PNT Section 3, Part 3: Road-Walking Woes

Abercrombie Mountain

On my way out of Metaline Falls, I soon crossed the bridge over the Pend Oreille River. I’d heard the water marked the end of grizzly country on this route, and I’d optimistically left my bear spray in the hiker box back at the Washington Hotel. 

The first few miles out of town followed paved highways, before turning onto gravel forest service roads. The majority (34 of 45 miles, to be precise) of this next section would be road-walking. Despite only carrying two days of food, and ditching some of my unneeded gear at the hotel, my hips and feet still ached. I felt each step pounding on the pavement as it rippled up through my bones. I put on a comedy podcast and tried to ignore the pain. 

Shortly after the pavement ended, the route wound through a logging operation. The machines were quiet and abandoned on a Sunday morning. Their worn appearance and posed rigidness reminded me of walking through a museum display of dinosaur skeletons. 

As I joined Abercrombie Mountain trail, I tried to soak up the little wonders in my brief time in the trees. I studied the delicate beauty of a new pinecone. I found a small spring hidden off the trail, which if comments on FarOut were accurate, would be my last water until tomorrow. My pack was heavy as I climbed the final few miles to the top of the mountain, but the views kept my spirits up. 

I reached 15 miles by 5:00 p.m., and rather than push on to the next known campsite in 5 miles, decided to pitch my tent on the scenic saddle. I finished making dinner just as the mosquitoes emerged, and watched the sunset from behind the security of my mesh. Soon after, I was surprised by the arrival of Thrift Shop. When I asked about her changed zero-day plans, she implied that the arrival of additional hikers had motivated her to continue on. She quietly made camp near me, and wandered to a nearby breezy viewpoint in the hope of escaping bugs while cooking. 

On The Road Again

I started walking before sunrise the next morning, the hope of beating some of the heat on the many miles of road that lay ahead. I sped down the last five miles of mountain trail, then joined another gravel road for most of the morning. At some point on this road, I dropped my sunscreen, and by the time I realized, didn’t feel hunting for the small tube would be worth my time. Ironically, this would likely be the most exposed day of hiking so far. I reached a small roadside picnic spot, and reveled in the shade and cool creek water. I drank several liters, knowing the road would be hot, and this was the last reliable source for about fifteen miles. 

My hips began complaining within the first mile on pavement. The mid-morning sun was already oppressively hot, and the direction of the road meant the tall trees that lined it did not cast shadows where I needed them. I studied my map in dismay, noticing that the angle of the sun was likely to shift as I made progress on the horseshoe-shaped road, keeping me in perpetually direct sunlight. I saw no cars in the first hour, and quickly gave up on the possibility of being offered a ride. 

The road was long and lonely, but I soon noticed decorative signs too small to be meant for passing drivers to read. They were for PNT hikers, put up by the residents of Northport. The cheery messages with silly rhyming schemes lifted my spirits slightly, and I covered each miserable mile of pavement in the hope of reading the next one.

 

In the heat of the day, I came across Thrift Shop taking a break in a rare shaded area. I asked to join her, and we swatted away biting flies while talking about hiking and life. She generously offered me sunscreen after I complained of my burning calves. It stung against my already-red skin. After close to an hour resting in the shade, we reluctantly returned to the road walk. The pavement curved again, where it paralleled the mighty Columbia River.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a hot, parched blur. The river water below taunted me, inaccessible for swimming, and dangerous to consume due to heavy metal content. Hopeful about topping off water at a local’s house I’d heard about, I didn’t bother rationing as I drank. But when I arrived at the promised location, no one was home. I continued on for another four miles in the heat with less than a quarter of a liter, carefully sipping it. Finally, I crossed an unmarked trickle, and greedily soaked my clothing before filling my water bottles. 

I ended the day camping at the Columbia RV park. The well-watered grounds felt like a humid oasis compared to the dry road. The tenting area was empty, and blessedly far from the hum of RV generators. I slept easily, and woke early with the aim of getting to Northport before the sun hit the pavement. 

Northport, WA

The last few miles into town were windy and full of traffic. A kind woman offered me a ride less than a quarter mile from the city limits, but I declined, feeling some kind of stubborn determination to finish the road-walk I’d started. 

I reached mile 400 on the edge of town, and made a dusty marker on the shoulder of the road. The sun poked over the nearby hillside just as I reached the protective shadow of buildings that lined main street. 

The town of Northport was light on amenities, but heavy on hospitality. I started off my town day with an ice cream and hearty sandwich at the Northern Provisions café, then went to the gas station across the street to resupply. The selection was somewhat limited compared to others, and I left with more chips and candy bars than is typical for me. Thrift Shop and I crossed paths again, but she immediately continued hiking after resupplying, apparently eager to out-walk the bubble behind us.

I spent the rest of the afternoon at the local library. The librarian invited me to sit in the air conditioned interior, but self-conscious about how my smell might impact the small space, I remained in at the shaded picnic table in the yard. I thought it was nice that even outside of regular library hours, they had WiFi, outdoor charging stations, and water available to hikers. In the evening, I got some cheap tacos from the bar before meeting up with trail angels Josh and Jami. I felt immediately welcome in their cozy home. I cuddled with their elderly blind cat.

 In the way of trail connections, Josh immediately told me his life-story, and we were lamenting about the nature of the universe and capitalism within the hour. By sunset, a group of five other hikers trickled in; Stubs, Krafty, Second Child, Field Trip, and Coffee Break. All but Stubs were old friends who had met on previous trails, and had started the PNT together. Josh and Jami served us a smorgasbord for dinner, and pressed us to finish the leftovers in a parental manner. We all signed the trail log, complained about the road-walking, and pitched our tents close together in the back yard. I experienced the comfortable comradery of a group for the first time on this trail, and slept easily that night.

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