Date: 2013-08-03
To: San Luis Obispo, CA
Miles today: 0.0
Weather: overcast clouds

I was up before 5am realizing that I had to check my gear through security for my 6am flight to Philadelphia, PA, where I'd board my flight to Phoenix, AZ, then home to San Luis Obispo, CA. Time went quickly. The flight south afforded me windows through the cloud layers for glimpses of the land below. I pondered on the distance along seemingly endless ridges, ups and downs, and the month and a half it took to hike from PA to Katahdin which I was now achieving in 1.5 hours, warm and dry. I would not trade my journey on the trail for any comfort. It was a journey that I planned to remember for life, one that I planned to learn from and grow from. Below, through the clouds, I noticed large bodies of water. Amazingly I could resolve boats leaving white wakes behind them. There were forested ridges and open agricultural fields, all elements of the AT. I assumed we were flying somewhere east of the central Appalachians and east of the AT itself.The international airport of Philadelphia, PA is a shock to anyone who's been in the wilderness for several months, for me, just over 3.5 months. It was an enormous indoor shopping mall, with restaurants and gift shops down every corridor. I found a place that served omelets for a moderate price. After inhaling breakfast, I purchased a Dan Brown novel and made my way towards the next gate to board my flight to Phoenix. It would be a 5.5 hour flight, which I figured would pass by more quickly with a good book.I was in Phoenix in the early afternoon, having lost a couple of hours. Phoenix is about a 9 hour drive from San Luis Obispo, located on the central coast of California, or about an hour in flight. The airport at Phoenix, which I flew into several years earlier for a job interview in the scorching triple digits, was undetectable now, since I was indoors the entire time. I did not bother to check the forecast for the temperature outside, but it felt like home already. The parched landscape in the distance across the tarmac was not much different than that of the Mojave inland from Los Angeles, or Death Valley bordering Nevada. My guess is that someone who lived most of their life on the lush east coast, which I equated to a tropical rain forest, would not appreciate the barren landscape of the Californian deserts. It was sparse and dry, and quite contrasting to the mud and dense green forest I had wandered through for three months. I was ready to trade my moldy attire for some dry, sweaty attire. I was a short hop from home now, excited to see my friend's Heart Rock, the rest of the Swearingen clan, and my loyal chocolate canine companion, Chako. Lift off out of Phoenix was bumpy, likely from the rising warm air over the desert floor. As we leveled off at peak elevation, we lost the turbulence. We flew over the northern Mojave, then up the transverse ranges north of Los Angeles. Gravel roads across the Mojave were generally pin straight for tens of miles, vanishing into arid washes and dissected bajadas of ancient mountains still tectonically active from transpressional stress across the region. The view from a jet window was geo-porn, eye-candy. I often spent hours on Google Earth strolling across the earth's vast terrain at altitude, fascinated by geomorphology and the inferences that can be made about the underlying geology, the petrology, structure, and governing forces of tectonics and erosion. The sparse vegetation across these arid lands, made this place world renowned for researchers around the world. I soaked in the contrasting colors, contrasting topography, canyons, ridges, alluvial fans, sand dunes, faults, and landslides. North of the Los Angeles basin, the rugged coastal ranges were spotted with reservoirs, human exploitation of scarce water, which served as the umbilical chord to the suburban sprawl of Los Angeles and San Diego. They are a remnant of the late William Mulholland (1880-1928), a civil engineer who conducted the many investigations of dam sites across the coastal ranges. The rapid growth of Los Angeles and pressure for him to establish new water sources rapidly, likely led to his poor judgment to construct the St. Francis Dam near Saugus, CA, which I had studied forensically during a field geology trip. The dam was constructed across a fault and abutted by a paleolandslide, which geologists speculate to be the cause of its catastrophic failure in 1925, killing 2,500 people in the middle of the night. The reservoirs were a reminder of California's vulnerability, which seemed to be ignored by the vast desert communities like Palmdale and Lancaster that continue to grow like an unchecked cancer on the barren Mojave floor. The flight, more importantly to me, served as reconnaissance for future road trips or hikes. I could make a mental note of interesting places to explore as I sped some 500+mph across the sky.I arrived at the San Luis Obispo airport by 3pm. The Swearingens were waiting at the airport, with warm smiles and hugs, welcoming me back home. They had supported me in mind and soul, not to mention the hard work that Heart Rock devoted to putting together food caches, dehydrating food, and mailing shoes and other supplies. I did it, but not without them. They were all in my pocket, the entire way.