3 Highlights:
• Reaching the CDT Southern Terminus
• A 3-hour ride instead of the long hike back
• Seeing familiar faces for one last gathering
Daily Summary:
• Distance hiked: 8 km
• Weather conditions: Sun in the morning and rain in the afternoon
Reflections:
Woke up on the ground, cowboy-style. The stars had been there when I fell asleep, bold and cold. Now, only the first light of day pressed through the quiet sky. I found my headlamp under the sleeping pad, the day started out with a win. I’d hate to loose this peace of gear that had been my eyes for so many dark nights.
We walked out, slow and steady. The trail turned golden as the sun lifted over the horizon. It was an easy hike; no rush, just a knowing that this was the end. Then, we saw it—the Southern Terminus. Just a marker in the desert, half-hidden, waiting for us like an old friend. A finish line with no fanfare, only the whisper of the wind and the silence of a journey completed.
It was a simple thing to touch it, a moment that said everything and nothing at once. Months of walking, pain, and laughter, all collected at this one quiet point in the sand. It was a monument to the drive that had carried me here, and suddenly, I didn’t need more than that. It was enough.
There was a car too, Tim the trail angel, there as if by fate. He offered a ride back. I had thought about walking the 40 km return to the highway as I had time to kill and could save some money on the fair and hotels, but the ride was there, and I took it. My hike was over.
The ride back was a slow unwind, wheels turning against dirt and silence, and the miles folded away behind us. In town, we settled into a hotel, the comfort of walls suddenly strange after all this time. I got cash from a machine to pay for the ride, passed by a liquor store, and walked back with a bubbling bottle in hand. It wasn’t fancy; we weren’t fancy. We were tired and raw and full of something only the trail could give. We had cheap burritos and cheap sparkling wine for lunch and it was quite delicious.
Before checking in I saw Oz again. She didn’t come to dinner but I hugged her before she took off again, doing a HERO (just in and out) as I had seen her do many times before.
A few hours later the dinner table filled up as the evening stretched out. I saw many familiar faces Hop, Paul, Mosy, Lost and Found, Blanket, Trapper, Syrup, James—all names that meant something now. We ate and drank, voices weaving stories and laughter across the room. The food was warm, the company warmer. It felt right, like the end of a long tale, the kind you’d tell by a fire with a glass in hand.
Tomorrow, I’d figure out how to get to Phoenix. Maybe stay in Tucson a day. But tonight, there was no more walking, no more trail dust clinging to my legs. Just the echo of the journey, the glow of being done, and the quiet weight of gratitude. I was lucky. For the miles, for the people, for the moments that never needed words. And for that small, silent marker in the desert that meant I’d made it. Good night.
