The Cowboy Cure

Idyllwild is a nice little town, but I was glad to see it in my rear-view mirror regardless. There was this guy who kept following me around town, and it was thoroughly unnerving. He looked kind of homeless and had a very hunted look in his eye, and wherever I went in town (pizza place, library, coffee shop) he always seemed to show up a little bit afterwards. He'd come inside the establishment, lope around the perimeter, sneak a glare at me, pause at my pack, and then sidle out. Once he stepped right in front of me on a sidewalk, so that I had to step around him. To add to the creepiness, he was about my height, my build, my hair color... and you know what? I look homeless too! So there was essentially a down-at-the-heels doppelganger imbuing the whole town with a freaky-deaky sense of paranoia.
Of course, Idyllwild is not a big town, so it could have been coincidence. Maybe pizza-library-coffee are his stations of the cross. But the thing about feeling paranoid is that it doesn't always help when you recognize you're just being paranoid. You know what does help?
Walking out of town! And so I did, up the steep streets, past innumerable antique shops, art galleries and fancy homes. When I was almost to the trailhead, which is situated right at the head of the valley in which the town sits, I was passed by a carful of fellow through-hikers. Turned out to be Killer and a very nice young man by the name of Captain Underpants. We proceeded to huff and puff our way up the Devil's Slide trail, which would finally take us back to the PCT, appropriately located right on the top of the ridge. Man, it can hurt it retake the crest!
We were presently passed by a young man bounding up like Q-Bert. He announced he liked it steep, because he was "from New England." I'll have to fact-check this personality trait with my friends from the East. Anyway, we fell into talking about the upcoming fire closure -- some 40 miles of trail were closed in the heart of the San Gorgonio wilderness, and without a good detour, hikers were hitching around a much bigger chunk (rather than hike to the closed section and then hike back out). The New Englander said he was hitching, reasoning that the Pacific Crest Trail Association hadn't told him he needed to hike those 60 miles.
The PCTA probably didn't tell him he needed to hike any of the damn trail, I grumbled to myself. Like don't do us any favors here, buddy. But while his ego could have been taken down a notch or two, I can totally relate to his position: Fire closures prevent you from hiking linear feet of trail, but they can help you achieve the larger goal of through-hiking the PCT. Achieving that goal matters. I skipped a big chunk of the Northern Sierras in 2008 due to fire, and was grateful for the free miles.
All of which begs the question: What is a through-hike anyway? Lots of opinions here, and most nice people rapidly respond that everyone should Hike Your Own Hike, which is to say, you will be defining it for yourself. Let your conscience be your guide, as they say.
My conscience was riled up by the discussion. What was I gonna do? Hitch around with a shrug and a grin? Break the law and hike through the closed section with a copy of the Monkey Wrench Gang under my arm? Or hike a detour? I had found maps for one at the Idyllwild library, plenty of road-walking and lots of extra distance. Hmm.
It was cold up on top of the ridge. Little patches of snow left on the ground in a stately pine forest, with a keen breeze sharpening the chill. When we passed an old abandoned-looking horse camp, I dropped down off the trail and made camp for the night. The sky had nary a cloud, so I decided to "cowboy camp," which is to say make camp without setting up my shelter. There was a fire-ring with a perfect flat spot right in front of it, so I decided to really cowboy it up. I made a fire and let it warm me as I bedded down next to it. The whole mess of the day -- my ghoulish double, the hike up, the question of the closure -- melted off as my consciousness did.

It's cold in the San Jacinto range! Iced up moss along the stream