The Gila River - The CDT's Final Test of Grit - The Trek (2025)

What begins as a gusty, tumbleweed-chased departure from Pie Town soon plunges into a gauntlet of challenges — frozen mornings, lingering storms, and the unpredictable churn of the Gila River. This is the CDT’s final exam, testing not just endurance but adaptability, perspective, and the willingness to embrace the journey, regardless of what it throws at you. Here is the story of our days in the Gila River — of pushing forward through cold and savoring unexpected comforts.

CDT Day 126 — It’s Tumbleweeding and the Air Tastes Crunchy

Another 40-mile road walk lies ahead of us — thankfully, it’s on a dirt track with barely any traffic. There is a high wind warning for today, and it’s already blowing cold in the morning when I pick up our packages from the post office. We spend two hours sorting our logistics — forwarding surplus gear and food to future stops, shipping a broken rain fly back to Nemo, returning the loaner fly to Deidre in Pagosa, and sending random odds and ends back to California. By the time we’re done with this postal marathon, it’s basically lunchtime, and I’m very hungry.

We head to The Gathering Place, Pie Town’s second restaurant (and the only one open today). We finally get that pie — a sweet cherry pie fresh from the oven. Worth the wait. As all the others went to breakfast while we were getting our packages together and enjoyed a quiet house, we now enjoy a quiet restaurant without long wait times. The lady running the joint is a gem, and when I talk about seeing tumbleweed for the first time — yes, literal tumbleweeds blowing down the desolate dirt roads of Pie Town — she proudly shows us a photo of a Christmas tree made entirely of tumbleweeds from her hometown in Arizona. That’s next-level holiday spirit.

Most hikers hunker down at the Toaster House for a zero-day, hiding from the howling wind. I debate my options: do I dislike wind or people more? The wind can blast me with sand, but at least it’s quieter than a crowd. When we see our fellow hikers starting to put beer money together at 11am, our decision is made — we’re hiking on. Just three other hikers leave town today, all converging at the Davila Ranch in 14 miles. The ranch promises showers, Wi-Fi, and fewer human voices in my ears. Sold.

The wind’s not that bad once we get going. Sure, we get some occasional clouds of sand blown in our faces that crunch between our teeth, but there are enough trees to shield us from the worst. Bundled up in leggings, fleece hoodie and a buff plus sunglasses for protection, I’m ready to face the challenge. Ryan chose shorts and gets sandblasted.

The tumbleweed is out in full force, bouncing across the road like wild extras in a Western movie. We’re getting dusted by a few cars and one semi-truck. The latter causes a little sandstorm for us. We pass rugged rock formations, herds of bewildered cows, one huge, fuzzy bull, and a pair of handsome horses who seem to watch our dusty progress with minimal interest.

By sunset, we arrive at Davila Ranch, a wonderful little place in the middle of nowhere, with neat wind shelters to camp in, gas stoves, eggs, and potatoes. We cook up a nice potato dinner, my favorite. Potatoes are hard to come by out here as they’re of course far too heavy, and instant mashed potatoes have nothing to do with actual potatoes. Two potato dinners in a row after I can’t even remember the last potatoes I had (fries don’t count), I’m a happy German. Seriously, potatoes are my comfort food, I could eat just potatoes for the rest of my life.

The water’s been shut off for winter in the sink, shower, and flush toilets, but we still have a spigot and everything else we need. In a world of gusty wind and rattling tumbleweed, Davila Ranch feels like a warm, welcoming rest stop. Tomorrow, the trail calls again, but tonight, I’ll sleep with a belly full of potatoes and a smile on my wind burned face.

CDT Day 127 — Frozen

It’s been the coldest night in a long time out here. The thermometer plunged to 24 °F, and everything froze — our water bottles, the water in the bucket under the spigot, as well as any enthusiasm to leave. I’ve got so many layers on, I feel like a hiker burrito, rain pants and all. With the Gila River crossings looming, the forecast of cold, wet feet isn’t exactly inspiring. Sure, I’m snug as a bug when I’m zipped into my sleeping bag, but the moment I crawl out, it’s like stepping out of a hot bath straight into a freezer. The worst part? Fetching water in this chill, freezing my fingers that take forever to thaw. At least, our shoes are dry, which is going to change as soon as we go through the Gila River.

