A grind of a day, to be sure. Sleeping out next to the creek in Tylerhorse canyon may have been preferable to setting up the tent in the strong breeze, but that did not necessarily mean it was a good night sleep. The last night of the 3-day wind storm was not kind: we were pelted with sand of various sizes at various double-digit velocities all night long, and the wind blew down through the cinched-up mummy openings and past the internal draft collars of our sleeping bags to cool us off from time to time. My feet throbbed all night, as I was unable to remove my blister dressings out of the next days' necessity. I could feel my pulse beating in each constrained blister aching for a breath of fresh air, but since I lost all the blister dressings, well I had nobody to blame but myself for that one.
Smiles once again received poor sleep, while I was able to snooze through the maelstrom easily, only having to wake up to shed clothing inside my too-warm sleeping bag. We wearily crawled out of our cocoons at 4:30 am to start our hike to town, to Mojave, some 17 miles distant. The early departure was to allow maximum time in the hotel and to beat the heat we knew was coming (since the westerly winds had died). Smiles shambled up the trail while I finished packing up, fairy confident that I would catch up slowly. After I stood up and could barely move either ankle on account of stiff calves, I knew a speedy catch-up was false. I hobbled up the trail in the warm pre-dawn air, cursing the various potential causes to the calf cramp/stiffness that was hindering my progress. Not enough electrolytes, too much water, not enough vitamins, too much beer at Casa de Luna, not enough stretching, too much stretching, not enough food... nothing was safe from my baleful minds' eye. Off in the distance, canyon wrens greeted the sun as the warm orange and purple hues spread across the desert. Already more hospitable to life than the wind-swept plain we marched across yesterday, I told myself. The mountains of sand bore signs of the winds the night before: streaks from where branches whipped to and fro across the surface, concentric circles where tattered grasses spun around on the ground around a central point, and ridges of sand from the blasting wind. Eventually my calves loosened after a long mile, but every stop of any length allowed them to become taut again. The pain never really went away, but it was manageable. After all, it was only 16 miles to town at that point. We climbed, descended and climbed some more. The 'speed holes' I had punched in the toe boxes of Smiles' too-small shoes the day before now became one-way doors for sand into her shoes, so impromptu duct tape shoe covers were fashioned. They moderately staunched the flow of sand into her shoes. After a solid 1,500 foot climb, we came upon a cache complete with water and armchairs of the lawn and folding variety. Pants on Fire and Seminole were there, relaxing, and team Tingo was packing up to hit the trail again. We took a hasty break and filled up with enough water to get us to the road, signed the register, and got back on the trail before 9 am with 10 miles to go. We charged for 3.5 of those miles, then both of us took fairly rapid declines in capabilities. Smiles' feet were in tremendous pain from getting rammed in the front of her shoes on every downhill step. Both of my calves had cramped up to the point where each step felt like my muscles were velcroed together. The blisters peppering my feet went unnoticed in light of the calf/ankle problems. Nothing was working, and after contemplating crawling the last three miles downhill, next to yet another wind farm, I greedily chewed up half of a narcotic painkiller to facilitate the immediate need of walking successfully. I stowed my poles and started charging down the hill at a good clip, wanting to be 100% sure I was done walking once the painkiller wore off since I was surely destroying myself more in the process. Whatever, I thought, there will be electrolytes, hot water, rest and other such remedies in town. I signed us into the Oak Creek register("I need electrolytes"- Dr. slosh; "I need new shoes" - smiles; "I just want my kids back" - Tom Jane), and left a pleading note for someone to return our beloved first aid (=blister care) kit. Smiles quickly joined, then we walked up to hitch. A trail angel by the names of Coppertone/A Natural Hiker was giving trail magic root beer floats, which were the only thing that made today a not-horrible day. A trail angel named Doug gave us a ride to the Mojave Days Inn, which had a great shower and great bed. It was also about 150 meters from a very active railyard, which was curiously not mentioned in the guidebook we were using, considering that the train traffic in the alternate trail town of Tehachapi was specifically listed as a negative. Very curious, and another example of the "very opinionated, and frequently wrong" writing style, so sayeth Lunchbox. Two dinners later, I was asleep soundly without any Law & Order. Smiles followed me in slumber shortly thereafter.
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