I set up the one-person tent last night, put a rock on the stake to hold the vestibule door open, and passed out. I’ve woken to agreed-upon group alarms but have yet to set one for myself, which I suppose could be risky, but I’m far from sleeping in. Just the opposite, as I climb out of my tent with the help of my headlamp, which I have to assemble with the help of my phone light because I have yet to use it.

I’ve declined night hiking up to this point because I want to see the areas I’m walking through but as I’m recovered from yesterday and it’s too early to eat, I get to navigating the path with the glow of dead grass highlighting the edges as I step slowly because I don’t want to trip or step in a hole. Dried poop with berries in it would be the safest hazard at the moment.

I see a scattering of lights and what must be the city of Bakersfield in the distance to my left. In front of me, a graveyard of trees to mostly climb over, as I attempt to look for the path on the other side, and decide whether under or around the pile would be the better choice. This definitely slows me down and then I wonder how the others made it through this mess at the end of the day, at least it was for me.

I’ll stop for the first half of my breakfast once my headlamp is off and there’s a rock to sit on. The further from the ground I am, the easier it is to get back up, especially with a full pack (not an issue for now). A bush grabs my hose, which I’m surprised doesn’t happen more often, and I stop to stick it back in my hip belt. They come with a magnet but I don’t have the attachment, so mine gets to swing into the dirt when I put my bag down.

It’s a good thing there’s always a few drops of water left in the tip so I can give it a rinse before letting sand do the job of my toothbrush, which I don’t use as much as I should out here. The elevation is destroying what energy I thought I had. I stopped an hour later to finish my protein granola with mixed berries, this time on a log. I finally reached Robin Bird Spring, located 100 yards off trail, and am surprised to find Rachel and Trailer Park.

He’s preparing tea while she’s getting ready to break down her tent. I let them know I’m getting water and returning to the trail. They tell me the two French guys made it here last night but have already left. There’s a phone signal and they made use of it, so they went to bed even later and are struggling to get motivated this morning. I hike on, encouraged to continue by the shade of the forest.

I cross a dirt road, sign the hiker log, and skip the janky-looking bench for a more sturdy snack spot. I’ve been expecting part of my trail family to pass me the rest of the morning, so imagine my surprise when I see a skirt very happily heading my way. I nickname her One Pole and she says she hasn’t seen anyone else, except meeting Tea Time. Is it possible they were both trying to spot a bear at the same time?

She’s quickly on her way before I can pack up my stroopwafel and peanut butter wrappers. I’ll pass her taking a power nap in the shade at another road and we exchange names on our second meeting, hers is Mercury, and I’m still without a trail name. Some are super motivated and can hike alone but I push myself more when I am hiking with someone or feel that they’re waiting on me.

I’m exposed in the heat again, and I know today is cooler than the weather that’s coming, but I can’t help but feel like quitting or turning around sometimes. It’s hard to express that when all the photos are so beautiful, so some take pictures of themselves crying. Other hikers listen to music or podcasts to drown out their thoughts, but that’s just another reason I love being out here, because I don’t mind being in my head.

It’s when the passing thoughts stop that I know I’m exhausted and then my brain goes on a loop of just finding a spot to rest. I’m counting down the five miles until I see Caleb when I crest a hill and recognize the car. He was able to find a decent dirt road, after driving a few of them, that intersects with the trail. I am relieved and gladly sit in the shade with a juice box.

We wait for Rachel and then at least another half hour for Trailer Park, both of whom are just as surprised as I was to see the car so soon. They chug Gatorade, leave their packs with us, and hike back into the desert. I’m getting sores and dye stains from my bra, so I take it off while we wait an hour and a half in the shade before driving to the water cache to meet them.

I shouldn’t be surprised by how quickly they got there, but I am shocked to find out that the French guys have been here since noon, sitting in collapsible camp chairs in the full sun listening to Old Yeller talk about hugs and such since he brings beer and fresh fruit. Also astonishing is the number of five-gallon jugs, at least 60, kept stocked by Devil Fish. I’ll sit long enough to hear some stories about Soccer Mom.

A woman came through the desert with bleeding blisters because her shoes were too small and the stores she had shopped at didn’t have her size, but a pair of mine did the trick. Old Yeller says this is the best trail magic he’s seen in his two years of sitting on the hill, because his house doesn’t get signal, but this spot does. He also brags about our freeze-dried cheesecake, so Caleb gets out another bag so that Rachel and Trailer Park can finally try some.

I’ll sit in the shade in the car while we wait for the two to resupply their bags and take them from the car. I’m ready to leave Old Yeller’s stories in the dust and go to Lake Isabella. Dinner is at Miller’s Sierra Vista and though Caleb drowns my salad in dressing, thinking it’s his, I’ll still eat most of it. I booked a room while we sat and when the call came letting me know the TV doesn’t work, I assured her it’s no problem as we won’t be using it.

I send her my driver’s license number and she replies with the code to our room. There are a few signs inside – one for the window that’s out of order, another telling you not to use a washcloth on your shoes and luggage, and the wireless info that asks you not to do anything illegal or mean. It’s a cute place, but I will shower and sleep, as I usually do after a day of hiking, driving, or adventuring; even if my legs think they’re still out on the trail.