Mile 516 – 517 (Hiker Town)
Not sure that really counts. A mile doesn’t count as a hike unless I’m back in sedentary life. And maybe running.
I didn’t realize I was that close. When I walked into Hiker Town, the couple that had been ahead of me yesterday asked, “Where did you camp?”
“Oh you know, just like a mile back. It was a nice night.”
“Yeah, we saw your headlamp in the field and wondered what you were doing.”
I was pretty much just across the highway. Oh well.
Hiker Town is the funkiest of the three hiker hangouts of the desert. It’s a mini Western town, with tiny houses dressed up like the post office and city hall. I chose the Flower Shop, made out of half a shipping container.
Around lunch, one of the old dudes that live there drove all the hikers up to Centennial Market. The awesome staff mostly make up for the meager resupply. In the garage that serves as the Hiker Hut, I did some laundry and ate some ice cream. In a random pile of treasures, I unearthed a big pot to use as a foot soaker. My flower shop house had no electricity and collected heat, but the size was perfect for me.