8/6/2010
We finished up Hat Creek Rim this morning. As usual, not as bad as the hype suggests. Sweet 16 and I left before six, when Microburst was in "looking around and blinking" stage. Good thing the fastest hiker isn't also the earliest riser! It was cool hiking along the rim, scrub and sage and high desert ecosystem on gently rolling flatness to the right, cliffs and incredible volcanic views just a few feet to the left. The Lassen/Shasta area was supposedly part of a huge volcano way back when. I think we were walking on the edge of the old caldera, it looked like an enormous crater of black pumice. Micro said the topography we could see down below us looked like long overgrown lava flows.
At "Cache 22," the water cache on road 22 that breaks the 29.4 mike waterless (unless you want to drink heavily polluted PG&E water) stretch into manageable 12 and 17 mile stretches, Sweet 16 and I were greeted by hikers from previous years who gave us cold Arizona Ice Tea. Ah, delicious! The register had some funny comments, notably somebody calling the hiking of Hat Creek Rim, "quite a rimjob," and Paparazzi half an hour behind t h a t c h who was trying to catch up to Paparazzi, who also mentioned he wanted "Gnar and three girls to catch up soon." Sorry Pops, we got sick.
After Micro caught up at lunch, 16 announced that she needed to donat least 26 miles per day to see her brother on leave and get on with her life in a timely manner. Micro and I decided to try to keep up as best we can, we can't stand the idea of Mexico or Bust breaking up. At that point, Micro said, "We're like the Odd Couple without you!" and tried to hum the theme song, although it was the B*witched song that came out instead.
Once we got off the rim, it got really really hot and our breeze died out. That was rough. Sweet 16 developed some weird rash on her lower legs, we think it's heat rash. We stopped for dinner at the fish hatchery (using bathroom water, not fish poop water). While there, Micro and I finally went over the food that my mom had sent in a package to Old Station. Her parents have been sending us expensive Mountain House and other freeze dried food in packages, and my mother has been sending us really delicious homemade food and staples in hers. We agreed that we'd both be happier splitting and sharing the booty than sticking to the cuisine of our individual parent's choice, which works great as long as we go through and split up packages before we resupply and pack up. In Old Station, I didn't have baggies to divide everything so we could go halvsies, so I split up as best I could, trying to divide weight, volume, and nutrition equally, with the intent that we'd go over it before we packed it all up and share once on trail. We never did go over it together, which has led to much misunderstanding and friction. We finally went over the communal food before dinner, and I really hope that was the end of the food fights.
At the hatchery, I also lost the silk mini hankerchief my mother had JUST sent me, the second she's made at my request and the third I've lost. Hiking the three miles to camp, once I'd realized my mistake and hoping that one of the other girls had picked it up, I started to have a breakdown. Suddenly, sniffling my way along the trail, I was the lamest adult ever for losing something three times in a row, I was a terrible daughter for losing the hand-made with love gift from my mother after hardly 24 hours of use, incapable of sharing and communicating about the delicious and nutritious bounty that she so generously and lovingly puts together and sends to us. Once I caught up to Sweet 16 at camp, I asked if she'd accidentally picked it up, and when she said no, I broke down and threw a ten minute temper-tantrum directed at myself. I ended up getting a hold of myself by blowing up my sleeping pad with deep, calming breaths.
Shortly thereafter, once it had gotten dark, we could hear Micro calling out on the trail, much like I had been doing half an hour prior. We hollered right back at her, it was like "Marco Polo" except it was "Micro Hey-o," and she didn't hear us. She rolled in pissed. She thought (how, I do not know) we were only hiking two miles before camping, and hung out with Paul and Jaybird 'til an hour before dark. As she hiked past the two-mile mark, she thought she heard a cougar, and it scared her.
"You know I would wait for YOU if it got dark!"
"It wasn't dark when I got here!"
Now I understand her fear, somehow my alignment and the acoustics of our little clearing make all of Sweet 16's snores and movements sound louder and from the opposite direction. The first little growl-snuffle I woke everybody up for and made me shake for five minutes as I typed.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Mile 1387.2ish: Out of Old Station, beginning of Hat Creek Rim
8/5/2010
The plan was that we'd spend the night with the trail angels in Old Station and get out early in the morning. Thinking about the exposed, hot, dry, 30-mile long waterless stretch ahead, we decided to leave in the afternoon so we could be in the shade during the hot part of the day, and on the rim itself during the cool part of the day. Right after breakfast, Sweet 16 got a terrible stomachache, followed quickly by diarrhea. As the day progressed, Microburst and I started feeling sick too. This morning, Micro and I came down with the shits too. So we delayed our departure until this afternoon, when all three of us felt good again. What happened? Was it food poisoning? Hand washing? Bad water? Whatever happened, I'm glad the effects hit while we were in town, and it was convenient if we all were to get it that it was pretty much at the same time.