We set off at 8 am, and I’m still wearing my rain pants by 10 am, until I finally start to feel like a baked potato. That’s how chilly the morning is. The day never really warms up, though; the temperature whiplashes depending on whether we’re in the sun or shade. It’s not easy to decide on what to wear. I stick to my puffy and ventilate as needed by taking the hoodie off, putting the zipper down and taking my gloves off — trying to hit that sweet spot between shivering and sweating. Meanwhile, we imagine hikers currently in the Gila, dunking their feet in icy rivers. That’s a mental image that makes me grateful for today’s dry conditions, even if I’m still cold.

Today, we’re walking over more dirt roads, some of them quitepretty without any traffic. The trail has us winding through oaks, pines, and chunky fluffy squirrels. By afternoon, we climb up Mangas Mountain, at 9,695 feet we’re surprisingly high up again. There is a fire lookout tower, but it’s closed. I still walk up the stairs as far as possible to enjoy the view. The world looks vast and silent: a patchwork of mountains and desert plains, stitched together under a blue, frigid, sky.

We push for 26 miles to get to the highway, where a ride to the town of Reserve awaits. Perfect timing because tonight’s going to be even colder, and we have an invitation that’s too good to pass up. 9 Lives got an offer from one of her YouTube subscribers, to stay at their home — and we’re invited to join. Yes, please!

Tonya, Ray, and their dog Fasha arrive in their big bus, and whisk us off to their historic farmhouse. Inside feels like a step back in time: cast-iron pans on the wall, an old wood stove, crocheted blankets draped over furniture, and stories in every corner. Ray crafts customized bows, and apparently even Jason Momoa owns one of his masterpieces. The dinner they cook up is hearty and delicious, leaving four ravenous hikers full (not an easy task). Having hot showers and a warm roof over our heads is a stark contrast to last night’s icebox conditions.

Sometimes trail magic swoops in just when you need it most. Tonight, snug in this charming home, I’m grateful that, for at least one night, “frozen” is just a memory rather than my current state.

CDT Day 128 — Pit Stop in Reserve and a Forested Night Walk

Tonya spoils us in the morning with a feast of eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast slathered with prickly pear jelly. Meanwhile, Ray shows us into his bow-making workshop, introducing a concept that I’ve never heard about before: bow fishing. Who knew you could catch dinner with a well-aimed arrow shot into the water? Apparently, it’s a skill that demands experience and patience, given the way light bends beneath the surface.

After breakfast, Ray guides us through their homestead, which feels more like a living museum. Every corner has a story: animal skulls, old horse tack, a vintage truck, and even a blacksmith’s forge. Outside, gusty winds rattle the towering oak trees, sending a confetti of leaves dancing through the crisp morning air.

We meet Miss Nancy, who lives further up the hill. She’s over 80 years old, and loves going on small hikes but says she can’t wear a backpack anymore as her back hurts. She kindly gifts each of us a pocket-sized Bible, which, I note with hiker humor, is impressively ultralight.

Tonya and Ray drive us into the town of Reserve for lunch and a quick resupply. It’s a charming little town and I find some excellent cream soda at Black Gold, the iconic store here. Cream Sodas are my new hyperfixation, something that is not to be found in Europe. 9 Lives and Sidequest stay behind for the night, while we press on. Snow is brewing in the forecast, set to blanket the Gila in the coming days, and we’d rather get a head start than wade through snowy river crossings, turning our legs into popsicles. Our friends hike faster, so we’re sure they’ll catch us soon enough.

