After a few days in town, I was eager to get back on trail. My plan: hike 54.4 miles to Vail for my next resupply in 3.5 days. From there, I’d continue another 54.7 miles to Molino Basin, then take a rest day in Tucson to round out the 7-day stretch.
Despite a late start from Patagonia on Day 6, I took an early break to enjoy a blueberry lemon muffin—a luxury from town. Water was scarce along this stretch, so I carried more than usual.
The thermometer betrayed the sun’s intensity, which felt sharper than expected. The terrain rolled with hills and scattered small trees. I hiked later than normal, grateful to find relief in the shade of a blue oak.
As I sat, protected from the sun, I couldn’t help but notice that I was judging my progress. Stories swirled of what “should be”. Could I be farther along? Where might I be if I were more fit? Was an upset stomach just a subconscious attempt to avoid hiking? Eventually, I was able to interrupt my ruminations and reflect on how far I’d come. I remembered that this hike is different than other hikes. Comparing the experiences only causes me suffering. You can read more about this in my recent newsletter.
When I resumed my hike, I walked away with more compassion for myself.
I’d planned to hike 18 miles, but the company at the El Pilar oasis was too inviting to pass up. I cut the day short and camped there with other hikers.
A lone coyote serenaded me as I left camp on the morning of Day 7. With each step, the cumulative strain of the trail—endless ups and downs and baseball-sized rolling rocks—made itself known.
By noon, I arrived at Kentucky Camp, where I found oranges left out by the caretakers—a generous offering. Once a gold mining village in the late 1800s, it’s now a preserved historical site. I made instant coffee and sat in the shade of the veranda, grateful.
That afternoon, I stopped on a windy ridge to catch a sunset. Over the years, I’ve made a practice of photographing sunrises and sunsets—something my mom cherishes. It’s become a mindfulness ritual. Watching the sky shift its colors, I’m reminded that life, like the sunset, is fleeting. Presence matters.
The ridge made a fine campsite. After hiking 17.6 miles, I lay in my tent and felt strength returning to my body.
The next morning, Day 8, I stepped out to a sweeping view of southern Arizona. Mountains surrounded me in every direction. The vastness touched something in me—a deep sense of belonging to Earth.
Cool morning weather helped me rack up miles quickly. By midday, I reached Helvetia Road, where a water cache was located.
There, I met Steve—a kind soul who keeps the caches filled. He had also left a fuel canister and a chocolate bar for whoever might need them. A former AZT hiker himself, Steve and I swapped stories for 30 minutes while refilling bottles. Then I hit the trail again.
This stretch is known for its proximity to gun ranges. If I had planned better, I would have avoided hiking it over the weekend. Gunshots echoed long before I reached the area, and continued after I passed through. At times, I heard bullets ricocheting off rocks. Once, shooters were facing directly at me as I hiked above them. It was unsettling. I was relieved when I moved beyond the danger.
The terrain eased up compared to earlier days. By afternoon, I realized I was ahead of schedule. If I pushed on, I could make it to Vail half a day early—for a shower, laundry, and a food resupply. I contacted a trail angel named JoAnn and arranged to crash on her couch.
Under the afternoon sun, I crossed the 100-mile mark of this journey. Another hiker created a monument of rocks along the trail to celebrate the occasion. These were literal milestones. Despite having hiked over 5,000 miles in recent years, hitting 100 miles on a trail still feels like an accomplishment worth documenting!
What started as a 17-mile day turned into 21. I ran out of water two hours before reaching Highway 83. I failed at hitching a ride—some spots are better than others for that. Lyft, thankfully, often comes through.
At Taco Giro, the camarones culichi were a solid recommendation from the waitress. After dinner, JoAnn picked me up. The shower was just what I needed. I washed my clothes, recharged my electronics, and crashed on the couch.
In the morning, JoAnn took me to Walgreens—I’d developed a large blister on the ball of my right foot and needed medical supplies. I’ll need new shoes soon. Afterward, she dropped me at the supermarket to restock food, then at Starbucks.
As I sipped a coffee, I called my honey. We hadn’t talked in a few days. With time to burn before heading back into the wilderness, it was the perfect moment to reconnect. The trail will still be there.
I watched people shuffle in and out of Starbucks, oblivious to the world I’d just come from. My legs ached, my feet throbbed, but I felt grounded. With clean clothes, a warm shower behind me, and my love’s voice fresh in my ear, I knew I was ready. The trail was waiting. And so was whatever I’d meet out there next.
