(Saturday May 3, 2008 - 12:49pm)
The other night when I was up writing in a towel and snow hat, i was probably the only awake person out and about. There were no hikers or other non-hiking guests, no employees, no one. Just me and a raccoon that I initially thought was a cat.
So I come out of the resort's computer room and I hear this cheesy music playing over the loudspeakers in the lodge. It was that Kenny G-type elevator jazz saxophone playing wordless pop hits. I think the tune I heard then was Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston.
Then I remembered that this was the same music that was playing down at the hot spring when all of the hikers were there swimming and drinking.
I remember walking in, and I see a quiet pool with steam coming off, surrounded by soft lighting, people swimming slowly back and forth to the shitty music. The whole scene made me feel like I was an extra in what was about to be a Steven Segal love scene.
But aside from that, if you ever have a chance to do a southern California road trip, make the Warner Springs Ranch one of your stops. Someone's bound to leave there pregnant.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Back to It
(Friday May 2, 2008)
Finally hit the trail again after two nights in Warner Springs. Wasn't planning on one night's stay let alone two, but fire has a way of changing plans.
Now I'll still end up in Idyllwild on Sunday, but it will most likely be the afternoon instead of the evening like I had originally hoped. Hopefully the Mt. San Jacinto campground is open because I heard the entire town was flooded with hikers either trying to wait out the fire or get alternate hiking plans set.
I just don't feel like spending money on a hotel room after two unbudgeted days in Warner Springs. The campground is only $2 a night so that would be clutch.
I heard that the town was swamped with hikers while I was at the cantina getting drunk with about 50 other hikers.
An old guy with about three teeth says that the fire was messing with his funds which were waiting for him in Idyllwild. So he asks me to buy him a drink and I oblige. Anything to help out a fellow hiker.
We all sit back down at our table and he comes over with us, sits in an empty seat and starts picking through our eaten baskets of food for leftover fries.
He was digging through chicken bones and greasy wax paper, gobbling up every last one. I wished I hadn't bought him the drink and got him some food instead so I didn't have to witness what was ocurring in front of me.
"Ohhh! A pickle!"
I look over and there he is, caught a gerkin on the end of his line, head tilted back mouth open, pickle going in...appetizing!
Watching him try to eat the pickle with his one sharp incisor at least made up for all the rest.
Speaking of food, I'm done with my lunch now, just waiting for my socks and shoes to dry out as I just had to cross a river with no rocks to hop on.
But I don't know how much longer I want to wait because these two flies won't stop bothering me. Probably because I killed their one friend and now they're his avenging angels.
Either way, I'm out until I'm back in. Hasta luego.
Finally hit the trail again after two nights in Warner Springs. Wasn't planning on one night's stay let alone two, but fire has a way of changing plans.
Now I'll still end up in Idyllwild on Sunday, but it will most likely be the afternoon instead of the evening like I had originally hoped. Hopefully the Mt. San Jacinto campground is open because I heard the entire town was flooded with hikers either trying to wait out the fire or get alternate hiking plans set.
I just don't feel like spending money on a hotel room after two unbudgeted days in Warner Springs. The campground is only $2 a night so that would be clutch.
I heard that the town was swamped with hikers while I was at the cantina getting drunk with about 50 other hikers.
An old guy with about three teeth says that the fire was messing with his funds which were waiting for him in Idyllwild. So he asks me to buy him a drink and I oblige. Anything to help out a fellow hiker.
We all sit back down at our table and he comes over with us, sits in an empty seat and starts picking through our eaten baskets of food for leftover fries.
He was digging through chicken bones and greasy wax paper, gobbling up every last one. I wished I hadn't bought him the drink and got him some food instead so I didn't have to witness what was ocurring in front of me.
"Ohhh! A pickle!"
I look over and there he is, caught a gerkin on the end of his line, head tilted back mouth open, pickle going in...appetizing!
Watching him try to eat the pickle with his one sharp incisor at least made up for all the rest.