Late afternoon turns to evening, and we manage just a few miles and halfway up a climb, where we set up our tent in the dark. It’s always spookier for me to night hike in a forest. The darkness under the forest canopy feels different from open terrain. There’s nothing logically more dangerous about these silent trees, but my nerves tingle all the same. I’m not particularly afraid of wildlife, but I’d rather not meet my bears in the beam of my headlamp. Still, it’s warmer up here than in the valley. Inside the tent, with leaves whispering outside, I focus on the simple comforts: dinner and a warm sleeping bag.

CDT Day 129 — Pushing towards the Gila

I wake up, doubting my watch when it insists it’s almost 7 am. The lingering darkness whispers, “No way,” but my phone confirms: winter’s creeping closer, stretching the nights longer. We have a nice view on the way up, and climbing warms our sleepy muscles. We look into a valley, still misty with the morning haze of the rising sun and mountains peaking through.

We take the Govina Canyon Alternate, which saves us 1.3 miles and some elevation. There’s no water on this shortcut, the trail’s a bit ragged, but a hidden spring near a shed at the end brightens our mood. It nicely splits up a 22-mile water carry — trail magic of the subtle kind.

We’re trying to knock out as many miles as possible today, knowing the Gila River ahead will slow us down with its countless crossings. We pass only one hiker, Dragon, but we know a lively “Toaster House bubble” trails behind. We push on in solitude, step by step.

A big climb leads us through a charred burn zone bristling with thorny bushes — saboteurs that grab and tug at our clothes. Somehow, I make it through without major damage to my legs or gear.

When we finally reach the official Gila Alternate, marked by a pink line in FarOut, ready to get wet and cold soon. We top off at Dutchman Spring and stride into the late afternoon. From here it’s road walking for the rest of the day. Trucks pass occasionally, some offering water, but we’re plenty stocked. If only they offered soda, I think, longing for fizz and sugar. But I never ask — just a quiet daydream.

There’s a road so straight it feels like it will never end. It doesn’t look that far, but when cars are passing us we can see how long that car goes until we lose sight of them, indicating how far it really is. My mind wanders: with only 260 miles left to the Mexican border, I’m getting to the point where I don’t want the trail to end. Even road walking is completely fine with me. It’s been lots of type 2 fun on the CDT, and I’m sure there is some more ahead of us in the Gila, but dang, do I want to go back to regular life? Hell no. There is quite some heavy stuff waiting for me to take care of. I would prefer not to. I heard New Zealand is great at this time of the year. Maybe it’s time to repeat the TA?

As dusk settles, a herd of elk materializes, barely visible silhouettes against fading light. Wildlife sightings have grown rare, mostly replaced by cows in all colors and sizes, and those bushy gray squirrels. Soon, the road is ours alone, lit by headlamps and starlight, and we keep pushing. Tonight’s sunset splashes pinks and violets across the sky; the clouds look unrealistically painted, having some odd shapes. Every time it’s a little different.

It’s moments like this — quiet, surreal, lingering in twilight — that make me want to stretch these last miles forever.

CDT Day 130 — The Gila Introduction

Today feels like a gentle warm-up, but I know it’s just the teaser before the real thing begins. After wrapping up the frigid morning’s road walk, we reach the Gila River. Calling it a “river” here is generous — it’s more of a friendly little creek. We’ll be following it or the next 60 miles.

The landscape starts transforming as we move deeper in. Towering rock walls begin to hem us in, and we duck through some light bushwhacking and route-finding. We’re making much better progress than expected for today and end up with 26 miles. Nothing too bad. Yet.Tomorrow’s forecast calls for snow around 4 pm, and we’re hoping to get all the wet stuff out of the way before the flakes start falling. After that, we’ll jump to a high route and aim straight for Doc Campbell’s where hot springs are waiting for us.

The day feels suspiciously pleasant. I’m back in shorts and shirt, sun warming my shoulders, even though my memory reminds me how fickle mountain weather can be. One minute, it’s all birdsong and sunshine; the next, you’re battling a snowstorm, just like on Cottonwood Pass in Colorado. So, I enjoy the beautiful warm day, without getting fooled by it —it’s all part of the CDT’s game.

