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Things Hikers Sometimes Do, Chapter Two: Hitchhiking (With Helpful Hints)

One of the things that makes those new to long distance hiking nervous is the prospect of having to hitch into towns for resupply.  But I think you'll find that unlike listening to Chris Collinsworth or watching Dance Moms, the more you do it, the more comfortable you'll be with it.

While on the CDT in 2012 I had to hitch into Encampment/Riverside from Battle Pass and then back again, because I am incredibly lazy and have no interest in walking 13 miles into and out of town.  Battle Pass is a notoriously tough hitch, but I got a lucky ride down from the pass.  The next day I had to hitch back to the trail, which turned out to be slightly more difficult.

11:00am Looks like rain; off to The Mangy Moose for one last beer.

11:20am No rain.  Start hitching at the intersection of Routes 230 and 70.

11:30am Still hitching.

11:40am Still hitching.

11:45am Reposition pack to make it more visible to passing cars.

11:52am Move 30 feet up Route 70.

12:00pm Go back to The Mangy Moose for another beer.  Is anyone heading up to Battle Pass anytime soon? No?  Watch Gunsmoke.

12:35pm Back to hitching.

12:45pm Is it because I’m a guy?  Throw a little leg out there just for fun.

12:50pm I mean, they can’t smell me from a passing car, can they?

1:00pm A red pickup pulls out behind me, stops, turns around, and comes back downhill to give me a lift.  This is either because he’s a really nice guy, or he still hasn’t filled up the crawlspace under his house with bodies.  I assume the former (mainly because he isn’t wearing anything made of human skin), throw my pack in the truck bed, and hop in.

This right here is a key moment in the hitch.  Introductions.  You have to keep in mind that the person giving you a ride has no idea whether or not you’re going to try to kill them, unless you’ve been holding a sign that says, “PROBABLY NOT GOING TO TRY TO KILL YOU.”  So it’s important to make a good first impression.  I usually use my trail name when I introduce myself, and sometimes they hear “Jester,” and other times they think my name is “Chester.”  Either name works -- not that weird, not that threatening.  All I’m saying is that if your trail name is “Breakfast Enema” or “Marmot Pounder,” you may want to go with “Hi!  I’m Steve!”

Which, by the way, ends up being the name of my ride.

It turns out that Steve is really into the idea of long distance hiking, might want to hike the CDT in two sections, might want to hike 500 miles in Montana, might want to hike The Winds.  And he might end up doing all of that, or he might not.  But one thing is for sure: we’re definitely going to be talking about gear for the next 20 minutes.

I’m not big into talking about gear.  I’ve worked at an outfitter, I go to hiker get-togethers, I’m occasionally on trail, and wherever I go I try to avoid getting sucked into talking about gear.  If you ask me what kind of pack I’m carrying, I’m probably going to say something like, “well, it’s blue.  And big enough to hold all of my stuff.  Oh, and it has these cool stretchy thingies where I attach my fuchsia Crocs.”  But when someone is nice enough to give you a ride, you talk about what they want to talk about.  If your driver is easily distracted, maybe you can knock them off track by telling them one of your stock hiking stories -- “The Time I Saw A Mountain Lion,” “The Time I Played Twister On Top Of Mount Whitney,” “The Time I Knocked Myself Unconscious With A Hiking Pole” -- but in this case Steve is focused, so we talk about gear.

Yes, backpacks, yes tents, yes hiking poles, but always, always, invariably: “Do you carry a gun?”  I don’t, and when talking with Steve I outline my reasoning, most of it having to do with the weight of a piece of gear that I will most likely never use.  I point out that I plan to pick up some bear spray in Lander, or Pinedale at the latest.  And while I’m busy extolling the virtues of bear spray, Steve reaches between the seats and, like a magician pulling a potentially lethal rabbit out of his hat, produces an enormous gun from I-know-not-where and slaps it into my hand.

At this point I am now confident that Steve is not planning on killing me.  Either that, or he’s an evil genius, his plan is incredibly elaborate, and I stand no chance against him.

