A Woman on the Road Is Alone

Photo by Tommy Corey

On April 13^th, 2018, I set off from the Southern Terminus in Campo, CA to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. This is the story of how I got from my home at the time in Ashland, OR to that Southern Terminus.

In the months leading up to my start date, I debated how I was going to get from Ashland to San Diego, where I’d stay with Scout and Frodo, two magnificent humans who would put me and 25-ish other hikers up for a night and ensure I got to the trail head early the next morning, fed and well-rested. I looked at flights. They were expensive. I looked at train tickets. They were expensive. I looked at bus tickets. They were slightly more affordable, but they made for a long and inconvenient trip considering the price. I posted on the PCT Facebook page to see if there were any thru-hikers from the Pacific Northwest starting around the same time as me who might be driving or getting a ride down to San Diego. I only got unhelpful replies to my post like, “Why don’t you just fly?” So I continued to think about it and I was like, you know, it’s a straight shot down I-5. Maybe I could hitchhike.

Photo by Tommy Corey

Well, as the time drew nearer, I ended up pushing my start date back in order to work an extra week and a half because I was starting to worry that I was going to be way under budget for the hike (I was). So it ended up being a good thing that I hadn’t booked a flight in advance. Another curve ball got thrown into my plans when I heard back from Ned at Mountain Education. I’d written him a few months earlier to express my interest in a one-day snow hiking skills course he was offering. Originally, he planned to offer it at Chicken Spring Lake, right off the trail at the beginning of the Sierra section of the PCT, which would’ve been really convenient as I could’ve just hiked up, taken the course, and then continued into the potentially snowy section of trail where I'd use those skills the next day. But that didn’t work out, so instead he decided to try and offer it just outside of South Lake Tahoe for any hikers who might be able to get to that area to take it before starting their thru-hike. I’d replied and said maybe and so did another hiker, Jimmy, from the bay area, so he agreed to offer the course to the two of us, and it was arranged just a few days in advance. Jimmy and I exchanged a few details about where and what time to meet up and we agreed to split a motel room in Tahoe the night before the course since it would start early in the morning. So I just had to get myself from Ashland to San Jose and then I’d ride with Jimmy to South Lake Tahoe. After the course, though, he’d be driving back home and then flying down to San Diego as he was starting the PCT a few days after me, so I’d have to get down to San Diego on my own.

I’d been checking the ride share section of craigslist and the night before I left Ashland, I just happened to find a woman who was driving from Shady Cove to San Jose. I messaged her and she agreed to give me a ride. It was a miracle. And I was so happy to find a woman because when I’d posted an ad that I was looking for a ride, the only responses I’d gotten were from men, “I’ll give you a ride in exchange for some serious road head,” and “I’ll give you a ride, but I just want to be upfront about the fact that I’m an exhibitionist.” And it’s not like I posted a picture or anything. I just put my name, which is a clearly female name, at the bottom. Rookie mistake!

Photo by Tommy Corey

I met my ride and her dog, Bailey, early the next morning in a shopping center parking lot. Veronica was in her mid-forties, thin with curly dark hair and glasses. She was going down to San Jose to spend the weekend with her new boyfriend, who lived there. To say that Veronica talked my ear off during that 7-hour drive to San Jose would be an understatement. She told me all about her life and her children, her dog, her new boyfriend in San Jose... Like me, she had a passion for cooking and baking and she offered me homemade banana muffins, which I happily accepted. Through all our conversation, which was mostly one-sided, it became clear that Veronica was, above anything else, a loving mother. In fact, by the time we arrived in San Jose where I would meet up with my next ride and she would meet up with her boyfriend, she was mothering me. When my ride, Jimmy, a big guy in a big truck, pulled up and started walking over to us, she asked me, “Do you know this guy? Do you have a weapon?” I assured her that yes, I had both pepper spray and a pocket knife, and that I would be fine. And I just kind of laughed to myself because while I didn’t know Jimmy, we were both thru-hikers who had written to the same adventure company about taking a course through them and then the instructor had put us in contact when we all agreed on a day to take the course together, and then we had exchanged a few emails and texts to coordinate how we would meet up and get to Tahoe together. Whereas Veronica was the person I’d just found on the craigslist rideshare section the night before.

So off drove Jimmy and I to South Lake Tahoe where we’d split a cheap motel for the night. We talked about the gear we were bringing on the PCT, what kind of food we were packing in our resupplies, our biggest fears/worries about the hike and all the other stuff first-time thru-hikers talk about. The next day we met up with Ned at Carson Pass to take our snow skills course and after the course, Jimmy dropped me off at a different budget motel and he drove back home.

