Last page for this bundle of journal. Were spitting distance from Agua Dulche and plan on hobbling in for breakfast, phone calls, resupplies, more paper. Tonight’s end of the day exhaustion was made worse by a malfunctioning stove. We were only able to cook up our instant mashed potatoes after Dylan patiently, yet begrudgingly and hungrily, tinkered with its minuscule mechanics. It has been an interesting segment of trail since we left Big Bear City. The San Gabriel mountains are rugged steep and imposing. Ironically they are also infused with smog and overridden with road access campsites. Highway two took the most efficient route through a good part of the range. When we weren’t paralleling it, which we often were, we were either climbing and or descending way out of our way. I get much less of a charge, lately, out of writing these encapsulations. Most of our days seem somewhat routine. Trail life has become life. It is hard to remember what house living was like. Food whenever, water out of the tap… girlfriend. All these things are missed yet seem to be from a long left behind life. They are memories.
The four hundred fifty miles we have walked so far is not even one quarter of the distance. The twenty four days are not nearly as many as will come to pass before we are in Manning Park over the Canadian border. I’m sure by then this life and its subtleties and routines will be so ingrained in us that returning to civilization will be as much of a shock as starting the walk was. We thought back tonight on the first couple of days on the trail. Our first resupply on the cold morning in Mt. Laguna. I hung out in the bathroom at the visitors center because there was a heat bulb. We only bought one candy bar between us at the store. It seems like an eternity ago. I can’t remember time being this way ever before in my life. Ever moving through space, walking from dusk till dawn packs existence so full of experiences and simultaneously slows time down to a crawl. Every day is like a lifetime of events and expended energy. We have learned a lot about what this involves. I’m sure we will both purchase eight candybars tomorrow. It is, of coarse, more than that. We have learned a much more exertive yet aesthetically purer way of life. The dipping sun turns the Vasquez rocks flaming colors. A drooping head makes me think of past peaceful moments experienced by Tubercio Vasquez the infamous bandito that made our current surroundings his hideout from the law.