“Is that too heavy?” he asks, as I envision the most hilarious carjacking in Wyoming history.  “Yep,” says I.  “Definitely don’t carry this.  If you really want to carry a gun, you’ll want to go way lighter.”  I hand the gun back to Steve before I accidentally shoot out the windshield, myself, or him, and it magically disappears once again between the seats.

As if nothing unusual has happened, Steve talks about my upcoming climb up Bridger Peak, places to eat in Rawlins, and how much it’s probably going to suck hiking through the Great Divide Basin.  And with that, we’ve arrived at Battle Pass.

As we pull up to the pass, Steve says, “let me just spin it here and I’ll drop you off on the other side of the road.”  Why was he heading back the way we had come?  Because as it turns out, STEVE WAS ONLY GOING TO THE POST OFFICE, less than a mile from where he picked me up, and drove 40 minutes out of his way round-trip to get me back to the trail.

So yeah, you might be nervous about hitching at first.  And some crazy things might happen when you ignore the advice your Mother always gave you about not taking rides from strangers.  But there are incredibly nice people out there in the world, and chances are that if someone is willing to give a filthy thru-hiker a lift, risking their safety and the safety of their vehicle’s interior, they’re one of the good ones.

With special thanks to: Pea Hicks, Lint, and, of course, Steve.

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Hiking Memes Volume One

Here are a few graphics I made in 2013 that are kind of about hiking and backpacking.  Sort of.  I included the one with the dogs mainly because it's a picture I took while hiking the CDT.  Enjoy!

To check out Volume Two, CLICK HERE.

Trip Report: Winter Backpacking With Matthewski

I can guess what some of you might be thinking.  “Jester, on trail in the winter?  Isn’t he a fair-weather hiker?”

And if that’s what you’re thinking, you’re absolutely right.  If I ever had an interest in hiking in cold, wet weather (note: I didn’t), I lost that interest the year I hiked the 1700 miles of California on the PCT and encountered exactly three days of precipitation.

But when my friend Matthewski asked me to join him on a section of the AT in Pennsylvania in December, I jumped at the chance.  Because Matty often brings steak when he hikes.  And he always brings bacon.  So on the evening of December 19th we met in Duncannon, Pennsylvania, and set up a shuttle for the next day to the start of what would be a three day hike from the liquor store in Duncannon to the Quick-Mart (also in Duncannon).

At this point I feel like I should halt the narrative and caution the reader regarding the challenges of winter backpacking.  Hiking in the winter is not for the unprepared or the inexperienced, and a hike from the liquor store to the Quick-Mart can be fraught with danger.  Mistakes that one can make without consequence in the standard “hiking season” can be potentially life-threatening in cold conditions with slippery sidewalks, and everything is more difficult in the winter, including, as we were to find out, route finding.

But back to the Trip Report:

Day 1

Because Our shuttle driver, Trail Angel Mary, had Avon deliveries to make in the AM, we got a later start than originally planned, hitting the trail under cloudy skies around 10:30.

Trail Angel Mary dropping us off.

We made it all the way across the parking lot in good time, taking our first break by the artillery piece in front of the American Legion.

Our first break, after hiking the parking lot.

It was shortly thereafter that we ran into our first problem of the trip.  Because the double blaze that indicated a change in direction was located across the street, we completely missed the turn.  Hours of off-trail frustration later (briefly wandering onto Hwy 11/15, turning back, making another wrong turn, ending up in the Mutzabaugh Market’s frozen food aisle), we backtracked and figured out where the trail actually went -- past the BBQ sign and under the overpass.

The double blaze we missed, from head-on and from our POV.

But the whole thing ended up being a blessing in disguise.  Our original intention had been to crank out more tenths of a mile on Day 1, but had we done so we wouldn’t have ended up discovering a sweet campsite across from the Perry County Beer Distributor, where we bedded down after enjoying the previously mentioned steak and bacon, along with a case of Lord Chesterfield Ale.

Sweet Campsite, Night 1.

Day 2

Resisting the urge to go off trail.

Our second day on trail saw us getting a late start, mainly due to the previously mentioned case of Lord Chesterfield Ale.  We nonetheless had an amazing day, with great views of the Sonny Daze Laundromat and the Curves Fitness Club as we crossed to the opposite side of the trail to hike past Zeiderelli’s Pizza.