From a cliff, we spot a deer drinking at the river below. The Gila, in its current calm state, lets us hop across rocks for about 40 river crossings without soaking our feet. Well, until the very last one of the day, at least. An unstable rock teeters, my trekking pole collapses under my weight, and though I save myself from a full dunk, my right foot plunges into the icy water. Great. Just in time for evening camp.

As dusk settles, we catch a glimpse of a beaver and his dam. I’ve seen their handiwork countless times, but rarely the culprits themselves. This little wildlife cameo almost makes up for my soggy shoe. Tomorrow I’ll probably wake to it being frozen. The exact thing that I didn’t want to happen. But tonight I fall asleep listening to the river’s gentle whispers, bracing myself for whatever the Gila decides to throw at us next.

CDT Day 131 — Taking the Higher Ground

This morning isn’t as cold as we expected. Our alarm chimes at 6 am, and we wonder why we see daylight already. Turns out, the clocks rolled back overnight, it’s officially winter time. So, technically, we’re running a little late. We hurry up to get out as fast as possible, eager to log some miles before the weather sours.

The river crossings are wet from here on out, rock hopping is mostly hopeless now. We’re wearing Sealskinz socks that soak through after 20-something river crossings. As they keep coming, fresh cold water comes in all the time and my feet get very cold and start to numb. It’s like walking on wooden stilts instead of human feet; I don’t know if I even have toes anymore. But I guess it’s the Gila River, not the Cry-me-a-river.

A bit later, sunshine sneaks over the canyon walls, and we thaw out. The Gila is breathtaking in this section — towering rock walls, secret caves, and mighty oaks in autumn hues lining the banks. Navigation is tricky sometimes, with some bushwhacking involved, getting whipped and scratched by branches. We just choose what feels best, which works out well enough. The water keeps getting deeper the further we go. I change into shorts as the water deepens, and soon it feels almost normal to be mid-thigh in a creek.

Suddenly, we smell smoke. When we get closer, we discover smoldering remains of a recent burn. Columns of smoke rise in eerie plumes. Luckily, it seems contained, and we carefully navigate through ashes and smoky patches. I’m glad this fire stayed very local. The last place you want to be trapped in a wildfire is the bottom of a canyon.

Up ahead is a beaver dam that supposedly creates very deep crossings. The forecast calls for rain turning to snow, and we have no desire to go winter-swimming. It’s 8 more miles through the river to get to the next option to go on the high route. And apparently, it’s 8 very slow-going miles with the possibility of deep water. A quick decision: we climb 200 meters up to join the high route. Initially, I feel a pang of FOMO — should we have stayed below for the canyon’s magic? But as we reach a small cabin’s covered porch for lunch, the rain kicks in, and the temperature nosedives. Perfect timing. By now, we’re pleased with our decision.

The high route is straightforward — a nice trail through tall ponderosas, just a handful of blowdowns here and there. We even get a beautiful view into the canyon and the Gila River from the edge of the cliff. It’s raining on and off, but at least we’re not in the water and therefore not cold. We’re getting back into the land of the cactus and yucca and can see lots of cool rock walls in the distance in between forested hills around us.

That way, we make it further than anticipated, getting all the way to the Gila Cliff Dwellings by dark. We’re settled in the tent when it starts raining harder. I still can’t imagine that it could snow this night. Our shoes are fairly dry by now, another benefit of taking the high route to give them time to dry out. Not having to slip into wet, cold shoes in the morning is a huge plus.

CDT Day 132 — The Gila Part II after a Stopover at Doc Campbell’s

We sleep in for once, letting the rain patter on our tent while we stay snug inside. By the time the Gila Cliff Dwellings open at 9 am, the skies have mostly cleared — just in time for some exploration. Last night was all rain, no snow for us. I’m not mad about that. Later, we hear from other hikers they had snow just a bit higher up, and the rangers tell us about the whiteout further south in Pinos Altos, close by Silver City. We get that confirmed by seeing snow on the cars coming out of that direction. We got lucky, being right where we are supposed to be.

