I was ready to go, re-supply was packed in my bag and I had become extremely restless to get back to the PCT. My step-father Doug drove me to the Cajon Pass where I’d start back, alone this time. The four days that had passed caused me to lose all of my trail friends, even if for only a while. The first fifteen or so miles you climb high up in the San Gabriel Mountain toward Wrightwood, a few thousand foot climb. The weather was cold, damp, and windy . . all of my LEAST favorite conditions to hike in. Oh well, I was pleased to be back. After a few hours I had climbed above the cloud line, and the sun shone bright until I found camp. I crossed by a team of trail workers and a few of them had invited me to stay with them at their camp, where they had a croquet set and a guitar. This seemed like a pretty good idea, so I set up my tent nearby them and enjoyed their company for the evening. They had interesting stories, all from different backgrounds and from different areas of the country. Their pay from the trail work was basically nothing – one hundred dollars a week – but they all seemed rich, full of life, and happy to be breathing.