I’ve been thinking hard about what to say about finishing the CDT for a while now. It seems like I should say something more than the trail ends at the Mexican border and I made it there. There should be a profound conclusion at the end, right?
Well, where the CDT ends (or starts) at the Mexican border, the fence is broken in places, there’s a janky, locked gate, and there are mountains that continue into Mexico.
I went through five pairs of shoes, three shirts, two pairs of shorts, and two tents. I saw snow, rain, heat, smoke, sand, and dirt, lots of dirt. I listened to podcasts, music, audiobooks, and the wind. I ate a lot of nuts, dried fruit, candy, instant potatoes, ramen, chips, peanut butter, and cured meat.
In short, I don’t think there needs to be a profound conclusion at the end of an “epic journey.” Walking across the country can be incredibly banal. That’s my profound conclusion.
Countless people have asked me some sort of question that tries to get at this, a question that attempts to glean some insight they think I have as if I’m some kind of enlightened being just because I’ve slept in the dirt more than they have.
The answer to the meaning of life isn’t at the end of an epically long backpacking trip. It’s not somewhere along an 18-inch wide dirt path, no matter how wild and unmaintained that strip of dirt feels. There is no answer to any of those burning questions you wonder about when you’re far away from anywhere and everywhere. There might be multiple answers that are all close to true, but there is no singular answer, and definitely not one that spontaneously jumps from a lonely cholla cactus somewhere in the remote New Mexican desert after you’ve backpacked 2000 miles.
So, I guess I do have one profound conclusion, which is one of anti-profundity.
If you had a life-changing realization out there (wherever there is), you were due for a life-changing realization. You might have had that realization while peeling potatoes, especially if you’re used to ordering your potatoes already prepared for you. But you probably won’t find the answers out there, and that’s okay.
It’s okay if you don’t always have a mind-blowing experience on your next backpacking trip. In fact, it’s probably a good thing. If our minds are constantly getting blown, then our heads would all explode, then where would we be? There’d be little bits of brain and skull fragments everywhere, and we still wouldn’t know the meaning of all this!
I still found a lot of answers out there. I found that I’m pretty comfortable with who I am. I found that I like to backpack by myself, but it’s also really fun to hike long distances with interesting and entertaining people. I found that I like people who are comfortable with who they are, but I don’t always find those people to be interesting.
I found hunger. I found pain. I found loneliness. I found bliss.
I found endless skies in New Mexico, mountain views in Colorado, wild weather before epic payoffs in Wyoming, and a laundry list of challenges in Montana that made every other state feel even better.
I didn’t walk away from the CDT feeling like a different person. I felt different, a little tired, with a seemingly insatiable desire to start the next adventure. But I already was that person. I just hadn’t quite fully embraced it yet.
But now, two years later, I see it. I see I didn’t learn anything insightful about the world, but I became a better version of myself. I see I can always be an even better version of myself and should continue trying to be. I see I’m happiest when I keep moving, especially outside, when I only sit still long enough to catch my breath before moving on to the next project. I see I don’t need much and am happiest with less.
In the last section of the CDT, I wanted to stretch every moment out for as long as possible. I spent more time taking breaks. I took more time in towns. I didn’t want it to end, and I indulged myself.
The short-lived band of Nav, William, and I split up after Grants, New Mexico. There was no dramatic breakup. William wanted to leave town before I did, so he left. Nav and I hiked out of Grants the following morning.
Nav and I hiked together for a couple of days, crossing El Mapais National Monument together. We hiked the same route across this massive expanse of black volcanic rock as the Acoma and Zuni Pueblos people did. I wouldn’t call it a trail; it’s more like a cairn scavenger hunt that made me appreciate shoes. How did they do it before these modern-cushioned wonders?
Nav and I eventually split up at a junction of two alternate routes a few days later. I was tired of walking on pavement, so I took a circuitous route through the Cebolla Wilderness while Nav continued on the pavement route. The last night we camped together, it was insanely windy. We both set up our tarps to have some protection from the wind.