Day 2: Exhaustion sets in.

Exhausted and cold, we took our lunch break by the Christmas Tree in the park.  To be perfectly honest, at this point the low temps were really getting to me, and I gave some thought to quitting.  But our maps showed too narrow a trail corridor to come up with an impromptu bail-out plan, so there was nothing for it but to press on.

Breaking out the maps.

The next section was a bit confusing, with signs alternately describing it as “Maket Street” and “Maret Street,” but we were fine until we reached a baffling trail intersection and accidentally took a side trail that led to The Doyle Hotel.

The trail is poorly signed through this area.

Taking the detour in stride, we had a few beers in the bar, then backtracked to where we had gone wrong and, confident we could make up the mileage the next day, decided to camp right there.  After setting up the tent, we enjoyed a dinner of steak and bacon, along with sixes to go that we picked up while on our side-trail adventure.

Cooking dinner on night 2.

Although it was winter time, we decided to bear bag our food because of a pack of roving teenagers sighted earlier in the day.

Note: Some will debate the merits of sleeping with your food vs. hanging food when there are teenagers around.  I prefer to put my food, and anything that has come into contact with my food -- cookpot, spoon, eating gloves, eating helmet, all of my clothes, sleeping bag, shoes, and my beard (I’m a messy eater) -- into an enormous bag, hung safely PCT-style from the nearest streetlight.

Anyway, aside from the train and a lot of passing cars, it was your typical quiet evening on the trail, and we got a good night’s sleep.

Moments before loading everything into the bearbag.

Day 3

Originally we had planned a short day on Day 3, but it turned out to be slightly longer because of Day 2's navigation errors.  We ended up getting a late start due to the previously mentioned sixes to go, along with the fact that it took us 45 minutes to recover our tent stakes from where they had been pounded into the sidewalk.  We took our time once we got to hiking, enjoying a long walk down Cumberland Street past the Karaoke/DJ place, and at one point Matty swore he could see the Drive-Up ATM behind the bank, but clouds rolled in and I missed it.

It's important to stay calm when lost.

Possibly because of the same clouds we got all the way to the Fire House before we realized that we were lost again.  Breaking out our maps and compasses, we tried to figure out where we had gone wrong and how to get back on trail.  Finally, at one point Matty turned around and realized that the Quick-Mart was right there across the street!  Normally we would have backtracked on trail once again just to be safe, but as the Quick-Mart was clearly visible we decided to go cross-country and not too long after we crossed the street we arrived at our destination for this trip.

Finished!

Looking back on the hike now, I realize that I enjoy winter backpacking, and that given the right equipment, attitude, and partner, it can actually be fun.  I’m definitely looking forward to our next trip (a section of the AT in Pennsylvania) scheduled for a week in February -- from the Quick-Mart in Duncannon to The Cabin Strip Club (also in Duncannon).

Special thanks to:

Harold Frederick, Kelly Dewire, Matthewski, and Trail Angel Mary Parry

Note for the clueless:

You are not actually allowed to camp on the streets of Duncannon.

How To Counteract The "Wild Effect."

Manufacturing A Solitary Wilderness Experience
With the release of the book “Wild” and the in-production Reese Witherspoon movie of the same name (as well as the revival of plans for the “A Walk In The Woods” film), many are expressing concern that National Scenic Trails will become overcrowded, ruining the value of the “wilderness experience.”  And while (to this writer) that seems the least of the worries for those who care about the trails, I feel it important to address it, and (of course!) offer possible solutions.

Since the weathy, oversexed, half-cybernetic version of me didn’t show up back in 1996 to tell me, “DO NOT GET ENGAGED TO THAT GIRL,” we have to assume that time-traveling backwards and hiking in 1986 is not an option.  The way I see it, you have one of three choices:

Hike When It’s Not “Hiking Season”

The obvious solution to wanting a solitary wilderness experience is simply hiking when other people don’t.  But there’s a reason why there’s a “hiking season,” and that reason is this:

This is Rachel "Hot Mess" Brown, who apparently thinks it's always hiking season.

For me, hiking high and camping in deep snow is a special level of hell reserved for serial killers and people who steal lighters.  So I’m clearly not enough of a badass for this option.  And let’s be honest.  Neither are you.

