Trail zero (noun): A day spent on trail where hikers travel zero trail miles.
Ranger and I had decided to trail zero to kill time waiting for the post office to open at our next resupply point ahead. It was a small town in Wyoming, and didn't offer many options for trail food so the majority of hikers sent themselves boxes. If we went at our usual pace we would arrive on a Saturday when the PO was closed, and would have to wait in town two days until it opened up again on Monday. We figured it would be more fun to kill time on trail rather than town, so we had stocked up on delicious food items for such the occasion. Trail zeros require hikers to stay in one campsite on trail for two nights in order to achieve a full day with no hiking. However, because we hadn't made it to a very good campsite the night before, we decided to turn it into a trail nearo and hiked up the trail 4 miles to a lovely spot by Lost Lake. If we were going to hang out in camp all day, it needed to be a good spot.
Moving was worth it. The day was spent chatting, tending the fire, destroying mosquitoes, journaling, watching movies, eating fancy food, and lounging. I had done only one other trail nearo in the Sierras on the PCT, and the day left me wondering why I didn't do them more often. I fell asleep, listening to the frogs croak by the lake.
I took off the next morning swatting mosquitoes. The trail offered gentle uphills as I tread through Mount Zirkle wilderness. I was in awe of the beautiful scenery. At the end of the 19 mile day I approached the lake where we had agreed to camp. It was a bit off trail, and Ranger's tent was a small blob of orange against the green landscape. As I trod cross country toward it, I noticed the plethora of different flowers. I had never seen such variety on the mountaintops; purples mixed with yellows, in all shapes and sizes.
I've always admired the strength and resilience of alpine flowers. They are strong enough to withstand the forces of wind, cold, and snow, yet hold a gentle beauty.
I gathered some water from the shallow pond, horrified to find out that mosquitoes accompanied the clear water. If I stopped walking, they would come in for an attack. We decided to move camp rather an battle bugs all evening.
We settled on a spot higher up on the ridge. There were still a few bugs, but the wind kept most of them away. We discussed logistics for time off the trail, and after much debate settled on a plan: We would hitch from Encampment, WY (the next resupply town) to Granby, CO together. I would stay in Granby and volunteer at the Y (my previous employer) while my knee recovered, and he would take the train to Denver and fly home for a week to visit family. My mom would then meet us in Granby and drive us back up to WY. In the meantime, we needed to try to book things and contact people asap with the limited cell service the wilderness provides. If it all worked out as planned, I would be amazed.
The next day started with a decent climb followed by a long, steep downhill. The rough jagged mountains were fading into foothills as we approached a new State. Snow crossings still adorned the hilltops and in no time my feet were wet with snowmelt. I battled my way down the hill through overgrowth to a hot, exposed road. I joined Ranger for lunch and a long siesta under welcomed shade.
The afternoon offered more gravel road walking and overgrown trails. We entered a burn area and crossed over multiple creeks until popping out on an old road which we followed to a meadow. We decided to camp there. It wasn't the best spot; sunny and choked with tall grasses, but we didn't expect a better spot to present itself anytime soon. The worst thing was the bugs. Without the wind to dissuade them, mosquitoes ravaged us. So we cooked dinner in our tents. The sun roasted me alive in my green oven, and I couldn't open the mesh door for fear mosquitoes would take it as an invitation to dinner. I cooked up some mac and cheese but I couldn't eat very much. The sun finally dipped below the trees and within 20 minutes I was under my sleeping bag in the cool evening.
The air was still all night. When I woke up, so much dew covered the tent inside and out that it was wetter than if it had rained. I wiped the condensation off with my bandana, as a wet tent is a heavy tent, and packed up. Thankfully the dew must have made the mosquitoes heavy too, for there weren't many flying around.
The trail followed a old Jeep road for miles and miles, through high grasses and fields. As the sun warmed up the earth the mosquitoes started to emerge, and soon I was constantly slapping them. Finally I climbed high enough to leave the mosquitoes behind and cruised along a shaded ridgetop.
I stopped for lunch and laid out my tent to finish drying in the sun.
A few miles later the Jeep road brought me to a trail and I followed it to the Wyoming border. Although I had technically crossed from NM into CO, this felt like the first border crossing all trail. The NM/CO one had been in a car, driving around the fire closure, and had therefore been left uncelebrated. Ranger and I rested in the shade for a while, celebrating the halfway point.
Continuing on, we emerged onto a nice gravel road. According to the guide, the CDT went up and over a 700 foot climb, and included adventuring over countless blowdown trees. The other option was to walk on a wide, smooth, and relatively flat road, which also happened to be 0.7 miles shorter. I debated about taking the trail. I really wanted to do it and to challenge myself again, but the road was inviting and my knee offered a perfect excuse to slack a bit. For as much as thruhikers complain about road walks, it seems like we choose the road over the trail whenever we have the option.
Some things I noticed about Wyoming:
1. The mosquitoes are smaller and more sneaky.
2. There are cool rocks.
3. There are a lot of marsh crossings during which your feet get wet.
4. It's hot.
We got up early to get to town early. The air was cool as I strode down the road and soon met back up with the CDT junction. I turned back onto the trail. I scurried to get up a big hill before the sun got too high. Still, my shirt became wet with sweat and marshy areas made it impossible to keep my feet dry. Lovely rock formations protruded from the land. I was starving but didn't want to take time to stop and eat; town was near.
