay walked with me every step of the way, marveling at each new milestone. Though I often felt alone on the trail, I was never truly alone. I was starting to understand that.

To anyone who has ever felt lonely, even surrounded by people, I want to say this: just keep walking. Lift your head, and you’ll realize you were never alone.

This Is Only the Beginning

I hope everyone is enjoying my story as much as I am enjoying living it, reliving it, and sharing it. I couldn’t be more grateful for what 2024 has brought me, and I wish each of you a very happy 2025. My adventures on the PCT will continue, and so will my reflections on everything I’m experiencing out here. It feels like these insights grow deeper with time, and I’m excited to share them with all of you.

I sincerely hope to connect on a deeper level with each of you who follow along. Especially with those who might feel alone or are facing challenges—know that we can make it through. Let’s keep the flame of our souls burning bright because every single one of us is a Guardians of the Legacy Don’t Give Up.

Affiliate Disclosure

This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any product or service you purchase using the links in the articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price as they would otherwise, and your purchase helps to support The Trek's ongoing goal to serve you quality backpacking advice and information. Thanks for your support!

To learn more, please visit the About This Site page.

Comments 10

  • David Odell : Dec 31st

    I really enjoy reading your story of your PCT hike. David Odell AT71 PCT72 CDT77

    Reply
    • Diego Acuna : Dec 31st

      Thank you so much David! I love your comment and congrats for your Triple Crown! That’s a dream for me

      Reply
  • Denise Pyper : Dec 31st

    I never met you in person when you came thru Quincy….I commented on your Facebook posts, and followed your adventures coming and going to your beloved team’s soccer games, and I think I saw you walking over the hill one time…..

    Reply
    • Diego Acuna : Dec 31st

      I hope you keep my next posts pending and able to see if I get to Quincy 😉. Part of the great parallel stories of my PCT can be born there. 😊

      Reply
  • Nephi : Jan 6th

    Enjoying your posts again. I look at the pct trail through southern California often on Google maps and the pics people take, I feel like I can follow your journey in my head. It’s fun.

    Reply
    • Diego Acuna : Jan 6th

      Hi Nephi! Thank you so much; I really appreciate it. I was just thinking about that! Maybe I could add a map showing my position on the trail at the beginning of my post. Your comment is the fuel I needed to move forward in that direction!

      Reply
  • Jenny L : Jan 6th

    I really enjoy your writing style Diego. It’s immersive and I also hearing about your interactions with others. You account seems very intentional as in you seem to really reflect on the experience you recount and choose your words with thought. I wish you well on your journeys.

    Reply
    • Jenny L : Jan 6th

      I also meant to add that I was really impressed by Spilly Billy’s portraits. Thank you for including them. He captures personality not just appearance.

      Reply
      • Diego Acuna : Jan 7th

        Yes. Spilly Billy it’s one of the greatest heros on this trail 🙂 his work is going to be forever stored in my memory and in a lot of more hikers.

        Reply
    • Diego Acuna : Jan 7th

      Jenny! I’m so happy with your comment. I want to share my experience on the trail in the best way I can. So many things happened, and I’ve probably forgotten a lot, but I try my best to share what each part of the PCT was like for me. I’ll keep sharing my journey this way, and I hope you stay interested in my upcoming post. Happy new year 😊

      Reply

What Do You Think?