The Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) runs from Mexico to Canada. A section of it twists past Sierraville, California, near my parents’ cabin on Jackson Meadows Reservoir. I know this part of the PCT by heart, thirty miles of mountain terrain with meadows covered in purple wildflowers and cliffs jagged with crags. I’ve only seen the trail in summertime. Winter in the Sierra Nevadas can kill you. Most people walk the Pacific Crest Trail, but there’s nothing like it from a saddle with sunshine on your hair and a sweaty horse beneath you.

I’ve ridden the PCT many times. On my pony with Grandma Helen, and later on horses I can hardly recall, and on my favorite quarter horse Soda Pop, now a legend in my memory.

People tend to hit the PCT with a trail guide. Someone who knows the way, or one of the trail guide books published after the trail opened in the late 1960’s. Grandma Helen sent her brother, my Uncle John, riding ahead with a pistol on his hip and a large Bowie knife strapped to his leg (Uncle John was born and raised in Montana with grizzly bears).  “Call back,” Grandma would say as we climbed into the cliffs. “Let us know if it’s safe for Paula’s pony.”

I felt protected with my Montana family. Grandma Helen was one of eight kids who rode their horses to school, three lined up on the back of a plow horse. These siblings lived to a ripe old age, and enjoyed each other’s company, most of them migrating to California to be together. They also knew the mountains and they knew me. Our rides were hard, sometimes scary, but their guidance kept me strong. Kept me alive. And we always had fun on our horses.

Later, I rode the trail with my dad and Scott. We hit the PCT prepared with food in our packs, matches to make fires, and first aid gear. Clothing for cold and rain we tied to the back of our saddles. If we planned on sleeping out under the stars we took our bedrolls along and pans to cook in. Fishing poles too for fresh trout dinners.

Here is Scott on Duke and me on Soda Pop. My dad’s favorite horse Stinger stands beside Soda and me waiting for Dad to snap this picture.

And this is Scott riding Reno on the Oregon part of the Pacific Crest Trail in the Cascades.

Tackling the trail reminds me of living out the gospel. The mountain highs and valley lows, the exhilaration of seeing miracles, of lives reborn, sicknesses healed, and sins forsaken. It’s a wild ride. A battle worth fighting. And a trip best not taken alone.

Even Jesus sent his disciples out in twos.

So every Tuesday morning I attend a women’s Bible study led by my 87 year old friend, Pauline. I usually sit beside 88 year old Elsie or 86 year old Charlotte. These three women love the Lord and have lived a long time. They’re the perfect trail guides, wise and steady, warm and calm. Together we open our Bibles and find our way through the terrain of this life. Near me sits Amanda, a mom in her 30’s, eager to soak up the wisdom around us. Like me, she’s here to listen and learn and grow closer to Christ. A half dozen more ladies round out our group. We all bring our own experiences to the unchanging Word of God. And we share how we’ve navigated tricky parts of our trails as mothers and wives and workers with friends and colleagues in the hope we can help each other grow. I love how beloved Bible verses are shared and faith in Christ encouraged.

Because we all need encouragement.

Sometimes the trail is hard.

The longest day I ever spent on the PCT encompassed 26 miles. I wouldn’t have ridden so far had I not been following a cowboy who’d done this same marathon ride before. Mile after mile he assured us we could do it. Over steep cliffs and fallen timber, he told us beautiful meadows lay ahead. And those meadows unfolded lush and green and gentle under tired hooves. Then more cliffs with breathtaking views of mountain lakes shimmering turquoise in the distance. “Concentrate on the scenery, not your aches and pains,” said our cowboy guide. “After this ridge, it’s all down hill from here. We’ll make camp before supper time.” And we did. Poor Soda Pop was so tired he lay down in the meadow and I sprawled out beside him on the grass telling Soda he was the best horse God ever made. Here is a picture of us together after this 26 mile ride.

So how is your life ride going?

Who and what is guiding you on the trail? Are they keeping you safe? Do they know the way you are going and can call back to warn you to move cautiously when things get hairy?

God never meant for us to do life alone. We all need trail guides. And the best place to find a trail guide is on the trail. I met Pauline at church at a prayer meeting. After listening to her pray– having this intimate, loving conversation with Jesus– I knew Pauline, a pastor’s widow, was the guide for me.

I’ve read books by folks who’ve hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, all 2,663 miles of it. And they all talk about finding help along the way. The experts are the ones already on the PCT. Walking it out one step at a time.