Pool Games in Tehachapi: The Anti-Structure of Relationships on Trail.
At over 500 miles in, Yogurt and I had yet to take our first zero (a day in which you walk zero miles on trail). We hadn’t planned it that way. It just kind of happened… and if we are speaking frankly very little of our time together has been planned out at all.
We met at CLEEF- the campsite at the southern terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail. Twas the night before our start date. As first time thru-hikers we were excited and nervous in equal parts, buzzing with an electricity that had to be quelled by hiker-midnight (9pm). We set out the following morning with other people from camp. As the days and eventually weeks passed, everyone found their own pace, schedule and routine. Relationships on trail are often very fluid and transient. Faces and names will pop up and then disappear, sometimes forever while others play more recurring roles. Miles passed by under our feet. Social groups and landscapes changed with the distance progressed. In a lifestyle defined by impermanence there was one constant: Yogurt. To be clear, this was completely unintentional at first. We are both very much here with the intention of ‘hiking our own hike’. It just so happens that our hikes have evolved quite similarly. Not exactly the same: I tend to walk quicker and finish earlier; in the desert Yogurt night hiked while I clenched with an iron fist to my granny bed time. We found though that we often covered similar miles overall. Furthermore, as a student and recent graduate, we share parallel mindsets when it comes to budgeting town stops (also insatiable desires for caffeine which we ensure to get more than our fix of each time there is the opportunity). Above all else, we really get along. We sit outside supermarkets eating pints of ice cream and bagged salads; laugh like idiots when we are sleepy or hypothermic because we’ve discovered laughing and crying are basically the same thing; discuss how different surfaces affect pee splatter on our shoes; scream “good morning Morning Worm” at each other whenever we camp close together; contemplate when we can start to smell ourselves again after each town shower; appreciate the musical divinity of Sufjan Stevens and other artists in the pantheon of ‘sad girl’ music and much more. Uniquely, there is absolutely no sense of expectation or obligation. When on trail, we have no way of communicating other than face to face. I see Yogurt when I see her and when I don’t, I don’t.
Unlike relationships in normal society- specifically at our age and in a social media defined era- where bonds are quantified in the frequency of brunch dates or shattered due to a message being left seen but unanswered, there is something beautifully simple about our arrangement. This probably comes as no surprise to those who grew up knocking on each other’s doors as kids to see if your neighborhood friends wanted to play. I’ve always understood the nostalgia of the generations not far removed from myself for this purity of social interaction. Many of my peers have grown up with an anxiety of having to be everywhere all the time, to be available to everyone in our contacts list because we have the ability to communicate at any given moment. When someone knocks you’re always expected to be home- even when you’re not. Having lived in four continents before legally being able to buy a drink in most countries (sorry 18 year olds of the USA) I have first hand experience with the blessings and curses of social media. The joy of being able to maintain contact with those on the other side of the world and the stress of having so many people I want to feel valued with only so many hours in the day. At times this has been paralyzing and instead of appreciating the benefits of these new methods of communication, I rejected them entirely, unable to cope with the internalized pressure of showing up how I ideally wanted to for those I care so deeply about. Whilst I work on finding balance in my normal life, I was struck by how natural friendships felt on trail when Yogurt and I took our first zero in Tehachapi.
The section leading up to this lay revelation felt like a fever dream. It was the hottest day of the year and the SoCal heat wave sizzled us like we had personally offended the sun. We congregated at Hikertown in preparation for the LA aqueduct- one of most notorious sections of the PCT, so exposed to the desert sun it’s only ever undertaken at night or very early in the morning. Hikertown is a parking lot size conglomeration of old film set buildings that act as accommodation for passing hikers. Feeling as if it fell out of the sky, this little PCT landmark signified the start of a unique stretch of trail. Groups rolled out of Hikertown as the sun started to set. Adorned in glow sticks with a rave-like energy, we set out for a nocturnal march. Like a coming of age movie montage we danced to playlists as loud as an iPhone allows whilst the sunset and the Milky Way illuminated our way. Through Joshua Trees and wind farms, we were fuelled on each others company and the novelty of this previously unimaginable experience.
Before we knew it, the horizon started to warm. Struck by exhaustion, we attempted to sleep a few hours before carrying on to Tehachapi. Unfortunately, the desert days warm rapidly. Sleep became impossible merely an hour after we stopped to rest. Bereft of options we locked our aim on town and beds in air conditioned motels. After over 50 miles on just over an hour sleep, my trekking poles became crutches as I hobbled towards our goal. Walk with grace I did not, crying like a petulant toddler for a significant portion of the last stretch before town. Finally, the road was in sight. I could already taste the sweet fizz of a cold fountain drink and feel the cool sheets on my face as I passed out into a much anticipated slumber. Arrival into town was not eventful beyond exactly that.
The next day, as everyone recovered, we planned a pool party to unwind and enjoy the sweet, refreshing weightlessness of a delightfully chlorinated body of water (as thru-hikers we definitely put those chemicals to work). It was our first zero- great for the feet and even better for the soul. As we played games in the pool like children at a summer birthday party, I couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes you realise how special moments are only once they’ve passed but not this time. In that moment I was truly grateful for the authenticity, the ease of the friendships formed around me. It felt even more natural than some childhood friendships. For even as children we are being taught the ‘proper’ ways to interact with each other and exist within the structures set out for us by society. That’s not to say we completely do away with the impacts of out socialisation on trail. We cannot undo our programming but there are not the same forces present to remind us how we ‘should’ behave. On trail we don’t occupy the social roles we do in our normal life. We don’t exist as students, employees, bosses, aunties, boyfriends or anything else. We are free to exist and interact more freely.
However, the trail is not a completely lawless place. As Big Chill proclaimed, knuckle deep in his nostril, “picking boogies is totally acceptable on trail; eating boogies, still unacceptable.”
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Comments 6
Great update and even better insights! Thank you and happy trails.
I really like your writing style.
Thanks Nephi!
Thank you so much for your kind words- so happy you enjoyed it!
Stumbled upon your post and just a great writeup with such lovely prose. Made my morning. Best of luck on your quest!
Great writing, and touching analysis!