We woke up to our alarms, not used to the earlier mornings quite yet and still deep in the shadows of the canyon with no... sun in sight. It was not initially that cold, but as we collapsed our tent and got ready for the day, we grew colder and colder. Eventually donning ALL of our layers, we started the day continuing along the bottom of the canyon. I got colder and colder as the sun failed to enter the canyon. The road was flat but rutted and a bit bumpy and we soon had to pull over so I could thaw my freezing hands as I shivered. That twenty minute stretch might take the cake for the coldest part of the entire Great Divide and I did not enjoy it. Finally the canyon ended and we were ejected into a wide open plain with nothing and more nothing to either side. The road sloped downhill and we could at least enjoy zooming into the nothingness as the sun thawed me out. Plateaus and mountains were silhouetted way off in the distance and they were the only thing to look at besides the scrubby plains and the dirt road for most of the morning. The only notable thing we saw was a fenced off, private watering hole that was very tempting indeed but too difficult to get to for us. We continued along the wide basin, passed a lone church along a desolate highway, and turned off the highway almost immediately to join a new gravel road. We stopped for a snack in some limited shade below a scrubby bush and I finally stripped my thermal pants off, warmed up from the morning and began once again sweating in the desert sun. The northbound road headed into the hills and scrubby trees popped up from the flat terrain before turning into pine trees. We climbed up and up into the hills and topped out at a campground where there was supposedly water but we were unable to figure out the mechanism to make the horse trough pipes eject water. We would learn from the people we met that night that there was another pipe further uphill that dribbled clean spring water that they had collected over the course of an hour, drop by drop. We were doing fine with water and happily descended into the next valley that contained Pie Town, which in our mind was an extravagant paradise oasis. The road turned eastward for a bit and we struggled in some deep sandy areas that alternated with large slabs of rock.

After a while of this we obtained firmer ground and were able to pick up the pace going into Pie Town. We soon hit a T in the road and turned towards the eclectic bunch of houses, realizing that “town” was loosely used in the name “Pie Town.” We knew from previous research that the pie aspect was true and we hurried to one of the four or so purveyors of pie and other food on the main street aka the highway that split the settlement. We happily ordered sandwiches, iced tea, pie, ice cream, and more while racking up a solid bill. This was Ziven’s first rhubarb pie and he heavily debated ordering many more. We sat outside on hay bales, which was good as we smelled a little ripe after a few days in the desert without a shower. We enjoyed the free wifi and the nectar of the gods aka sweet, cold iced tea. After a while we chatted with a few other bikers who had pulled up and they told us there was a group of riders at Toaster House, which was our planned accommodation for the night. They gave us directions and we backtracked a bit down the gravel roads after getting our fill of internet and piling our dishes for the now-closed restaurant. We located Toaster House by its eponymous toasters dangling from the fence and were greeted by a few riders - Tony, Dave, Pete, Christian, and Will. Exploring the interesting house that had been donated by a lady who loved to host CDT hikers and bikers after her death, the place was run off donations by the woman’s daughter and had a bunk room, multiple smaller bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom with a shower, and, most importantly, washing machines. We were directed by the others to take the woman’s old bedroom which, like the rest of the house, was decorated with mementos, souvenirs, and scraps of interesting poems or stickers from years and years of hikers passing through. The murphy-esque bed had huge drawers filled with photographs from the woman’s life and it felt a little weird to intrude on her private space, but the bed was comfy and we had plenty of space for our few belongings. We immediately put our clothes into the wash which forced me to wear my thermal pants and shirt because it was my only semi clean outfit (also my only other outfit) while the washer ran. We also took luxurious showers and used the assortment of leftover soaps and shampoos to make ourselves feel pretty again before joining the others on the porch for soda and chat. We all talked for a while until it was hard to see each other, comfortable on the porch chairs that were in fact ripped-out seats from old cars. The others were all headed to Grants the next day and we were happy to have a group of other folks going at a similar pace that we could compare notes with. Eventually we all called it a night and everyone tromped upstairs or across the ground floor to their respective nooks. Ziven and I tucked ourselves into the queen mattress which we realized was placed atop a twin bed, meaning we had to avoid the cantilevered section of bed. I did not have my greatest night of sleep, getting periodically claustrophobic as the walls seemed to smush in around me. Ziven, unsurprisingly, slept contentedly on.