Speaking of food, I'm done with my lunch now, just waiting for my socks and shoes to dry out as I just had to cross a river with no rocks to hop on.
But I don't know how much longer I want to wait because these two flies won't stop bothering me. Probably because I killed their one friend and now they're his avenging angels.
Either way, I'm out until I'm back in. Hasta luego.
Friday, May 2, 2008
If It's the Wrong Decison, I'll Make It
(Friday April 25, 2008)
I got in on Thursday and managed to make two screw ups in two days. At this rate it will be 140 for the trip.
I got into San Diego and I have no food, which in and of itself isn't a bad thing but when you haven't thought out what exactly you're going to eat each day, then your situation's not so hot.
So instead of thinking about what I want for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks for the five days its going to take me to get to Warner Springs, I just decided, "Oh this looks good. Mmm, I'd like to eat that. Can't wait to eat these!"
And that's how I ended up carrying $250 worth of food three quarters of a mile back to the house I was staying at.
Originally I was just going to take a cart, bring the food to the house, then cart the food I was mailing to myself (that was part of the $250 too) to the post office and then return the cart to the store. Sounds logical, no? And it was which was why I didn't do it.
So there I am walking two blocks with what felt like 75 pounds of food in ten plastic bags. Then my arms started getting tired so it became a block. Then the bags started ripping. Then I heard a car full of girls drive by and laugh.
Eventually I would just kneel on the ground like I was genuflecting to the hiking gods and then spring up and walk as fast as I could to whatever landmark I picked out. By the end my face looked like I was getting an enema of fire. Good times.
That turned out to be a great plan because I showed up with my packages at the post office 15 minutes before they closed, with only one of my two packages in a box and no tape. In what turned out to be a post office miracle, someone had left a roll of tape there earlier and I was able to use that to seal up my bounce box. I was the last customer served and they had to unlock the doors to let me leave.
In hiking foolishness, I of course got lost during my first day on the trail, which wouldn't have been a big deal if I decided to wait for someone to help me out.
Instead, when faced with the choice of three trail directions, I decided to go with my gut and picked two wrong choices before finally waiting for someone who pointed out an arrow made of sticks that someone had left to guide unsure hikers on the right path.
Pissed that I wasted an hour or more of time that could have been spent heading to Lake Morena, I hightailed it down the trail, not making my usual stops for water and snacks. By the time I got to the campground, I was covered in salt, the sun was setting, dinner was finished being served and I couldn't get my tent set up correctly.
After taking an absolutely freezing shower and eating cold chicken out of a foil packet, I climbed into my tent, which sagged onto my face because it I set it up wrong.
Before I passed out, I cursed the Pacific Crest Trail and vowed to quit the next day.
But thankfully a night of uncomfortable sleep and waking up with condensation all over my sleeping bag was enough to calm me down and give it another shot.
So I'm sitting in a grove of trees making PB&J and doing some writing. My feet hurt and my shoulder is sore, but I must admit as hard as long distance hiking is (it's pretty fucking hard) the trail is a nice place to be.
I got in on Thursday and managed to make two screw ups in two days. At this rate it will be 140 for the trip.
I got into San Diego and I have no food, which in and of itself isn't a bad thing but when you haven't thought out what exactly you're going to eat each day, then your situation's not so hot.
So instead of thinking about what I want for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks for the five days its going to take me to get to Warner Springs, I just decided, "Oh this looks good. Mmm, I'd like to eat that. Can't wait to eat these!"
And that's how I ended up carrying $250 worth of food three quarters of a mile back to the house I was staying at.
Originally I was just going to take a cart, bring the food to the house, then cart the food I was mailing to myself (that was part of the $250 too) to the post office and then return the cart to the store. Sounds logical, no? And it was which was why I didn't do it.
So there I am walking two blocks with what felt like 75 pounds of food in ten plastic bags. Then my arms started getting tired so it became a block. Then the bags started ripping. Then I heard a car full of girls drive by and laugh.