Seriously.  What is this?  Mountaineering?
This barely qualifies as hiking.

So accepting that, we move on to option two:

Southbounding

Here’s the thing about Southbounders on long trails: they’re crazy.  SOBOs who start late are even crazier.  And SOBOs who start late and actually finish end up being the craziest people you’ll ever meet.

Take Jake “Don’t Panic” Down, currently finishing up a southbound thru-hike on the Appalachian Trail.  He’s been alone for months now.  Alone long enough that he thought this schedule was a good idea:

630 miles in 22 days.  The schedule of a disordered mind.

But for the solitary southbound hiker, an outlandish mileage schedule is just the tip of the wingnut iceberg.  Do you know what it’s like to spend month after month alone?  Do you really like yourself that much?  I certainly don’t.  There’s a reason why solitary confinement is a punishment in prison.

Don't Panic with the pack that will
eventually leave him.

So back to Don’t Panic.  He’s not just talking to himself.  He’s talking to his pack.  They’re having long, meaningful conversations.  He’s thinking about proposing to it at Springer.  Now, maybe you think that’s weird.  But the truly crazy part is he thinks that pack isn’t going to be sluttin’ it around as soon as they get off the trail.  I mean, it’s just a trail relationship, Panic!  WAKE UP!

As far as southbounding goes, take my advice: you’re already the craziest person SOMEBODY knows.  Don’t be the craziest person EVERYBODY knows.

Take a moment for some self-reflection.  Are you, like me, NOT a badass?  Are you comfortable with your current level of lunacy? (note: you’re crazier than you think).  If you answered "yes" to both of these questions, you’re down to one other option:

Encouraging Avoidance (AKA the “See You Later -- Not If I See You First” Method)

Fortunately, even here you have choices:

Tell Me All About Your Homemade Gear.

Incessantly.

The Robots (PCT08) made all of their own gear,
but failed to be annoying about it.

The obvious downside to this method is that you have to make your own gear, and I’m incredibly lazy and unskilled.  I can barely make a sandwich.  But once you get over that hurdle, having the trail to yourself is a snap.  Your opening conversational gambit is to ask other people about their pack/tent/sleeping bag/stove.  And then after listening to them briefly you can launch into long-winded monologues about how much lighter your tent is, how much more comfortable your quilt feels, and how much you love, love, love your sewing machine.

You’ll be all alone in about a week.

Me?  I’m too lazy for this option.  In town, I hitch to places I can actually see.

So for the slothful and incompetent, there’s the following possibility:

Make Everyone Else Your Sherpa

Hint: Target people with big packs.

Not carrying all of the stuff you want to use has the obvious benefit of lightening your pack, with the added bonus of eventually encouraging others to avoid you like a stove-borrowing plague.

Why shouldn’t other people let you look at their maps?  Or loan you their knife?  Or their duct tape?  Or their headlamp?  I mean, sure, you’re going stoveless, but other hikers shouldn’t mind you using their stoves “just to brew up some tea,” right?  And if you don’t have a tent on the AT and they do, shouldn’t someone get out of the shelter for you when it’s raining?  Absolutely!  (Be extra demanding on that last one!)

Time ‘til complete isolation: four days.

There’s an obvious downside to this plan, though.  Eventually you’re alone and there’s no one to loan you their stuff.  So savvy lazy people will go for choice number three:

Be Dirty.  No, I Mean Really, Really Dirty

Discovered accidentally by hikers on the Appalachian Trail, being really, really dirty is a method of encouraging avoidance that takes no effort whatsoever.  This plan does take a bit longer to take effect, but when it does you’ll pretty much have the trail to yourself.

Anish, off to a good start.

I’ve gone without a shower for 17 days, but you need to be more committed than that.  You need to be someone who doesn’t shower even when showering is a possibility.  Someone with clothes so dirty they'll make a commercial washing machine stop working like the French in August.  You want hotel maids approaching your room with trepidation and a HazMat suit.

Yeah, You’ll get the odd staph infection and fecal-matter-related illness, but isn’t that a small price to pay for a little seclusion?  Absolutely!