Photo by Tommy Corey

The next morning, I awoke early and looked outside with dread. There was fresh snow on the ground and it was about 30 degrees out. I’d made a post on the Reno craigslist rideshare section the night before (this time omitting my name), but hadn’t gotten any replies. I checked to see if anyone was offering rides. Nope. So there was only one way left to get to San Diego. At 7:30am, I crossed the street and put my thumb out. At first, things were not looking good. I walked down the road a bit to a place where cars would have more space to pull off to pick me up. After about 30 minutes, a car pulled over. I was so stunned at first that I didn’t realize it was for me. I went up to the passenger window to talk and he told me he could take me to the state line. As my first time in Tahoe, I didn’t really know what that meant and I told him my end goal was San Diego and he said, “Don’t you wanna go the other direction?” But I said that no, I wanted to go down 395, not back toward Sacramento and down I-5, so he said OK and I got in. After the introductory questions during which he asked me where I was going and what I was doing and I asked him where he lived and how long he’d been in the area, he took a phone call from his wife and talked to her the rest of the ride. About 15 minutes later, he dropped me off at a corner where I needed to go right; I thanked him and he went on his way.

Photo by Tommy Corey

It wasn’t a good spot to hitch because there was nowhere for cars to pull over, so I walked up the hill to a gas station and set up there. It was still pretty chilly out, but after a while, a man in a pickup pulled up and said he could take me to the top of the barge. I didn’t know what that meant, but learned that basically it was a very short distance up the road at an intersection where he said people would be driving down from the ski area and going in the direction of 395, where I needed to go. He said that he’d hitched a lot in his life and that a big backpack and a big smile usually goes a long way.

He dropped me off at the intersection and maybe 20 minutes later, I had my third ride from a kind, middle-aged man, bald on top with straight, thin, white, shoulder-length hair combed back below. He was pretty chatty and told me a lot about his life and a lot of the history about the valley we were entering and how it had changed over the years. As I listened, I was absolutely mesmerized with the scenery. The Sierra Nevada mountains were so stunning and the views as we dropped down into the valley were mesmerizing. He dropped me off in Gardnerville, Nevada, at the intersection of 395 where he stopped to get gas. I was so relieved to finally be getting somewhere and to be at the highway that would take me to San Diego.

Photo by Tommy Corey

It was a very busy intersection with a lot of shopping centers and an exhausting place to hitch as I had to hold my thumb out continuously while cars came toward me from every direction with the changing traffic lights. I wasn’t having any luck and I was starting to get pretty hungry. I looked around at all the fast food restaurants and thought this might be the best time for me to get a meal today, so I went to Subway for a quick lunch break. On my way out, there was a table of four senior citizens who saw my backpack and asked where I was going. I said I was headed down to San Diego to hike the PCT.

“Oh, just like Reese Witherspoon?” one of the women said.

“Yeah I guess,” I laughed politely.

When I told them I was hitchhiking down to San Diego, one of the men gave a worried look. “Have you had any trouble with the cops?”

“No,” I said.

“Because hitchhiking is illegal in Nevada.”

“Oh,” I said. Whoops. I said my goodbyes and they wished me luck.

I headed back to my intersection and after a bit longer, a Jeep pulled up and I walked over. An older woman with long, straight, white-dyed-purple hair got out. “Now honey, you’ve gotta be careful. There’s a lot of wack jobs out here,” she said as she made some space for my backpack in the trunk.

“OK,” I said.

Her husband sat in the passenger’s seat and as we drove, they brainstormed a spot where they could drop me off. They’d be heading down 395 for a bit, but would then be heading east towards Smith Valley when I needed to continue southwest. As we left Gardnerville, the strip malls faded away and the landscape became more barren. They kindly decided to go a little out of their way and drop me at a large pull out area on the side of the road, close to the California border. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, so not a place I’d want to be for long, but thankfully, the first vehicle heading southbound pulled over.