Eventually I would just kneel on the ground like I was genuflecting to the hiking gods and then spring up and walk as fast as I could to whatever landmark I picked out. By the end my face looked like I was getting an enema of fire. Good times.
That turned out to be a great plan because I showed up with my packages at the post office 15 minutes before they closed, with only one of my two packages in a box and no tape. In what turned out to be a post office miracle, someone had left a roll of tape there earlier and I was able to use that to seal up my bounce box. I was the last customer served and they had to unlock the doors to let me leave.
In hiking foolishness, I of course got lost during my first day on the trail, which wouldn't have been a big deal if I decided to wait for someone to help me out.
Instead, when faced with the choice of three trail directions, I decided to go with my gut and picked two wrong choices before finally waiting for someone who pointed out an arrow made of sticks that someone had left to guide unsure hikers on the right path.
Pissed that I wasted an hour or more of time that could have been spent heading to Lake Morena, I hightailed it down the trail, not making my usual stops for water and snacks. By the time I got to the campground, I was covered in salt, the sun was setting, dinner was finished being served and I couldn't get my tent set up correctly.
After taking an absolutely freezing shower and eating cold chicken out of a foil packet, I climbed into my tent, which sagged onto my face because it I set it up wrong.
Before I passed out, I cursed the Pacific Crest Trail and vowed to quit the next day.
But thankfully a night of uncomfortable sleep and waking up with condensation all over my sleeping bag was enough to calm me down and give it another shot.
So I'm sitting in a grove of trees making PB&J and doing some writing. My feet hurt and my shoulder is sore, but I must admit as hard as long distance hiking is (it's pretty fucking hard) the trail is a nice place to be.
The Fruit of Schmidt
(Sunday April 27, 2008)
Hiking may be hard but it's more dirty than anything. This will be my third day not showering and it feels like the 50th.
Dust really has a way of getting into everything, even the far corners of deeply packed compartments. You'd be amazed when you take out a jacket or shirt and you see a thin film of trail dust on something that hasn't been out of your bag all day.
What you wouldn't be amazed at is the dirt that's everywhere else, all over your hands, shirt, coating your legs, caking into cement under your finger and toe nails. It is pretty damn disgusting.
The worst part is putting on your sleeping clothes, which are for the most part clean because all you do is sleep in them, and climbing into your bag for what you think will be a peaceful sleep, but your dirty skin rubbing together makes you feel like you're covered in pond scum.
In other news, I smell fantastic.
At first it smelled somewhat fragrant, to the point that I thought it was some weird smelling PCT plant that I kept passing. It wasn't a great smell, but if it was B.O., then it was a desirable B.O.
I was starting to call it the Fruit of Schmidt, but then day three rolled around and it was just plain evil.
Hiking last night up onto the top of some mountain (it's windy up on top of mountains by the way) I soaked my shirt because it was a hard climb and I was trying to make it to a clear spot before the sun went down.
The next day, despite having left it out all night, the thing hadn't dried out at all and I tried putting it on, but at 5:15am, it was too cold and a little too disgusting even for PCT hiking.
Luckily today fog rolled in from the ocean and brought with it freezing cold air so when I eventually had to put the gross long sleeve on, it dried out from the 60 mph winds. Like I said, it's windy on top of mountains.
I thought the second day coming out of Lake Morena was bad with wind, but today I at two separate times thought I was going to be blown off the mountain as the wind was pushing me sideways on a two and a half foot wide path on the side of a cliff.
Go figure my camera battery died today so I couldn't take a picture of the clouds coming in over the other mountains across the valley. Just use this description to get a mental picture - clouds. Pretty sweet looking isn't it?
Alright lords and ladies, lunch is finito and I'm back to hiking. Yahtzee!
Hiking may be hard but it's more dirty than anything. This will be my third day not showering and it feels like the 50th.
