We slept in, and individually rolled out of our sleeping bags to walk the mile back to Kennedy Meadows Resort. We had tried to cowboy camp as far away from the friendly RVers, but we were still within view. I felt a little embarassed at myself when the grogginess had cleared from my head a little: it was so warm that I had slept with hardly any clothes (okay, no clothes, just accessories). Microburst had come over to tell me something, I sat up, and she said, "Well aren't you cute naked in your hat and gloves!" Oops, sorry nice family. Just tell your kids it's wildlife.
We resupplied, and ended up sitting around for hours (Sweet 16 and I wearing our groundcloths) while our laundry washed and dried, eating, eating some more, and using the wi-fi. We finally rolled out after 3, and as we were walking the road that took us back to the highway, we half-heartedly stuck our thumbs out at a truck that was rolling by. They screeched to a halt, and we saw that they had a cooler, firewood, etc in the back. "Oh, no, nevermind, we can walk, we were just hoping we could hop in back to the highway." They gave us a ride on top of everything to the highway, at which point they asked us where we were going, and insisted on taking us there after they made room for us in the back seat, with their dog that loves, Loves, LOVES new people. Thank you, Greg and Linda.
At the trailhead, we met a faux-stralian (been there for the last eight years, strange touch of accent) section-hiking southbound who told us about trail magic very close up the trail in the form of BEER. Oh boy oh boy ohboyohboy! Once we had gotten half a mile and not seen anything, we were convinced we had missed it. Microburst ran all the way back to the trailhead looking for it, but no luck. A tenth of a mile later: beer! In cans! We each took some for our dinner.
Since we wouldn't be hiking for long, we all hiked together, and conversed/goofed off. We have all experienced that on the trail, the barest awareness of needing to attend to bodily functions is very rapidly followed by desperately needing to attend to them RIGHT NOW. There is no holding it until a more convenient time. I was hiking along, and suddenly was running for the woods to pee, yelling an explanation over my shoulder. By the time I returned, Microburst (a 115 lb, 5'1" white girl) was rapping about "Bust a Squat." I can't tell too much, because I'm hoping we see it out to the most ridiculous conclusion possible, but we were quite well entertained. We also ended up in stitches when Micro farted, tried to blame it on 16, and I immediately said, "Honey, I know you well enough to be able to identify YOUR farts by sound." At this point, we all do know each other ridiculously well.
We didn't get all that far before it was 7:30, the sun was threatening to set behind some mountains, Sweet 16 postholed up to her thigh right against a rock, a grassy saddle was in view, and we were yelling to Microburst that we wanted to find a campspot. Trouble was that there were some dark clouds we felt threatened by, and we felt in a bind: sleep in the exposed saddle, or as much as five more miles down into the valley to the next known flat spot? Some group indecision later, complete with my pouting princess, and Microburst's hunger-fueled crabbiness, we found a somewhat sheltered dry nook.
Luckily, the clouds broke up, and we enjoyed fettucine in mashed-potato sauce with our beers as the sun set beautifully. Unfortunately, two beers and hot cocoa let me 'enjoy' the starry night sky against my own wishes buck-nekkid twice in the middle of the night. Bust a squat.
- Typoed on my iPhone