We spent long enough hanging around Hiker Hideaway feeling poorly for me to get really annoyed by many people. All of them are really nice, well-intentioned people, which makes me feel like a horrible person that they get on my nerves and I don't like them. I found myself doing very unflattering, mocking impersonations of a middle-aged woman with romantic troubles, dedicating herself to helping make hikers happy. She doesn't deserve that kind of mockery, no matter how she walks, talks, smacks her gums, or dresses! I also wanted to take the cute, nice, and smart girlfriend of an attractive but really obnoxious hiker aside and say, "I don't care how hard it is to find a decent guy in New York, you can do way better than him!
Before heading up to Hat Creek Rim, we went through the Subway Caves, which are something like the biggest lava tubes (in the world? this side of Quincy?). They were cool. Once we got down into them, we started hearing a faint but growing high-pitched whistling, which slowly changed until we realized Jaybird, Paul, and Gnar were probably having fun with the accoustics of the cave. It ended when it seemed like the cave was an enormous didgeridoo. 16 and I had the foresight to pull out our headlamps, but Micro had figured she'd just mooch off of our illumination. Finally, not having her own light was driving her nuts, so she stopped to tear through her pack for the lamp at the bottom, a lengthy process. The next corner we rounded we saw daylight.
At dinner, Micro saw the first glimpse of Shasta and pointed it out. Since we'll be seeing it for the next 13 or so days and I was digging through my own pack, I drily joked, "I refuse to look at it as long as I can avoid it, I'll be seeing it so much it'll drive me crazy as we walk SOUTH around it." She thought I was serious and told me I was being stupid. It did look very nice at sunset, with all the layers of mountains taking on different hazy shades of blue and purple under an orange, pink, and yellow sky, framed with the black silhouettes of ponderosa pine.
The plan was that we'd spend the night with the trail angels in Old Station and get out early in the morning. Thinking about the exposed, hot, dry, 30-mile long waterless stretch ahead, we decided to leave in the afternoon so we could be in the shade during the hot part of the day, and on the rim itself during the cool part of the day. Right after breakfast, Sweet 16 got a terrible stomachache, followed quickly by diarrhea. As the day progressed, Microburst and I started feeling sick too. This morning, Micro and I came down with the shits too. So we delayed our departure until this afternoon, when all three of us felt good again. What happened? Was it food poisoning? Hand washing? Bad water? Whatever happened, I'm glad the effects hit while we were in town, and it was convenient if we all were to get it that it was pretty much at the same time.
We spent long enough hanging around Hiker Hideaway feeling poorly for me to get really annoyed by many people. All of them are really nice, well-intentioned people, which makes me feel like a horrible person that they get on my nerves and I don't like them. I found myself doing very unflattering, mocking impersonations of a middle-aged woman with romantic troubles, dedicating herself to helping make hikers happy. She doesn't deserve that kind of mockery, no matter how she walks, talks, smacks her gums, or dresses! I also wanted to take the cute, nice, and smart girlfriend of an attractive but really obnoxious hiker aside and say, "I don't care how hard it is to find a decent guy in New York, you can do way better than him!
Before heading up to Hat Creek Rim, we went through the Subway Caves, which are something like the biggest lava tubes (in the world? this side of Quincy?). They were cool. Once we got down into them, we started hearing a faint but growing high-pitched whistling, which slowly changed until we realized Jaybird, Paul, and Gnar were probably having fun with the accoustics of the cave. It ended when it seemed like the cave was an enormous didgeridoo. 16 and I had the foresight to pull out our headlamps, but Micro had figured she'd just mooch off of our illumination. Finally, not having her own light was driving her nuts, so she stopped to tear through her pack for the lamp at the bottom, a lengthy process. The next corner we rounded we saw daylight.
At dinner, Micro saw the first glimpse of Shasta and pointed it out. Since we'll be seeing it for the next 13 or so days and I was digging through my own pack, I drily joked, "I refuse to look at it as long as I can avoid it, I'll be seeing it so much it'll drive me crazy as we walk SOUTH around it." She thought I was serious and told me I was being stupid. It did look very nice at sunset, with all the layers of mountains taking on different hazy shades of blue and purple under an orange, pink, and yellow sky, framed with the black silhouettes of ponderosa pine.
Mile 1377.4: into Old Station
8/3/2010
It was nice to soak in the hotsprings (tepid springs) of Drakesbad, getting truly relaxed and lethargic-sleepy, and then zonking out in the campground. Something about human-noises lets me sleep a little sounder and safer-feeling than animal noises, no matter how long I've been sleeping under the stars. I wanted the night to never end (or my alarm to never ring), but obligation and habit pulled me out of my sleeping bag at 5:30. We looked over into the campsite next to us, and there was Gnar; wrapped up in his fleece blanket. He had gotten in during the night and unsuccessfully looked for other through-hikers to commune with. Unlike usual, Microburst was the first out of camp: she was on a mission. She was going to try to hike the 23 miles to Old Station before 4 so she could pick up our packages from my lovely mother. As it turns out, 23 miles before 4 wasn't quite enough of a challenge for my friend with a jetpack for a butt; she made it there by 2. Holy cow! Hero of the day!