Dust really has a way of getting into everything, even the far corners of deeply packed compartments. You'd be amazed when you take out a jacket or shirt and you see a thin film of trail dust on something that hasn't been out of your bag all day.
What you wouldn't be amazed at is the dirt that's everywhere else, all over your hands, shirt, coating your legs, caking into cement under your finger and toe nails. It is pretty damn disgusting.
The worst part is putting on your sleeping clothes, which are for the most part clean because all you do is sleep in them, and climbing into your bag for what you think will be a peaceful sleep, but your dirty skin rubbing together makes you feel like you're covered in pond scum.
In other news, I smell fantastic.
At first it smelled somewhat fragrant, to the point that I thought it was some weird smelling PCT plant that I kept passing. It wasn't a great smell, but if it was B.O., then it was a desirable B.O.
I was starting to call it the Fruit of Schmidt, but then day three rolled around and it was just plain evil.
Hiking last night up onto the top of some mountain (it's windy up on top of mountains by the way) I soaked my shirt because it was a hard climb and I was trying to make it to a clear spot before the sun went down.
The next day, despite having left it out all night, the thing hadn't dried out at all and I tried putting it on, but at 5:15am, it was too cold and a little too disgusting even for PCT hiking.
Luckily today fog rolled in from the ocean and brought with it freezing cold air so when I eventually had to put the gross long sleeve on, it dried out from the 60 mph winds. Like I said, it's windy on top of mountains.
I thought the second day coming out of Lake Morena was bad with wind, but today I at two separate times thought I was going to be blown off the mountain as the wind was pushing me sideways on a two and a half foot wide path on the side of a cliff.
Go figure my camera battery died today so I couldn't take a picture of the clouds coming in over the other mountains across the valley. Just use this description to get a mental picture - clouds. Pretty sweet looking isn't it?
Alright lords and ladies, lunch is finito and I'm back to hiking. Yahtzee!
Trail Idiot
(Saturday April 26, 2008)
When I was sitting in the grove of trees yesterday writing and relaxing, I overheard this conversation:
Idiot: So do you have cell phone service here?
No Service: No.
Idiot: What do you use? Verizon?
No Service: No. Sprint.
Idiot: I thought it didn't matter what provider you had as long as you had roaming.
I shook my head then and I'm shaking it now thinking about it.
No, Idiot, that is not the definition of roaming. Despite the fact that you are "roaming" along the PCT, you do not have cell phone service at all times.
In other news, I hike a lot faster than I thought. I started at Burnt Rancheria (mile 41) today and the next water stops were at 47, 48 and 52. So I figure it will take me 4 hours or so with breaks to get to mile 47. I started at 6:45am so I figured I'd be there around 11:00.
So 11:30 rolls around and I'm not seeing the campground at mile 47. Then all of a sudden I walk into the Pioneer Mail Picnic Area at mile 52.
I passed the campground two hours before and even stopped there to take a picture without knowing it. Good times.
I was actually worried that I wouldn't be able to get water at Pioneer Mail because two people who were leaving as I got there told me there were dead rats in or near the water.
An older hiker named Lucky went up there and came back down to tell me that those people were full of shit. And they were. The water came out of a spigot crysal clear.
Nature calls and then it's back to the trail.
When I was sitting in the grove of trees yesterday writing and relaxing, I overheard this conversation:
Idiot: So do you have cell phone service here?
No Service: No.
Idiot: What do you use? Verizon?
No Service: No. Sprint.
Idiot: I thought it didn't matter what provider you had as long as you had roaming.
I shook my head then and I'm shaking it now thinking about it.
No, Idiot, that is not the definition of roaming. Despite the fact that you are "roaming" along the PCT, you do not have cell phone service at all times.
In other news, I hike a lot faster than I thought. I started at Burnt Rancheria (mile 41) today and the next water stops were at 47, 48 and 52. So I figure it will take me 4 hours or so with breaks to get to mile 47. I started at 6:45am so I figured I'd be there around 11:00.