Photo by Tommy Corey

My fifth ride was in a work truck and after he moved some tools and things aside, I hopped in. He lived in Bishop, but said he could only take me to Walker because he was on his way to do a job there. He was an electrician. I’d heard of Bishop because it was one of my resupply points on the PCT, but I didn’t know anything about Walker. I told him that I was heading down to San Diego to hike the PCT and he said he often shuttles hikers to and from Bishop and the trailhead in summers as a way to make a little extra cash and gave me his card in case I needed a ride when I came back through in a few months. He said I had a beautiful drive ahead of me, and that just before Lone Pine, I’d be able to see Mt. Whitney from the highway, which I got very excited about since I planned to summit it. He dropped me off in Walker and said that if I was still there in a few hours, he’d give me a ride to Bishop.

Walker was basically a parking lot and a general store on the side of the road. I put my thumb out and after a while, a car heading northbound pulled over. It had initially been heading south, but turned around to come back and pick me up. “Sorry, I didn’t see you at first,” he said to me through the passenger window.

Sorry? For driving past a hitchhiker? He was so polite! He asked where I was going and when I told him San Diego, he said, “No way, me too.”

And I think I heard the Hallelujah chorus. “Really?” I said. “Oh my god, that’s amazing!” And after dropping my backpack in his trunk, I hopped in and we were on our way.

David, my sixth ride, was a tall, Mexican American man with long dreads pulled back into a ponytail and we listened to Nahko the entire car ride. Unlike most of my other hitches, he seemed like he might actually be my age, or even a bit younger. I told him about my life in Southern Oregon and my PCT plans. He told me how he had lived in Tahoe for a while, but had moved down to San Diego to be with his girlfriend. They’d broken up recently, so he’d just moved back to Tahoe. This trip to San Diego was to hang out with some friends for a few days and then fly out on a 3-week trip to Bali. I asked him if he could point out Mt. Whitney to me when we got close and he tried, but in the end, he wasn’t really sure which one it was. And I admit that even though I’ve now climbed it, I don’t think I’d be able to point it out from the highway either.

Photo by Tommy Corey

The drive down 395 was absolutely stunning and I’d recommend it to anyone who is ever taking a roadtrip in that part of the world. The snow-capped Sierra Nevada to the west and the infinite desert stretching out in the east was one of the most scenic drives of my life. And it was especially meaningful to me to because I got my first ever glimpse of those beautiful mountains and in a few months’ time, I’d be back, except instead of looking up at them from a tiny car down below, I’d be walking through them.

As we approached San Diego and changed from a little two-lane highway through the desert to a 6-lane-on-each-side-highway with lots of traffic, I began to get a little nervous because I didn’t think we’d get to San Diego before dark and I figured David would drop me off at an exit somewhere and then I’d have to figure out how to get to Scout and Frodo’s in the dark. So I asked David what part of town his friend lived in, and I pulled up the address of where I was going and it turned out they were in the same neighborhood. Another Hallelujah moment.

I still figured that David would drop me off at some intersection wherever he had to turn off to go to his buddy’s place and I’d still have a few miles to figure out on my own, in the dark, but when we got close, he said, “You wanna pull up that address?”

Inside I squealed with relief. This kind stranger was going to take me all the way to my destination. I pulled up the address, and at about 8pm, he dropped me off right in front of their home. I thanked him profusely, we hugged and wished each other “have fun” on our respective trips. After 12 and a half hours and 6 rides, I’d arrived. And the next morning, I’d sign my name in a log book and stand at the monument that marks the Southern Terminus of the PCT to pose for a photo, and start the next part of my journey.

I was inspired to tell this story because of an episode from the Bitchface podcast that I listened to a few weeks ago on which three women hitchhike from LA to Las Vegas, pretty much just for the fun of it. In the Epilogue of the story, narrator and producer, Nicole Kelly says:

Photo by Tommy Corey

“We’re used to seeing men as the protagonists in adventure stories like On the Road, Into the Wild, Ishmael, Huck Finn... whereas very few road stories are ever told about women. Boys and men are written as agents of change, but there’s no space within patriarchy for female narratives of quest. Women with wanderlust are subtly told it’s best for them to stay at home. Women are expected to maintain, to wait and most of all, we’re told to stay home in order to stay safe.”

The ladies of Bitchface were inspired to tell their story because of the writer, Vanessa Veselka. Here is a quote from her essay, Green Screen: The Lack of Female Road Narratives and Why It Matters:

Photo by Tommy Corey

“True quest is about agency, and the capacity to be driven past one’s limits in pursuit of something greater. It’s about desire that extends beyond what we may know about who we are. It’s a test of mettle, a destiny. A man with a quest, internal or external, makes the choice at every stage about whether to endure the consequences or turn back, and that choice is imbued with heroism. Women, however, are restricted to a single tragic or fatal choice. We trace all of their failures, as well as the dangers that befall them, back to this foundational moment of sin or tragedy, instead of linking these encounters and moments in a narrative of exploration that allows for an outcome which can unite these individual choices in any heroic way.”

