Trail Magic

(Monday July 14, 2008)

Have you ever read an old issue of Outside Magazine in Mt. Shasta City, CA while taking a dump in a toilet? Wait a minute...that's not an interesting bowel movement. But it is a bit of trail magic.

I just knocked on wood (the wood of the halfpipe in the backyard of the guy's house I'm currently staying at) but I'm sure this post will jinx the unbelievable lucky streak that I and the group I'm with have been on for the last ten days.

What we gon' do right here is go back...way back...back into time...

Fourth of July on the PCT was uneventful. Didn't see or hear any fireworks, no rousing renditions of You're a Grand Old Flag around the campfire, nobody pulling out their Uncle Sam costume that they had mailed to them just for the ocassion. It was just a longer-than-normal day because there was absolutely no place to camp.

Brit and Irish camped at probably the best non-campground campsite I've seen on the entire trail. A small square of land with small tree stumps for chairs, right next to a river that was pooling into two or three large lagoons. Nice and flat. Bellisimo!

Unfortunately it was really only big enough for two, so Neighbor, Chickety and I went on ahead and Slider followed a little bit behind us. We got to another spot and there was room for three, but not four, so we kept on trudging.

We only found out there was room for three and not four after Neighor, Chickety and I had started to set up and Slider came down and couldn't make it work. We pack up, keep walking and I realize I left my sandals sitting on the ground a quarter mile back. Diggity damn.

Back and then forth once more, I reach an opening and there's the gang setting up shop in a huge open spot next to a tiny dam. Right next to water, good spots to cook and room enough for the eight of us that eventually were camped there and the other 42 that didn't show up. The ground was hard as my bony b-cheeks, but it worked and our merry band slept sweetly, soundly, patriotically and with killer morning wood (well I guess I can't speak for everyone on that account).

The good thing about hiking 30+ like we did on the 4th was that it put us within three or four miles of town, so in less than two hours we hit the road, and twenty minutes later we walked into Sierra City for a day off.

Before we walked in, we met Gopher and Rapunzel, two people that we hiked with through the Sierras that were on their way out of town. They informed us of some nice trail angels in town that had rented an apartment for the week and were allowing hikers to stay with them.

Sure enough, there's an apartment full of hikers above a restaurant in the middle of town. Free laundry, free showers and actual beds, plus a fridge filled with the leftover goodies of hikers that had stayed the night before.

Slider and Greybeard ate breakfast at the restaurant below the apartment and had their meal paid for by someone who lived in town. That's also where they met the guy who offered to give us a ride out of town to Quincy.

We had to hitch 138.2 trail miles around some forest fires and although the road distance was less, it was still a decent hitch. So this guy piled us into his van and drove us about halfway.

Our group split up a bit here and the second ride we caught was with a real woman of the mountain named Lew. She talked a mile a minute and a blue streak simultaneously, which diverted some power from the sector of her brain that controlled the car as we sped as much as an old Subaru wagon can speed, braked as late as possible and took turns that shoved us hard into the doors. This fazed Lew not and all the while we learned about the natural features of the area, the Native Indians living in the area (her words) and that both of her sons were in a race to get preggers (also her words).

She couldn't take us all the way, but it was closer than we had been so we put out our thumbs once more in front of a grocery store. 15 minutes later and we're in the back of a four door truck with two ranchers, the one riding shotgun drunk as hell. Here are a few of the gems that came out of their mouths on the way to Chester.

In response to the fact that we had hiked 1200 miles to that point - "Musta had some good shit to make it this far."..."Did you at least go to Winnemucca? That's where all the whorehouses are."..."So you guys walk most of the shit? You walk everything?"

After telling them we've seen a bunch of mule riders along the way - "Riding mules is kind of like jacking off. It's good to do, but you don't want to get caught doing it."

Inquiring about our motivation - "What brought this on? Get a wild hare up your ass?"

After Slider asks if Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson are singing on the radio - "That's the best song that ever fuckin' gurgle mumble brrrrr."

The one guy tells us that Chuck Norris has a house in a town nearby (possibly Susanville). The other guy responds - "He's a fuckin' hero! American Ninja!"