The Cliff Dwellings are super neat, and I’m glad we were able to come here. It looks like a small version of the rock city Petra in Jordan. Five caves tucked into the canyon wall, carved into cozy rooms by the Mogollon people 700 years ago. They must’ve had one stellar view every morning, looking out at the canyon and its whispering pines. Archaeologists believe the Mogollon only lived in these caves for a relatively short period — perhaps one or two generations — before moving on, leaving behind a unique glimpse into their daily life. The dwellings are remarkably well-preserved, allowing us to see original wooden beams, stone walls, and soot marks from ancient fires. What a remarkable window into the past!

On our way in and out, we spot javelinas — wild peccaries that resemble pint-sized boars — trotting along the road. A little family outing, just doing their javelina thing. They like nibbling on the coyote gourds, that look like small watermelons, but aren’t edible for humans as they’re extremely bitter.

From there, it’s a road walk to Doc Campbell’s. They’ve just switched to winter hours, opening at noon, and we time it perfectly. We pick up our resupply boxes and stuff our faces with all available food. Frozen burritos, burgers, cream sodas, and delightful homemade butterscotch ice cream. I don’t even like ice cream that much and still, I can say that this ice cream is excellent, highly recommend.

We meet Lennon and Grazer, telling tales of last night’s snowy campsite on the high route. They’re done with the Gila River and decided to road walk straight to Silver City. The forecast tells us about more rain and snow on Thursday. Originally, we planned a leisurely soak in the hot springs today. But the thought of fighting colder, wetter conditions pushes us to ditch comfort and press on. It’s a tough call — a warm bath vs. icy river crossings. But I rather do that now, then later with rain and snow.

We dry our tent and socks, recharge our devices, have another burrito and cream soda, and reluctantly bid the hot springs farewell. Back on the trail, the Gila River beckons us down from the road. And we have to cross it right away. This time, I wear rain pants over my Sealskinz socks, trying to trap some warmth, which works fairly well. The river flows faster here, but doesn’t reach higher than our knees. Mostly it’s shallow. Still, after a while, each crossing feels like stepping into a mini ice bath.

We enjoy a flaming sunset and then struggle a bit in the dark as we can’t find the trail. At one point, we literally walk through the river instead of the trail, then a tree branch draped over our path like a curtain which confuses us. Can’t recommend this in the dark.

Luckily, we find the good campsite we were looking for. I can’t wait to get out of my dripping wet shoes and the little bathtub in my socks. After that, my feet are colder than before, and it takes a while to warm them up in the sleeping bag. We shove the soggy footwear into a trash bag inside the tent, hoping they won’t turn into ice blocks by morning.

After filling our bellies with Chili Mac with rice, beans and ramen — trail fusion cuisine at its finest — we listen to the sound of the river outside. It’s not just rushing, there is also some odd gurgling sound. We mentally prepare for tomorrow. Only 10.7 miles of river walking remain, but the trail is rumored to vanish into a tangle of brush, existing more in theory, and I have no idea how long it’s going to take us.

CDT Day 133 — Waking up to Frozen Socks and Shoes

Okay, maybe I was wrong, maybe this is Cry-me-a-river after all. We wake up to ice on our tent and frozen shoes. I keep having flashbacks of the Bob Marshall Wilderness back in June. I guess we finish our thru-hike of the CDT like we started it — cold and wet. It’s early November now, time to get out of here. There are warmer places to run away to.

It takes us ages to face reality and get out, waiting for the sun to make an entry to the canyon. Our trash bag strategy failed to keep the shoes unfrozen. I guess you have to put it in your sleeping bag to make this work. We are heating up water on our stove to defrost them, so putting them on isn’t such a nightmare anymore.

It’s a slow, uncomfortable morning, and the very first step is, of course, straight into the icy Gila River. The first crossings are agony — my feet go numb, my fingers barely affected by the hand warmers shoved in my gloves. I wear leggings, rain pants, a fleece, and a puffy, hoping the overall warmth will balance out my frosty toes. The worst part is stepping out of the water, when the cold really stabs through my body and I can’t help but moan every time we leave the water.

