It was understandably difficult to get out of my sleeping bag on my last morning on the PCT. That was mostly because of the cold, but whatever the reason, Warm Boy and I started after the sun had come up and dried the condensation off of our tents. We walked together, still trying to process the journey, until she took a break and I continued alone. The final six miles that led to the border felt good. My legs felt strong and the trail was easy. I ran through all I could remember of the miles between me and the Mexican border, trying to understand the trail’s significance to me (spoiler alert: it won’t ever make sense). I couldn’t believe it when I hit the one mile marker, but sure enough, the trail switchbacked down through brush until I glimpsed a silver obelisk through the trees. As I made the last steps to the small clearing, the wooden monument that mirrored the one 2650 miles behind me became visible. I walked up to it, kissed the marker, sat down, and thought nothing at all for a while. Soon, Warm Boy also finished her thru hike. She found the log book and we sat reading the entries of the previous hikers before adding our own. We took pictures to commemorate the moment and goofed off, dancing to some disco until Tumbleweed and Vortex arrived. We laughed when they said they thought there were more than two people with all the noise we were making. It was a fun moment. It didn’t feel as monumental as it maybe should have, but how fitting that it was just one moment of fun and celebration among thousands that I’d enjoyed over a beautiful summer walking a long way through wonderful places with even more wonderful people.