Camping up at the highest point before descending into cajon pass, two feet from a steep cliff, with a spectacular view of the sunset, mount baldy with snow, highway 15, with the curve of the trajectory of trains coming and going all night.
my feet hurt all day. The altras, IMHO, suck (for me). blister upon blister under callus making for a left club foot. How strange that the pain, once stomping over and over again on said foot, numbs out. I thought I was done for the day around mile 335, but when I saw the sun setting, I had to run to it, to get higher, to see the show. Now at 8:05 pm, I have laid down my tent fly as a ground cover and am cowboy camping with this view. Right at a cliff edge.
I encountered just two humans today. I like all the hikers I’ve met, but having a day with no contact with my fellow species makes the trail feel different, like I am becoming the trail. It’s a somewhat sublime experience, when this happens. All the other pains and distractions temporarily evaporate. At some point, language becomes useless. Repetitive interior language dissapates, leaving more space for the experiential physical connection between my feet and the ground.