But the sun, oh the sun — when it finally reaches us, it changes everything, although the grass around us remains frosted. It’s weird to see frosted cacti gleam like sugared confections. The sunshine helps a ton to keep my spirits high, despite all the hardships. It’s warming up more and more and by the end we’re actually enjoying our time in the Gila River. A great way to end this part of the adventure, with a smile and gratitude. Gratitude to be able to experience all this, the good and the not-so-good.

While I’m wading through the water and get slapped by some bushes, I think about how this is real. All the human constructs — money, societal norms, countries, borders, systems are all just ideas, mere concepts we happen to believe in. It’s what people mean when they talk about “real life”, hilarious. Right here, right now, I’m touching grass, feeling cold water, hearing the splash and flow of the river, feeling the sunshine. I feel alive. It is also just an idea that thru-hiking is supposed to be fun, yes, but what I see, feel and hear is as real as it can be.

Only the last three miles are a bit harder. But not as hard as FarOut comments make it seem. I keep following the dotted line rather than the pink line on FarOut, if I do lose the trail I magically find another one. When in doubt, we just walk in the river. Yes, there is some bushwhacking, but we remain relatively unharmed. Just some pokey seeds sticking to us, but the thick sealskin socks help not to feel them. There is some occasional whipping and scratching. But we’ve been through worse.

A small hiccup: Ryan and I get separated. While he changes his socks, I keep going, and then wait for him at the next river crossing. After a snack and no sign of him, I realize he might have taken a different route to cross the river. There are so many options as there is no official trail, just many social trails. Eventually, I find his footprints — unique shoe tread marks in the sand — and know he’s ahead.

We reunite just before hitting the end of the river section, where I find Ryan losing the trail. We have lunch before we tackle the climb out of here. I’m glad we did it, it was a unique experience and not as miserable as I thought it would be. I change into dry socks, and we lay all our gear out to dry in the sun.

We meet Saint again, and talk about post-trail life. Thanksgiving is coming up, and I couldn’t care less, but it seems to be America’s favorite holiday and both Ryan and Saint are very excited about it. To this day, I can’t wrap my head around mashed sweet potatoes with marshmallows.

We also talk about the election which is happening today, and we have no clue what’s happening out in the world. We are in our little bubble with our own little struggles. By the time we reach Silver City, who knows what headlines we’ll face?

It’s a long climb out of the canyon, but it’s not hard, and it’s nice to warm up and especially: Having dry feet. There are some pretty acorn trees with bright red leaves.By the time we reach the top, it’s getting cold again and the higher we climb, we even encounter snow. Leftovers from that storm two nights ago. We decide to push further into the dark, as we didn’t cover much distance today due to the late start. We want to reach Silver City tomorrow, before the next storm hits.

We see some massive prints in the snow, accompanied by big piles of poop, both looking like coming from elk.The snow is sparkling in the light of our headlamps as we make our way up. The downhill sections are mostly snow free as they are on the southern side of the mountain. We’re grateful for that.

At a certain point, we are losing the trail and decide to end our day here. It will be easier to find in the daylight, and we’re both hungry (one more than the other). Time for spaghetti with meat sauce and a mudslide (with dried strawberries, how fancy) to celebrate completing the Gila section. The river’s roar is behind us, we made it out safe, and the world feels a bit brighter, even if our shoes are still damp.

CDT Day 134 — Maze to Silver City

Morning light doesn’t bring clarity, just the unsettling realization that last night I was actually on the right trail — but “trail” is a generous word here. The official route has vanished under a tangle of blowdowns, and even the bypass has quite some blowdowns. All that made it less than obvious that we’re on the right way. The downside of night hiking.

I’m glad we stopped where we did because forward progress only gets harder. We keep loosing track of the path, bushwhack. The line on the map is merely a suggestion that doesn’t fit reality. We follow a rocky riverbed that’s slower going than the Gila ever was. And, we thought the hard part would be behind us — how foolish. We miss the trail out of the riverbed, and bushwhack our way uphill, struggling to relocate anything resembling a trail. I’m getting more and more frustrated, tired of wrestling with branches and trying to find the trail.