And here’s some more food for thought. Just think about the way we view Cheryl Strayed vs. Christopher McCandless. I’ve heard a lot of criticism of (the young, book-version of) Strayed, especially in the PCT community, about how she wasn’t prepared, she didn’t know what she was doing, she carried too much stuff, she was reckless… and yet she survived her journey through the wilderness and got on with it just fine. In fact, later in life she went on to become a successful author, activist, public speaker, and a wife and mother. Yet so many people still praise McCandless for his “fuck society!” attitude and Into the Wild has become a bit of a cult classic, in spite of the fact that McCandless was completely reckless and headed off into the Alaskan wilderness totally unprepared and did, ultimately, make a fatal choice. And maybe I’m reading too much into this, but look at the way these two characters, both 20-something, white Americans who set off on their respective journeys through the American west in the early 1990s, are portrayed on these film covers. Look at Witherspoon's face; anxious, scared, searching, with her classic overstuffed backpack, the empty wilderness stretching behind her. Then, look at Hirsch, chillin’ on top of a bus, eating a can of beans, cool as a cucumber, staring off into the endless possibility of life. If you didn’t know the stories, which one of these characters would you guess is going to die?

Vaselka goes on to say, “A man on the road is solitary. A woman on the road is alone.”

My story may not be the great female quest story that Vaselka says our culture needs. It’s just a small one, taking place in the course of three days. I didn’t hitchhike to make a statement or even out of necessity, but just as a way to save money. But as I mentioned in my first blogpost, I think that it’s important to share stories, long or short, simple or complicated, where women go off on adventures and nothing bad happens to them. We have to start rewriting the story that a woman on the road must be running from something, and that inevitably a solo female traveler is going to get raped or murdered. We have to lift up the stories of women like Cassie De Pecol and Laura Dekker and hundreds of others.

Photo by Tommy Corey

On my day of hitchhiking down to the starting point of the PCT and in my time hitchhiking between towns and trailheads throughout my 6 months on the PCT, most of the people who picked me up were men, though a few were women. A lot of them were people who’d traveled and hitchhiked themselves, and many were parents or grandparents. Some were strange, most were extremely kind, and several were curious and had a lot of questions. And fortunately, I never felt threatened by any of them.

Now I’m not recommending that all young women go out and start hitchhiking to get around. You’ve got to consider place and purpose, take some basic safety precautions, and be honest about your comfort level in taking that kind of risk. And I’m not saying that all women will have the same positive experience that I had. Veselka certainly had many frightening experiences in the 20,000 miles that she hitchhiked.

What I’m saying is that it’s time that women started having adventures unapologetically and it’s time that we started shifting the narrative about female quest. Vanessa Vaselka wrote an essay that inspired a few women to make a podcast episode that inspired me to write this blogpost, and I hope this chain of inspiration continues to the next woman because as Nicole says:

“WE are worthy protagonists.”

Photo by Tommy Corey

This blogpost is illustrated with the beautiful photography of my friend, Tommy Corey, aka Twerk. I asked Twerk if I could use his photos to help tell this story because he portrays the women of the PCT for what we are- bosses. Ownin' it. You can find more of his compelling photography and pre-order a copy of his book, which highlights his brilliant project- Hiker Trash Vogue on his website. You can also follow him on Instagram @twerkinthedirt.

To listen to the episode, "A Woman on the Road Is Alone", check out the Bitchface podcast. It was also replayed on The Heart podcast.

And be sure to check out Vanessa Vaselka's essay about the lack of female road narratives as she is much more of an expert on the subject than me. 

Practicing Self-Love on the Pacific Crest Trail

Sunrise in the Northern Cascades, Oct. 7, 2018

On October 7^th, 2018, I woke up around 4:45am, prepared my last instant coffee and instant oatmeal, changed into my hiking clothes, packed up my gear, put on my headlamp and hit the trail at 5:45. For most of Washington, I’d started hiking sometime between 8-9:30 each morning. The mornings were cold, dark, and often wet, my body was tired from hiking over 2,000 miles, and most days I just couldn’t get motivated to leave my warm sleeping bag until it was at least light outside. So why, on this day, my last day on the PCT, was I able to get up and start hiking before sunrise? Well, mostly, I wanted desperately to sleep in a bed that night, so I wanted to hike not only to the Northern Terminus (the “finish line” of the PCT going Northbound), but all the way to Manning Park Resort (approximately 8.5 miles past the finish line), and it meant pulling a really long day, and if I wanted any chance at doing that, I had to start hiking early. So was that the motivation I needed to get going before sunrise? Knowing that I was close enough to finish and possibly be able to sleep in a warm bed and never have to shiver myself to sleep in a wet tent ever again?