So 11:30 rolls around and I'm not seeing the campground at mile 47. Then all of a sudden I walk into the Pioneer Mail Picnic Area at mile 52.
I passed the campground two hours before and even stopped there to take a picture without knowing it. Good times.
I was actually worried that I wouldn't be able to get water at Pioneer Mail because two people who were leaving as I got there told me there were dead rats in or near the water.
An older hiker named Lucky went up there and came back down to tell me that those people were full of shit. And they were. The water came out of a spigot crysal clear.
Nature calls and then it's back to the trail.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Late Night
Did you ever notice how soft mineral hot springs make your skin feel? Neither did I until just now.
First of all, these things reek of sulfur, meaning that in some small capacity they have something in common with feces, but really the comparisons end there. Whereas jumping into a pool of feces would probably make you want to die if the toxins didn't kill you first, on a cold night such as tonight, jumping into mineral hot springs was like heaven incarnate.
You're probably asking, "I thought this buffoon was on a hike?" And you'd be right, I am. But every hiker needs a break now and then, so here I am taking one. But that doesn't really explain it adequately. Yesterday, there was a cold front coming in off the Pacific (at this point I'd like to mention that Pocketmail - the device that I'm using to send emails from the trail when I don't have Internet access - doesn't work through Verizon. And of course I have Verizon, so any posts I make must be made from a land line and the resort that I'm at has neither room phones or televisions, so I'm still trying to work that out. So if I mention anything here and then again in a subsequent post, now you know why. Anyway, back to the story) and it brought to the PCT cold ass high speed winds. This is quite the change from slight breezes and oppressive heat, so without sweating your *insert dirty body part* off for 10 hours per day, you have a lot more energy to devote to walking. Thus, I got to where I expected to camp for the night at 3:30pm.
I got to talking with some people and the possibility of hiking to Warner Springs (the town I expected to reach the next day) came up. And so I decided not to waste the daylight and get my ass there. So me and three other guys hauled ourselves eight miles in three hours and got ourselves rooms for the night.
Let me tell you that after not showering for four days and sleeping in a tent for six, getting a hotel room is slightly more than enticing.
I get into the bathroom and I turn on the water, dreaming of a hot shower and all that it could possibly be, but the water keeps getting colder and colder, and I keep opening up the Hot knob more and more, but nothing's happening. Quickly I begin cursing my luck as the worst in the world, blaming God for having me hike 28 miles in one day only to be greeted by an arctic shower, and then I decide to just open up the Cold knob and wouldn't you know out comes the Hot water. Oh those jokers over at the Warner Springs Ranch. They got me.
Orgasmic. Hot water and soap never felt so good. I honestly could have died at that moment and I would not have cared. No kids, no fame or fortune, no execution of the soon-to-be-infamous bank heist that I've been planning...nothing. I would not have cared. It was a beautiful thing.
So anyway, this pornography has gone on for to long. So fast forward to 4:00pm today. Warner Springs lets you do an extended check out, which basically means that if you ask to stay past the 10:00am checkout, they'll let you stay until 4:00pm for free. Fine by me.
But the problem with that is that staying in this lovely place with its beer and food and bed and hot showers and pools and hot springs is just so tempting. I hung around and waited for the cleaning ladies to come and kick me out, but 4:00pm became 5:00pm and one beer became another and then I just said, "Fuck it!" and enjoyed the camaraderie of all of the other hikers pouring into the resort to avoid the forest fire.
Oh yeah. Sorry, forgot to mention that one. A burning stump started a forest fire that closed down the PCT for quite a ways and messed up more than a few hikers' plans, myself included. So it was either leave town this afternoon and hike a few miles, haul ass to get a 25+ mile day in Friday so that I have enough time to make it into Idyllwild on Saturday between 1:00pm and 3:00pm when their post office is open (I'm expecting packages there). Also, there's no outgoing mail from that post office on Saturday so I would also have to hike two miles to the next town to mail food ahead to myself at the next town stop. That or I could stay another night and take some easy days on the trail and get to Idyllwild on Sunday night or Monday morning.