Eventually, we find a rocky maze dotted with stone markers at the top. At least something’s guiding us now, even if it’s just a game of connect-the-dots across boulders. But there are some pretty views towards intriguing rock formations — tall, odd-shaped pinnacles and clusters of boulders sculpted by centuries of erosion.Still rattled, I stumble into a yucca plant — my old nemesis — spiking pain into my leg. Then, just before the trail finally levels into a decent dirt road, I slip and crash backward into mud, soaking my feet. I’m having a rough day. These are the moments that make me question my life choices.

While we’re trudging along the dirt road that keeps going up and down like a rollercoaster, clouds are rolling in, it’s getting cold, and it looks like it’s going to start to rain soon. This was not part of the forecast.We’re both hungry, but we push on, determined to reach the Walnut Creek Alternate junction to walk into Silver City before the skies open up.

Fate throws us a bone: a silver truck pulls up, driven by Brooks, who greets us with a friendly smile and a simple question: “You doing the whole thing?” We nod, weary smiles on our faces. Brooks is headed to Silver City right now and offers us a ride. We jump at it, skipping the last seven miles of trudging and dodging the incoming weather. Brooks, who is a newly retired firefighter, originally from Phoenix, shares stories of selling his house at the right time and finding a new life out here. Meanwhile, we find a small victory in hitching a ride into warmth and comfort.

Today may have slapped us around, but it ends on a merciful note: a dry seat in a warm truck, heading straight to a hot shower, a real meal, and a chance to reset.

Zero Day in Silver City — A Cuddly Pretzel

We take a zero-day in Silver City, and the forecasted snow never shows up. Instead, we get a sunny but bone-chilling day. Apparently, the storm shifted to Northern New Mexico, which got dumped with snow. I’m okay with that. Our last zero was at Ghost Ranch, which means only two zeros in New Mexico, as we felt we needed to make up for that triple zero in Pagosa Springs due to sickness.

Waking up, I already feel off. I know I don’t have many spoons today. We take the bus to Walmart and I feel how my senses are heightened, every noise is extra painful, the sunlight is too bright, I’m tired and hungry. Not a good start. Then my credit card recently stopped working, and I’m trying to resolve the issue unsuccessfully by calling the credit card company back in Germany. By the time we get to Walmart, I’m so overwhelmed that I end up having a meltdown. I have to go outside to breathe and ground myself, crouching on the sidewalk, trying to remember how to be human. While I’m sitting there, a guy pulls up in his car and offers me a banana. I have the feeling he thinks I’m homeless. But what am I supposed to do, there are no benches anywhere — America, why so bench-averse?

Eventually, I wrangle myself together and head back inside to get the rest of our shopping done. We head over to a Chinese restaurant that’s far from good, but it’s cheap. The food in New Mexico has been really difficult for me. Everything is spicy, even stuff that isn’t supposed to be spicy. Yesterday evening, we’ve been to a bar and the burger and I swear, even the ketchup, was spicy. The salad was the only thing edible for me. At least the Chinese food isn’t spicy, it’s actually completely bland, and I welcome this right now, it’s so comforting to not having to deal with another sensory input.

After eating, we both feel better. We pop by the post office to pick up a package, then stroll through town. Silver City’s got charm — cute little stores with quirky owners and a bookshop with a cat named Pudge wandering around. There are manycat references, lots of pride flags. Silver City gives off hippie vibes and I like it a lot.

My original plan was to go to the library to do some work. But after we return to the room, a cat we’ve nicknamed Pretzel curls up and purrs on my chest (because she ate one of my pretzels, which I’m pretty sure breaks cat culinary protocol). With Pretzel’s soothing presence, the idea of working drifts away. Instead, I decide to take a mental health afternoon. We lounge in bed, cuddle with the cat, then cook dinner (potatoes, of course! But also soup, salad and chicken), and watch a movie. I don’t have regrets. This downtime was needed.