Cuba was a double-nero for me. Which meant I hiked close to zero miles for two consecutive days. The first day into town started in a cow pasture, continued on a road walk, was interrupted by a large breakfast, and concluded with town chores and a pile of hikers sharing a hotel room of questionable quality. The second day brought a lazy morning, a grocery store resupply, and a lunch of fried chicken before an early afternoon departure.
Carrot and I walked out of town on the shoulderless road, stepping into the rough grass every time a car drove past. We turned north toward the divide and noticed a small fire burning to the west. My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t find any information about the fire on the usual hiker channels, so I called the local USFS office and was told it was burning far west of the CDT and shouldn’t be an issue.
From the road, the trail wound itself up over 10,000 ft and it felt like I had finally left the desert. Tall pine trees, purple flowers, and soft grasses were all around. I could feel the lushness in my sinuses. A quick dip in San Gregorio lake washed the sweat off my skin and the cold energized my legs for the last few hours of the day. Camping in a meadow, with small melt-water creeks running all around, it’s feeling like Colorado is getting much closer.
The following days forecast for rain and scattered thundershowers proved correct. After a long decent through groves of aspen trees a cold rain came bellowing out of the thick dark clouds. I was far below the ridgeline and well protected in the trees, so the thunder and lightening weren’t as disruptive as if I had been more exposed. My dyneema poncho covered the most important parts of me and my but my legs and feet were quickly soaked through.
The rain let up after a few hours and I continued to loose elevation as the Rio Chama, my destination for the day, grew closer. After crossing the river, I set up camp with Red Stripe, Sock Drawer, and Carrot. We found just enough space amongst the cow pies to set up our shelters against the cold and wet.
The morning valley was filled with cold, damp, fog, and the first three miles of trail rose steeply to the top of the Mesa De Los Viejos. My soggy sleeping bag and damp tarp tent weighed down my backpack, but the warm sun and lifting fog helped propel me north. The remaining 12 miles along the edge of the Mesa delivered near-constant views of the Abiquiu reservoir and the Rio Chama watershed.
As I walked up to the road that would take me into Santa Fe for a few days off, I thought of the friends I have made on the trails over the last decade. Whether running or hiking there is something special about the relationship that forms on a narrow strip of dirt. Maybe it comes with the sweat and suffering, or perhaps with the monotony and simplicity two-legged locomotion? Whatever the reason, I consider myself blessed to have made lifelong friends on trail. Especially those who will belt out the lyrics to”Ironic” by Alanis Morissette while struggling down a muddy trail.
Current Earworm: “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl)” by Looking Glass