So here I sit, having just taken a shower to wash the sulfur smell of the mineral hot springs off of me, blogging to you, my minions. I didn't even use soap because I had my shorts in there to clean them off as well, and I was smelling them, you know to do a check as to the effectiveness of my work, and the smell was out. So I smelled myself, and aside from my right armpit which is like genetically predisposed to stink for no reason and before any other part of my body even begins the process of starting to emit pungent odors, I didn't smell either.
Now, it's could be the 1/4 Black portion of my blood, it could be the part of me that descends from the British Isles, but whatever it is, my skin gets dry as hell. So it's nothing new to me to get out of the shower and immediately reach for the lotion (By the way, Warner Springs Ranch has soap, lotion and shampoo made exclusively for it and the stuff smells pretty good. I don't know if you can order it, but you should try to get some. I'm not stealing any for anyone you bunch of dirtbags so don't ask). But as I'm drying off, I notice that my skin is as smooth as if I already put some lotion on. Then I look in the mirror, because the face is the real test, and wouldn't you know, instead of crusty whiteness around my nose and on my forehead, I'm just a baby's behind all over.
So I thought to myself, I've got to blog about it. So I walked over to the computer room wearing a towel, a yellow short sleeve dry fit shirt and my red St. Joe's winter hat. No shoes. I look stunning. But I did it for you my minions, so that you would know the hardships that I go through for you.
Right now, I'm going back to my room, going to grab Pocketmail and try to use one of the resort's phones now that the restaurant desk is unattended. So you'll have my blogs from the 27th and 28th. I swore I had more, but that's all that are in there. Maybe I accidentally deleted them.
Alright, I'm off to send the Pocketmails, then sleep, then back to making the magic happen so I can report it for your entertainment.
And don't forget - Don't get high off your own supply.
First of all, these things reek of sulfur, meaning that in some small capacity they have something in common with feces, but really the comparisons end there. Whereas jumping into a pool of feces would probably make you want to die if the toxins didn't kill you first, on a cold night such as tonight, jumping into mineral hot springs was like heaven incarnate.
You're probably asking, "I thought this buffoon was on a hike?" And you'd be right, I am. But every hiker needs a break now and then, so here I am taking one. But that doesn't really explain it adequately. Yesterday, there was a cold front coming in off the Pacific (at this point I'd like to mention that Pocketmail - the device that I'm using to send emails from the trail when I don't have Internet access - doesn't work through Verizon. And of course I have Verizon, so any posts I make must be made from a land line and the resort that I'm at has neither room phones or televisions, so I'm still trying to work that out. So if I mention anything here and then again in a subsequent post, now you know why. Anyway, back to the story) and it brought to the PCT cold ass high speed winds. This is quite the change from slight breezes and oppressive heat, so without sweating your *insert dirty body part* off for 10 hours per day, you have a lot more energy to devote to walking. Thus, I got to where I expected to camp for the night at 3:30pm.
I got to talking with some people and the possibility of hiking to Warner Springs (the town I expected to reach the next day) came up. And so I decided not to waste the daylight and get my ass there. So me and three other guys hauled ourselves eight miles in three hours and got ourselves rooms for the night.
Let me tell you that after not showering for four days and sleeping in a tent for six, getting a hotel room is slightly more than enticing.
I get into the bathroom and I turn on the water, dreaming of a hot shower and all that it could possibly be, but the water keeps getting colder and colder, and I keep opening up the Hot knob more and more, but nothing's happening. Quickly I begin cursing my luck as the worst in the world, blaming God for having me hike 28 miles in one day only to be greeted by an arctic shower, and then I decide to just open up the Cold knob and wouldn't you know out comes the Hot water. Oh those jokers over at the Warner Springs Ranch. They got me.