These were some of the coldest nights and mornings I experienced on the entire CDT. After that windy night, I had a beautifully warm day of hiking across the Cebolla Wilderness. From there, it was a straight shot on a dirt road into Pie Town, a 2-stopsign town along America’s Route 66.
I camped along that dirt road, 15 miles outside of Pie Town, at a wonderful ranch house that allows CDT hikers to stay on their property. The owner cooked us a simple dinner of burritos and lemonade, and me and a handful of other CDT hikers set up our tents in front of his house.
The following morning, I got an early start to make it to the pie restaurant before it closed. Pie Town, population 186, doesn’t exactly have extensive hours at their restaurant, the Pie-O-Neer. Pie Town has no grocery store or gas station, but it has a small post office. It also has a bunch of friendly locals who love CDT hikers and their big appetites. I know what it’s like in small towns like this, so if you want the pie from the restaurant in the census-designated place along Route 66, you better get there early.
So I got an early start. And it was cold.
I don’t know how cold it was, but my water bottles froze while walking. I slept with those bottles nestled next to me overnight so they wouldn’t freeze, and they didn’t until I left camp. I was wearing literally all of my clothes — tights, rain pants, hiking shirt, fleece, puffy jacket, hood, gloves, and beanie — and still felt cold. There were some cold September Colorado mornings at high elevations, but they didn’t compare to that October morning walking a dirt road at 7,000 feet. The exposed skin of my cheeks and temples ached in the cold air. I don’t think I could’ve been happier when the sun hit my face mid-morning.
By 11 am, I had hiked the 15 miles into Pie Town, where I went straight to the Pie-O-Neer cafe. I ordered a slice of pie and coffee, then lunch, then had another slice of pie.
I went to the post office, where I had mailed myself a box of food for the Gila River section ahead. This was the only place on the CDT that I would definitely mail a resupply box, and I felt fortunate that I remembered to send that box from Pagosa Springs. Nav, on the other hand, had had to carry enough food to get from Grants to Silver City since he didn’t mail a box — that’s at least 7 days if you hustle. Pie Town is worth a stop for more reasons than simply not having to carry that much food, but not carrying 7-8 days’ worth of food is a big bonus.
After eating pie and getting my resupply box from the post office, there was nothing more to do in this “town.” So, I started to walk toward the Toaster House, a CDT hostel run by a Pie Town resident named Nita. As I was walking along the main road toward the Toaster House, a car pulled up. Of course, it was Nita!
She gave me and the small group of hikers hanging out around the restaurant a ride to her house. It was only two blocks, but we took the long way. Nita gave us the grand tour of Pie Town on the way to her house. This consisted of a short drive down a dirt road to a massive radio telescope, a stop at a collection of windmills, local history of the town and region, and, of course, the Pie-O-Neer and Pie Town Cafe (same owner, the latter was closed while I was here).
Then, Nita dropped us off at her house. She didn’t even live at that house, her original house where she’s hosted CDT hikers since the early 90s. Nita lived a few minutes away in a slightly larger house but kept this one available for thru-hikers.
I showered, organized my food, and got to relaxing on the porch. A few hours later, Nita came by and asked if anyone wanted a ride to the next town over, where there was a restaurant that was open later than 2 pm. All four of us said yes, so Rewind, Fetch, Breezy, and I hopped in her car for the 30-minute drive to a slightly larger small town with a gas station, liquor store, and restaurant.
I ate too much food that night. When we returned to the Toaster House, a local dropped off another pie! I ate a huge slice, with ice cream and a beer, just after eating a massive burrito. I went to sleep feeling uncomfortably stuffed in a warm bed.
As an aside, Nita passed away in January of 2023. Six Moon Designs published a wonderful memorial of her on their blog. I feel lucky to have met her and experienced why she is so downright legendary on the Continental Divide Trail.