Swiss Cheese's shirt used to be white.  And that's not

a tan on Buckket's legs.

Ideally, people will be able to
actually SEE your stink

So despite the trails getting popular to the point that they might actually exist in 30 years, you CAN have the very, very lonely trail experience you desire.  Get crazy, get annoying, get filthy.  And if all else fails, and you really, really want to be all by yourself, you can always do this:

Scott "Squatch" Herriott, Guaranteeing solitude
on the PCT.  But do you really want people
to think you're a Yankees fan?

Photos Courtesy Of: Benjamin Newkirk, Jake Down, Heather Anderson, Peggy Smith

Special Thanks To: Hot Mess, Smooth, Don't Panic, Anish, Bonelady, and Squatch!  

Video: Katie May by Rorey Carroll

Rorey Carroll

Ask A Thru-Hiker: Lint's Favorite Gear

Wes Ratko on the AT.

Once again it’s time for another installment in our ongoing series, “Ask A Thru-Hiker!”  Today’s question comes from Wes Ratko, a beginning hiker who loves the outdoors.  “I have been known,” claims Wes, “to walk all the way to the train station, even in a light rain.”

Our Thru-Hiker today is Lint, a Triple-Triple Crowner who has also hiked the Ice Age Trail, the Colorado Trail, the Arizona Trail, and the Florida Trail, and currently holds the record for Yo-Yo section hikes on the Appalachian Trail in Duncannon from The Cabin Strip Club to the Perry County Beer Distributor and back (143).

Lint's CDT Map: "Just because you have to carry the ink
doesn't mean you have to carry the paper."

Lint is known for his dedication to the lightweight backpacking ethos, so much so that he now uses maps tattooed to his body instead of the cumbersome paper versions or those found on heavy electronic devices

Today’s question from Wes for our Thru-Hiker: “What’s your favorite piece of gear?”

Says Lint: “I know it might come as a surprise to people who think of me as a lightweight hiker, but my favorite piece of gear is my car door.  Sure, a car door is heavy, but I’ve modified mine and stripped it down so that it comes in at a manageable 47 pounds.  And it’s such a versatile multi-use piece of gear that I think the weight is more than justified.”

Lint With His Backpacking Car Door

How does Lint use the door?

“Well, you know, the obvious things.  When it’s really hot out I roll the window down.  And when it’s really buggy out I roll the window up.  Cold wind?  No problem with a car door, eliminating the need to carry a wind shirt or windstopper fleece.  But I’m always discovering new uses for the door -- on the PCT in ’09 the rear view mirror kept me from being stalked by mountain lions, and also allowed me to promptly get out of the way of hikers overtaking me.  Which happened quite often, because, you know, I was carrying a car door.”

Not only is it a mindblowingly useful piece of gear on trail, gear that some have called “the Swiss Army Knife of auto body parts” -- but a car door also comes in handy during town stops.

“There are times when the only ATM in town is a drive-thru.  And you can imagine the stares I used to get just standing there, waiting in line with a car door in front of me and a car door behind, and me right in the middle, no car door.  Ridiculous.  Same with ordering food at a Sonic -- NOT leaning through a car window to order is just weird, and when the girl on the rollerskates shows up, she has nothing to pass your food through.  And I also feel safer in towns -- every once in a while I find myself in a sketchy neighborhood, and I just casually lean over . . . and press the lock down with my elbow.” 

A hiker suffering the indignity of no car door in town.

For those interested in a car door, you can find them in the desert attached to cars in places that seem impossible for a car to have ended up.

Seriously.  How the hell did this get here?

And for those still concerned about the weight, Lint offers the following advice:

“First, don’t think about the weight of the door.  Think about the weight of all of the things you don’t have to carry when you’re carrying the door.  DEET, bear spray, a bear canister, wind protection, rain gear, heck, my window is tinted -- I don’t even need sunglasses.  Second, try to keep in mind that everything is relative, and I can tell you from experience that it’s a whole lot lighter than carrying the entire car.”

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Photo Credits --

Lint's Legs: Warner Springs Monty Tam

Lint w/Door: Chase Nelson

Lint w/Car: Ryan Weidert

With special thanks to Lint Hikes and Pea Hicks!