I didn’t expect the hardest part of this section to be what was missing.
I walked out of town on the Legends of Superior Trail, chasing an alternative route I hadn’t taken before. Lost miles on the way to the rain collector, the only reliable water out here if you’re trying to avoid drinking from the Gila.
Two liters. Twenty-five miles. No reason to linger.
The trail felt the same as it always has, a valley of Saguaros looming over you, the kind of heat that presses you forward whether you’re ready or not.
But there are plans for this stretch. A reroute. A copper tailings pit near where the low point of the trail now sits, 1,646 feet above sea level. I kept thinking about what the water carry might look like after that. What this section will feel like when it’s no longer this one.
In Kearny, Que and Jeff are still there. For now.
They’ve been the place you land without thinking too hard about it. Cold drinks. Easy conversation. A kind of stability that makes the miles before and after feel manageable. This is their last year. They’re retiring. Selling the house. Moving on.
I had a whiskey with Jeff that night. Took a zero. Reached into the pickle jar one more time, knowing there wouldn’t be another.
And then there was Jodie.
I hadn’t come through last year. Didn’t know she was gone. Jodie Olsen, from Old Time Pizza. The one so many hikers met before they even knew the town. Twenty years behind that counter. Then her and her took it over together. Built something that felt like it would be there forever.
A short battle with cancer. And then it wasn’t the same.
Loss doesn’t arrive all at once out here. It thins things out. Quietly. Until you notice what’s no longer waiting for you.
So I slowed down. Not because of the water weight. Not because the miles got easier.
Just to feel what’s left while it’s still here.
#AZT #ArizonaTrail #sobo