Orgasmic. Hot water and soap never felt so good. I honestly could have died at that moment and I would not have cared. No kids, no fame or fortune, no execution of the soon-to-be-infamous bank heist that I've been planning...nothing. I would not have cared. It was a beautiful thing.
So anyway, this pornography has gone on for to long. So fast forward to 4:00pm today. Warner Springs lets you do an extended check out, which basically means that if you ask to stay past the 10:00am checkout, they'll let you stay until 4:00pm for free. Fine by me.
But the problem with that is that staying in this lovely place with its beer and food and bed and hot showers and pools and hot springs is just so tempting. I hung around and waited for the cleaning ladies to come and kick me out, but 4:00pm became 5:00pm and one beer became another and then I just said, "Fuck it!" and enjoyed the camaraderie of all of the other hikers pouring into the resort to avoid the forest fire.
Oh yeah. Sorry, forgot to mention that one. A burning stump started a forest fire that closed down the PCT for quite a ways and messed up more than a few hikers' plans, myself included. So it was either leave town this afternoon and hike a few miles, haul ass to get a 25+ mile day in Friday so that I have enough time to make it into Idyllwild on Saturday between 1:00pm and 3:00pm when their post office is open (I'm expecting packages there). Also, there's no outgoing mail from that post office on Saturday so I would also have to hike two miles to the next town to mail food ahead to myself at the next town stop. That or I could stay another night and take some easy days on the trail and get to Idyllwild on Sunday night or Monday morning.
So here I sit, having just taken a shower to wash the sulfur smell of the mineral hot springs off of me, blogging to you, my minions. I didn't even use soap because I had my shorts in there to clean them off as well, and I was smelling them, you know to do a check as to the effectiveness of my work, and the smell was out. So I smelled myself, and aside from my right armpit which is like genetically predisposed to stink for no reason and before any other part of my body even begins the process of starting to emit pungent odors, I didn't smell either.
Now, it's could be the 1/4 Black portion of my blood, it could be the part of me that descends from the British Isles, but whatever it is, my skin gets dry as hell. So it's nothing new to me to get out of the shower and immediately reach for the lotion (By the way, Warner Springs Ranch has soap, lotion and shampoo made exclusively for it and the stuff smells pretty good. I don't know if you can order it, but you should try to get some. I'm not stealing any for anyone you bunch of dirtbags so don't ask). But as I'm drying off, I notice that my skin is as smooth as if I already put some lotion on. Then I look in the mirror, because the face is the real test, and wouldn't you know, instead of crusty whiteness around my nose and on my forehead, I'm just a baby's behind all over.
So I thought to myself, I've got to blog about it. So I walked over to the computer room wearing a towel, a yellow short sleeve dry fit shirt and my red St. Joe's winter hat. No shoes. I look stunning. But I did it for you my minions, so that you would know the hardships that I go through for you.
Right now, I'm going back to my room, going to grab Pocketmail and try to use one of the resort's phones now that the restaurant desk is unattended. So you'll have my blogs from the 27th and 28th. I swore I had more, but that's all that are in there. Maybe I accidentally deleted them.
Alright, I'm off to send the Pocketmails, then sleep, then back to making the magic happen so I can report it for your entertainment.
And don't forget - Don't get high off your own supply.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Time of My Life
"Life sucks and then you die. You go all through life and then you get hit by a fucking bus." Or so says my mom after her heart fluttered picturing herself and Patrick Swayze Dirty Dancing together at a mountain resort in upstate New York in the early 1960s.
While fanning herself, her dream was interrupted by the realization that such a reality may never come to pass due to Mr. Swayze's unfortunate bout with pancreatic cancer. And thus the basis for her pessimistic statement about human existence.
In a way, I think the same thing. We're born, we live, we die. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean it's not good that The Swaze has a life-threatening illness, but you can't say that he didn't lead a good life while he was here. I mean the guy can act, dance, sing (She's Like the Wind still makes this guy's pants fall off at an alarming pace), was a stud in his heyday and world famous. So when the topic of his cancer came up, my mom thought of the "fucking bus," but I didn't see it that way.