But you know, the morning just before this, I’d started hiking around 8:30. And what if I’d gotten up an hour or two earlier on that morning and the morning before that? Then I’d have fewer miles to walk today and would definitely make it to the bed, the hot shower and the warm meal that awaited me at Manning Park. And come to think of it, if I’d just gotten up a little earlier each day of the whole dang hike, maybe I wouldn’t be out here still hiking in October. So why am I able to get up early today, but I couldn’t get myself up and moving all those other days?

During my time on the PCT, I got in the habit of doing a lot of “if onlys”. If only I’d gotten up earlier, if only I hadn’t spent so much time in that town. It’s easy to get really self-critical, especially if you start comparing yourself to other hikers. Why am I so lazy? Why am I so slow? Why can’t I get myself up, packed and on trail in less than an hour? Why does my pack still feel so heavy; why haven’t I gotten stronger? I can’t believe I wasted half an hour going down some side trail because I misread a sign; why am I so stupid? Why am I almost out of food a day before town yet again; why have I still not figured out how much food to carry between towns; why am I such an idiot?

Somewhere between miles 2000-2100, I made a promise to myself. No more feeling guilty about making mistakes on my hike. No more self-criticism or judgment allowed. Enough was enough. Only self-love. I’m just going to do my best for the rest of the hike and love myself.

I can’t say that I fully kept this promise and didn’t curse myself ever again for the rest of the hike. But I did try my best, when I felt those guilty thoughts creeping in and heard those judgmental voices making their noise, to quiet them and just tell myself that, well that’s OK. That’s OK that I slept that extra half hour. That’s OK that I sat down for a few minutes to eat my snack instead of eating it while I walked. That’s OK that I didn’t make my mileage goal for the day, yet again. That’s OK that I didn’t finish the PCT by mid-September, when I’d hoped I might.

And on my last day, I had to remind myself again that what’s done is done. I couldn’t get up earlier those other mornings because I just couldn’t. And I couldn’t have hiked any faster because I couldn’t. And even though the weather that last day was crap; the trail was muddy from recent rains, I had to climb up a snowy pass, I was cold most of the day, and maybe if I’d finished the trail a few weeks sooner, the weather wouldn’t have sucked so much for my last day… there was nothing I could do about it.

All there was left to do was love myself. Love my strong body, my amazing legs and feet that kept walking for 2,650 miles. Love my hands for preparing my meals and setting up my tent every night. Love my shoulders and hips and back, for carrying a 30ish-pound backpack up the West coast of the United States. Love my mind, for staying strong and focused when things got tough. And love all of myself, for completing this incredible feat.

So fast-forward three months… How am I doing at practicing self-love off the trail? Turns out that it’s pretty easy to get down on myself over little mistakes in everyday, non-trail life, too. Why did I impulsively buy that thing I couldn’t afford and didn’t really need? Why did I eat that third cookie? Why didn’t I finish that job application yet? I’m currently going through a bout of depression and as I fall short of the goals I set for myself each day and the urgent things I need to get done fall by the wayside, instead of beating myself up about it, I’m trying to just tell myself that’s OK; I’ll try again tomorrow, and let it go. Because when you feel like shit, and then you tell yourself that you’re a terrible, worthless, lazy human being, it only makes you feel shittier. Sometimes we have to remind ourselves that we are trying our best to move through this world and maybe it seems like we’re not doing a great job of it, but it’s all we can do at the moment.

Finally, I’ll leave you with some words from an expert. In his TED Talk “Removing Negative Self Talk”, Abria Joseph plays this really cool looking spaceship instrument and it’s amazing. And also, he says, “I believe passionately that we can shift the negative voices and stories that are going on in our minds into positive ones.” He says that when we hear one of these negative stories, we should ask ourselves three questions:

1)   Is it the truth?

2)   Is it necessary?

3)   Does it improve upon the silence?

I love that third one because well, the silence is beautiful, isn’t it?