The following day, Rewind, Fetch, and I hiked out of Pie Town on another dirt road. I felt hungover from all the food. I stopped for a break after 5 miles of walking. When Rewind and Fetch caught up, they stopped as well. They planned to camp at this shipping container another local allows CDT hikers to use. There was running water, a toilet, a small stove, and even a laundry machine. I decided I would also camp there even though it wasn’t much farther. By 6 pm, I was sitting on a log in this building-like structure on someone’s property I’d never met (and would never meet) with Fetch and Rewind.
The following day was a long, uneventful one across a large, open plateau that felt very New Mexico. There were cows, dirt roads, water troughs with live fish, and mountains on the horizon in every direction.
At sunset, we were still on this very exposed plateau. I opted to hike into the night to maybe find something to block the wind. When I told them my plan, Rewind and Fetch agreed to do the same.
We were then treated to one of the best sunsets I’ve ever seen. Reds, pinks, oranges, and yellows lit up the sky. And there was the perfect amount of clouds to bounce all those colors!
We eventually found a small clump of trees with a flat spot to camp, cooked dinner, and went to sleep.
The next day, we arrived at the Gila River Canyon. This was a highlight of New Mexico. The trail follows the river. Really, the trail is the river. I crossed the Gila River more times than I can count. I tried to count, actually, but lost track around 50.
The first day, we crossed the river at least 15 times in a few miles, then hiked out of the canyon to camp to avoid the cold that would sink into this low point. I woke up with frozen sandals, put on my dry shoes, and hiked back down into the canyon. I zig-zagged across the river all day, and by 4 pm, the sun wasn’t hitting the bottom of the canyon anymore. My teeth were chattering again, and I knew I couldn’t do this much longer. There’s only so much walking through cold water when the air is also cold that I can handle.
I looked at my map. To my relief, I was very close to Jordan Hot Springs — there was camping nearby, and I could sit in hot water all night if I wanted. I gritted my teeth and crossed the river three times more, then saw the tell-tale signs of a natural hot springs pool: overnight backpackers, bare dirt where 1000s of tents have clearly sat, and social trails going in every direction.
I went straight to the hot pool, took off my shirt and sandals, and went in. I didn’t take a single picture while in this hot water, even though I sat in this beautiful pool for hours. I cooked dinner while sitting in the water and ate my ramen happily in the pool. I considered sleeping right next to it so I wouldn’t have to cross the river again, but eventually opted to find a better place to sleep.
I crossed the river one more time, this time in the dark, and found one of the best campsites I had on the entire CDT.
At night, I stood beside the river, still warm from the hot spring, and stared at the canyon walls lit by the moon.
I slept in the following day to let the canyon get warmer before I started trudging through the water. I wore my fleece and puffy jacket, and crossed the river several times, stopping periodically in any patches of sun I could find. Then, I took a side canyon to the Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument. I didn’t shiver once all morning.
I went to the general store, Doc Campbell’s, and bought enough food for the two-day stretch into Silver City. I was sitting outside the store, eating ice cream, and Rewind and Fetch arrived. We stayed at a nearby campground with hot springs and soaked all evening. This was going to be over soon; I needed to savor it.
The next day, the official CDT Gila River alternate followed the river for ten more miles. But, it was clear that no CDT southbounders were taking that route. They all were road walking 40 miles straight into Silver City. I decided to take a different alternate that would still avoid the last bit of the Gila River. I, too, was tired of being cold and having wet feet.
Starting at a small trail I found on a map 5 miles south of Doc Campbells, I hiked back to the CDT. I could tell this trail was rarely used. It was overgrown and hard to follow. But after 5 miles of picking my way through brush and trying not to lose the trail, I was back on the CDT. The CDT was also rarely used in this section. I walked all afternoon and into the evening. I passed a trail register at one point, and only two other CDT southbounders had signed it all season.
