Sometimes the stop matters more than progress.
I took the Cemetery Trail out of the Roosevelt Lake marina, climbing 2,500 feet into the Superstitions, stepping over my first rattlesnake. The wind out there carries something with it, ghost whispers, barely audible. Agave and prickly pear, bull thistle catching my arms as I hike past. Rock underfoot. The steady click of trekking poles.
Two weeks in. Well over two hundred miles behind me. My legs and lungs feel like they’re back from hibernation. Enough to make me question why I was still going. Beyond a double-double at the end of this arbitrary distraction, there wasn’t much reason.
Resupply was a pack of hot dogs, cookies, and three avocados for a dollar. I made guacamole in my quilt that night, half-asleep before remembering I was in bear country.
Water got tight. I skipped Reavis Ranch, told myself I’d be fine. Two liters at a time, stretching it thin. The rest would come from puddles.
I crossed paths with the nobo bubble, twenty hikers moving north. Familiar faces, missed connections. Then I realized it was Saturday. In Superior, that means pizza night at MJ’s.
I ran the descent, dry-mouthed and stubborn, until I hit a road crossing and stopped to filter from a shallow puddle filled with algae and dead mosquitoes the size of my finger. A side-by-side slowed, swerved. Asked if I needed water.
I asked for a ride.
Five miles later I was off trail, closer to town. I didn’t care.
Because sometimes the point isn’t the miles.
It’s a porch in Superior with purple wings on the wall. It’s someone who saw a tired hiker once and decided to spend the rest of her days making sure none of us go unseen. MJ—Purple Angel—feeding whoever shows up, giving us a place to land.
You can chase the red line all you want.
But sometimes the reason you keep going is waiting just off it.
#ArizonaTrail #AZT #sobo