My mom is right though in that a bus could just come along and run you over, or a badger could target you in a woodland killing spree, or you feel the need to defy reason and try and beat Jumanji.
Alot of people have asked me if I'm scared or nervous and aside from some anxiety over whether I left something important at home, I'm not really at all. People worry about bears and cougars, and I'll do my best not get eaten but if it's my turn to go, it's my turn. And like The Swaze has Dirty Dancing and Ghost, I'll have the PCT.
But I wouldn't have the PCT without the help and encouragement of my friends and family. I know that my decision wasn't received well initially, but in time everyone in my life came to see how important going on the hike was to me and offered words of encouragement and support right up until I left.
My family really took to Hike4Autism and at this point it feels like they've done more to promote it than I have, so an extra special thanks and an I love you to Madre and Padre, Young Z and the Useless Dean.
I also want to say thanks to Kile Garguilo for driving me to the airport at 4am. He works in the upper reaches of the Comcast Center (Philadelphia's first green skyscraper) with a nice view of City Hall, loves gardening and is a homeowner. Grab this one ladies before he gets away!
It would be infinitely more difficult (not to mention very infrequent) for me to post these stories to my blog without Joe Mohne and Andre Laboy who have agreed to handle the emails I'm writing while out blazing trails.
I could thank many more people specifically but I'd hate to leave someone out, so just know that I appreciate all of the support and help of everyone. It took a lot to get me here and you really eased my path.
Alright Minions, we're in the air and this thing isn't even supposed to be on (at least the FAA's investigation will be short) so syonara and I'll talk to you from the Golden State soon.
While fanning herself, her dream was interrupted by the realization that such a reality may never come to pass due to Mr. Swayze's unfortunate bout with pancreatic cancer. And thus the basis for her pessimistic statement about human existence.
In a way, I think the same thing. We're born, we live, we die. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean it's not good that The Swaze has a life-threatening illness, but you can't say that he didn't lead a good life while he was here. I mean the guy can act, dance, sing (She's Like the Wind still makes this guy's pants fall off at an alarming pace), was a stud in his heyday and world famous. So when the topic of his cancer came up, my mom thought of the "fucking bus," but I didn't see it that way.
My mom is right though in that a bus could just come along and run you over, or a badger could target you in a woodland killing spree, or you feel the need to defy reason and try and beat Jumanji.
Alot of people have asked me if I'm scared or nervous and aside from some anxiety over whether I left something important at home, I'm not really at all. People worry about bears and cougars, and I'll do my best not get eaten but if it's my turn to go, it's my turn. And like The Swaze has Dirty Dancing and Ghost, I'll have the PCT.
But I wouldn't have the PCT without the help and encouragement of my friends and family. I know that my decision wasn't received well initially, but in time everyone in my life came to see how important going on the hike was to me and offered words of encouragement and support right up until I left.
My family really took to Hike4Autism and at this point it feels like they've done more to promote it than I have, so an extra special thanks and an I love you to Madre and Padre, Young Z and the Useless Dean.
I also want to say thanks to Kile Garguilo for driving me to the airport at 4am. He works in the upper reaches of the Comcast Center (Philadelphia's first green skyscraper) with a nice view of City Hall, loves gardening and is a homeowner. Grab this one ladies before he gets away!
It would be infinitely more difficult (not to mention very infrequent) for me to post these stories to my blog without Joe Mohne and Andre Laboy who have agreed to handle the emails I'm writing while out blazing trails.
I could thank many more people specifically but I'd hate to leave someone out, so just know that I appreciate all of the support and help of everyone. It took a lot to get me here and you really eased my path.
Alright Minions, we're in the air and this thing isn't even supposed to be on (at least the FAA's investigation will be short) so syonara and I'll talk to you from the Golden State soon.
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