After some night hiking along a dirt road and a few wrong turns, I set up my bedroll behind some bushes. I was hoping for a better spot, but when you hike into the night, sometimes you have to settle for good enough. This spot was good enough.
I arrived in Silver City in the early afternoon. I went to the hostel and bought a bed. I slept at the hostel for two nights. During the second day in town, I hitchhiked to the end of a 15-mile road walk and then walked back to the hostel. That hot, dry section was finished now.
The following morning, I hitchhiked back to where the CDT split off from the highway onto another dirt road. When my ride drops me off at the spot I had walked from yesterday, I’m glad I did the pavement portion yesterday. It’s hot and dry for another 7-8 miles — that would have been a long water carry.
Silver City to Lordsburg flew by. The trail was mostly flat, with a few small climbs that went quickly. There wasn’t much water, so I had to move fast between sources. When I started getting close to Lordsdburg, the last town along the CDT going south (or the first going north), The cross-country walking between CDT signs began.
The sun was setting, and I could see Interstate Highway 10, which cuts through Lordsburg. The trail disappeared. I assumed it was just because it was getting dark, so I walked straight across the field towards the road into town. I walked to the Econo Lodge motel and asked if they had a room available for the night.
We always have room for CDT hikers, the hotel clerk said.
Awesome!
I paid my discounted hiker rate and went to my room. I got a burrito from the restaurant next door and then slept.
I went to McD*****’s for coffee and breakfast in the morning. That was the only restaurant open. I had to place my order at an in-store kiosk and then wait a long time for my food. I think there was one human employee in the whole “restaurant.” I ordered three McGriddle sandwiches to go, then went to the grocery store for my last resupply on the CDT. By 11 am, I was walking the road out of town.
The sun was setting at 6 pm and I was walking away from a water cache into the dark, still full from my lunch of two McGriddles. The trail disappeared again and I again played the “find the CDT signs” game.
The signs are reflective, so it’s possible to find them at night, but they’re one-sided, and most of the signs face south so northbound hikers can see the reflective side. If you’ve made it this far southbound on the CDT, you’re used to this. I was used to it, but walking aimlessly south in the dark wasn’t easy. I kept imagining the CDT trail crew as they placed these signs saying Ehh, southbounders can go fuck themselves.
I wandered in the dark without visible trail markers for a few hours that evening. I tried to keep going south and periodically checked my digital map to see how far I had strayed from the GPS track. Whenever I turned on the bright phone screen, though, I lost all my night vision. My headlamp on the lowest brightness setting didn’t make route finding in the dark easy.
I planned to hike until I found a cattle trough, fill a liter of water, then find a place to camp. Eventually, I found the area near the trough. I had some esoteric beta on how to find the water tank from someone who had clearly been there during the day. I climbed a barbed wire fence and wandered in the dark for a while, but I didn’t find a tank. I went back to where I started, I think, and climbed back over the fence. I climbed another fence, and this time I saw more cow poop.
More cow poop is a good sign if you’re looking for a cattle tank. I kept walking toward the freshest cow patties, and just as I was starting to think I’m not that thirsty, I found the tank!
Even in the light of my dim headlamp, I could tell the water was brown, murky, and generally unappetizing. All dreams of a water party in the middle of the New Mexican desert quickly dissipated.
Oh well.
I filled a bottle of the gross water I wouldn’t drink except for in an emergency and walked on into the night. It was still slow-going since I couldn’t see the trail signs. I saw a nice flat spot that was cactus-free and decided to call it a night. I laid out my sleeping pad and quilt, cooked some ramen noodles, and ate them with sausage. After some peanut M&Ms for dessert, I stared up at the stars in wonder.
At that moment, I felt minuscule.
In the morning, I didn’t drink any of the gross cattle trough water that I spent so much time searching for. I made cold coffee with the last of my good water and walked for an hour to the next water cache. I found more thru-hikers camped near the cache, and was glad I opted to camp before this point yesterday, or I would have woken them all up last night.