We got a hitch into Encampment, WY with some other hikers. The drivers dropped us off at the restaurant and we headed in. After destroying some food we went to the campground across the road and joined tent city. Then went to shower. Smelling like rose hips, kiwi lime, and cherry blossoms, I emerged clean. More and more hikers came as I did chores. Soon there were 16 tents spread out on the grass, the most I'd seen in one place all trail. Hikers gathered around the picnic table, stood off to the side talking on the phone, and lingered on the porches of the restaurants. We were taking over the tiny town.
I had a hard time falling asleep that night. My mind raced with thoughts about the trail. All the people we met in the past few days would be ahead by the time we got back. Ten days off is a really long time. It would be a whole new hike with unfamiliar faces. It would be like we were starting over.
I laughed when I poked my head out of the tent at 8:00am. Ranger and I were the only two tents left standing in the previously crowded field. I quickly walked to the post office, trying to stick to the cool shadows and joined the line of other hikers to get my box. They had been closed the day before when we got to town, Sunday, so15-20 hikers had made the trek early that morning to grab their resupply box. I picked up my box and walked the mile back to the campground. I didn't need the food inside anymore, as I was heading off trail, but I eagerly grabbed out some new contacts and a fresh pair of shoes.
We had set aside a full day to hitch the 150 miles to Granby. We started our adventure at the road leading out of town, which happened to be in a construction zone. We stood among big machines beeping and spraying a new foundation. The pilot car gave us a dirty look as he lead a few cars safely through, so we walked a quarter mile up the road out of the construction and waited. And waited. And waited. In a town with a population of 400, there wasn't a whole lot of traffic, and when there was it came in spurts of 2-4 cars through the construction zone. Nobody seemed to want to pick us up. For 45 minutes we tried to be generally as happy as one can be hitching under a hot sun at the mercy of kind strangers. We made a "CDT Hikers" sign so people would know we were harmless. We saw a lady slow down and back into a driveway. At first we wondered if maybe she was pulling over to give us a ride. Instead, she put mail in the mailbox. Just a postal worker. But to our surprise she pulled up to us and told us she would give us a ride as far as she could. We rode on the mail route with her and her husband. As they stopped by houses along the quiet Highway, they told us all about what it was like to be a mail carrier and run routes for 23 years. They said once you get into a routine it's really simple: they got up early every morning to sort the mail, bundle it, put it in order, and then start the mail route. They talked about how they knew the people they delivered for; saw kids grow up, land turn over, and old pass on. I was excited to learn about what it was actually like being a mail person and enjoyed the ride, although it was slow. They dropped us off at a road intersection, just over the CO border.
We were hitching for maybe 10 to 15 minutes when a truck pulled over with a dog. The owner's name was Bryan and I didn't really get to know him much because I was too occupied petting the dog in the back. He was going through Steamboat and would take us as far as Walden. The ride was pretty short... only about 12 miles down the road. He dropped us off outside of Walden next to a junction. As I studied the map I realized we had made a mistake. If he was going all the way to Steamboat we should have continued on with him and hitched from that area. People are more familiar with hikers there. We moved to a spot where we could hit traffic moving toward Steamboat or to Granby. Whoever pulled over would determine our direction. The hitch took maybe a half hour until another guy pulled over. Jake was a young field biologist and was traveling for work. We all squeezed in the front of the truck. He was going to Steamboat, so we agreed that was the way to go. After pleasantries, the conversation struggled to fill in the long ride. He dropped us off at the next road junction where we could continue south.
The wait there really wasn't that long. Peter pulled over in a Tesla and told us to get in. He was going to Silverthorne but could take us further down the road to Kremmling. I was afraid of getting his fancy car dirty but marveled at the fine futuristic manufacturing of such a vehicle. It was pretty good conversation for a while but by the end of it he seemed to want us to get out of his vehicle. Still, he kept the conversation kind and cordial. I was thankful when he dropped us off at at ice cream shop and we went in for a quick treat. We had made good timing that day, and had only a few stretches left to Granby.
After eating icecream we perched on the road in front of an apartment to hitch in the shade. I predicted it would be the longest hitch we had so far that day, and it was. For about 45 minutes we stood out there. I was starting to feel delirious in the hot sun and we joked to ease the monotony of watching one car after another pass by. As we were having fun, a woman named Alisha walked over to us and told us she could take us to Hot Springs. She had her kids in the car and I was touched at her generosity. There was a risk giving rides to strangers, especially with children. To help put her at ease, I talked to the kids and asked their names. It was a delightful ride. I found out that the daughter was friends with someone I had babysat and the little boy and girl were stoked tell us about all of the sports they played.
She dropped us off in Hot Springs. One more leg. We were hitching for less than a minute when another guy pulled over. Zach had lived in the area for about a decade and had gotten married at the resort where I had worked, and he agreed to take us straight there.
I was amazed at how smoothly the day had gone. It had taken 6 hitches and 6 hours to go 150 miles. I checked in with HR, moved into my room, and prepared for a week of rest.
Volunteer days were spent filling in the schedule for sick people, hanging with the sled dogs, answering questions, and overall ensuring families had fun on their vacation. I spent my downtime cleaning and repairing my backpacking gear. I did everything I could to stay off my knee and let it heal. Some days I went to bed, exhausted. Some days I had time to spare and found myself bored. Overall the week went quick, and before I knew it, the time had come to head back to trail.
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