I spent the day on a trail marker scavenger hunt. It was much easier in daylight. I set up camp as the sun was setting, 10 miles from the Mexican border.
The next morning, I did the same thing I had done for 105 days. I made coffee, put it in my small Nalgene bottle, and took it to go along with some extra water from the nearby water cache. I ate a granola bar and some cashews as I walked.
I got lost. Not terribly lost, but I had to backtrack several times when I followed a cow path instead of the CDT. I passed a final mountain. It was small and looked like a fun scramble to the top, but when I looked for beta, I found a report stating it was covered in cat claw. I wasn’t really going to climb it today anyway.
I made it to the Crazy Cook Monument on the Mexican border around noon. There was a man there who had been living under the shade structure near the monument. He was nice, and asked me for food and a sleeping bag. I gave him a pack of Ramen, but told him I needed my sleeping bag.
I asked him some questions, mostly to make conversation since we were far away from anywhere, and I wouldn’t be going anywhere until the following morning. I didn’t really get a straight answer from him on why he was there.
I asked him how he got there, and he said:
I walked.
Where’d you walk here from? I responded
Texas.
Why here?!
…no response
He insinuated that I had accused him of crossing illegally into the US, which was valid, but I didn’t think anyone who wasn’t a legal US resident would openly camp next to the Mexico border. I told him I was getting a ride back to Lordsburg the following morning, and he could likely catch a ride. He made a non-commital sound that I took to mean I know, I’ve been here for a while. I wasn’t the first CDT hiker he’d seen, and we were all getting back to civilization the same way.
I carried a cigar and a tall can of Tecate with me from Lordsburg. I cracked open the beer and started to smoke the cigar. It wasn’t a good cigar. I quickly decided I didn’t want to smoke it and put it out. I drank the beer, and thought about how lucky I was.
I had just walked across the country, on vacation, for no reason. I had a place to go after this, though I didn’t want to go there. I had friends and loved ones who would be happy and proud that I walked to this random point in the middle of the desert. No one would question why I did this.
Actually, there would be a lot of whys, and plenty of whys circling the bigger question: what are you doing with your life? I’m trying to live a life that I love to live. I’m doing this for now. I’ll keep doing it until I find something better to do.
As it got dark, the man made a fire to keep warm. I wished I had extra clothes to give him, but I also wondered at why he had chosen to walk across Texas to this point.
Maybe he had heard about Crazy Cook and wanted to see the monument (though I doubt it since I just tried to google “crazy cook” and found very little information). Maybe he was having a mental health crisis and simply left. Maybe he knew about the CDT and wanted to check it out. Maybe he simply had to get away from where he was and he’s doing fine, albeit a little cold and hungry.
What do I know? I don’t even have a reason for why I’m out here, for why I do anything, really. Why do we always seem to concern ourselves with what others are doing when we don’t even have a rationale for our minute-to-minute actions, let alone what we choose to dedicate our lives to? Is it to mask the fear we all have that we’re not actually autonomous beings? If we’re just a randomly firing network of synapses that have ended up here after a series of evolutionary accidents, that could be disheartening. It could be liberating, too. We don’t have toworry about the why, after all. Yet, we still do,
So, why? If we can explain other people’s behavior, it doesn’t really provide order to the universe, but maybe that’s where the impulse comes from. Like how when you’re feeling stressed and your room is messy, cleaning it helps your entire life feel less chaotic.
At the end of the day, we’re all tiny, tiny specks in the world, a fraction of a blink on the universe’s timeline, looking for something to fill our tiny, pointless lives. I didn’t learn this from walking across the US on the Continental Divide Trail but consistently found reminders of it.
The next morning, I got a ride back to Hatchita, New Mexico. From there, I caught a ride to Tucson, Arizona. I bought a plane ticket to Colorado, and within a week of completing the Continental Divide Trail, I was back in Denver, wondering what I was doing with my life.
And I still don’t know what I’m doing with this beautiful life.
Sam Schild 