Sweet 16 and I were going to take a better watered, more scenic, alternate route before lunch, but I dropped behind when I de- and re- layered halfway up the first hill of the morning and never caught up. A boyscouts troop had been through inbetween us and completely obliterated 16's pole scrathces for me, so I missed the significant junction. I started thinking I was way behind when al the hikers I saw denied seeing 16, but I showed up to he lunch hideout only 15 minutes after 16.
In celebration of getting into town today, I tried to drain my phone battery again, but this time it was episodes of This American Life. I was soon sucked in, crying, laughing, and dancing with excitement at all the appropriate times. Eventually, I felt like I was on a roadtrip, one in which your legs are uncomfortable no matter what... and you're only driving 2.5 mph.
Once we got into Old Station, 16 and I ate $1.5o tacos and drank milkshakes, unsure of where Microburst was. The guy who ran the deli in the general store was retired from his $32/hr job for the National Weather Service, now happily in food service for 8-9 dollars. He was really nice, but we could hardly get words in edgewise, and ended up staying an hour until Firefly, the owner of the Hiker Hideaway we are staying at tonight, came and picked us up. Gnar, Lowe, 16, and I squeezed into the back of the van with multiple other hikers with town-beer agendas.
It was nice to soak in the hotsprings (tepid springs) of Drakesbad, getting truly relaxed and lethargic-sleepy, and then zonking out in the campground. Something about human-noises lets me sleep a little sounder and safer-feeling than animal noises, no matter how long I've been sleeping under the stars. I wanted the night to never end (or my alarm to never ring), but obligation and habit pulled me out of my sleeping bag at 5:30. We looked over into the campsite next to us, and there was Gnar; wrapped up in his fleece blanket. He had gotten in during the night and unsuccessfully looked for other through-hikers to commune with. Unlike usual, Microburst was the first out of camp: she was on a mission. She was going to try to hike the 23 miles to Old Station before 4 so she could pick up our packages from my lovely mother. As it turns out, 23 miles before 4 wasn't quite enough of a challenge for my friend with a jetpack for a butt; she made it there by 2. Holy cow! Hero of the day!
Sweet 16 and I were going to take a better watered, more scenic, alternate route before lunch, but I dropped behind when I de- and re- layered halfway up the first hill of the morning and never caught up. A boyscouts troop had been through inbetween us and completely obliterated 16's pole scrathces for me, so I missed the significant junction. I started thinking I was way behind when al the hikers I saw denied seeing 16, but I showed up to he lunch hideout only 15 minutes after 16.
In celebration of getting into town today, I tried to drain my phone battery again, but this time it was episodes of This American Life. I was soon sucked in, crying, laughing, and dancing with excitement at all the appropriate times. Eventually, I felt like I was on a roadtrip, one in which your legs are uncomfortable no matter what... and you're only driving 2.5 mph.
Once we got into Old Station, 16 and I ate $1.5o tacos and drank milkshakes, unsure of where Microburst was. The guy who ran the deli in the general store was retired from his $32/hr job for the National Weather Service, now happily in food service for 8-9 dollars. He was really nice, but we could hardly get words in edgewise, and ended up staying an hour until Firefly, the owner of the Hiker Hideaway we are staying at tonight, came and picked us up. Gnar, Lowe, 16, and I squeezed into the back of the van with multiple other hikers with town-beer agendas.
Mile 1354.2: a series of entertaining conversations
8/2/2010
I woke up on my stomach, feet propped up on my pack, legs bent, and right knee in excrutiating pain. Did the long, gentle, long downhill at the end of the day really do me in that badly? My right knee was stiff all day long, even on uphills, feeling like I was hyperextending it even when bent. I started the day at almost normal speed, and got progressively slower all day long.
After crossing Hwy 36 and enjoying the fresh fruit trail magic, I was still (miraculously) in the lead. We were in the Collins Pine Co land for a while, and they had set up a display of sorts, with plots of differently managed land and interpretive signs. "This swath was clearcut by the previous owners of this land." "This area has remained unlogged and unburnt for the last 100 years." "This area has been managed with controled burns to mimic the conditions natural 150 years ago." "This plot is selectively logged for trees of all sizes and species every 15 years and managed with controlled burns." It was cool. At one point, I glanced to my left and thought I saw a huge whale skeleton. Realizing that made no sense, I looked again and realized that the "ribs" were, in fact, branches cut off a tree once down, undisturbed but for the lack of tree as "spine."
At another point, I looked up and saw two dust clouds. "Hey-o!" How strange. Road ahead and I just didn't hear the vehicles? As I got closer, I saw the clouds dissipating: obviously very recently made. Looking at the trail right there, I saw the strange tracks that resemble both human footprints and dog tracks: bear tracks. They went straight down the middle over everyone else's tracks. "Hey-o!" I hope that's the closest I'll get to a bear this entire trio, or even better, my whole life.
We ate lunch with Walking Flower, an Asian-looking woman that I originally mistook to be a tourist on a hardcore vacation. No, she's a through-hiker, and a fast one at that. I felt a racist bitch. We managed to steer clear from our one reliable topic of conversation for the entire hour, instead discussing hiker food, mileage, home, the Sierra, etc. As soon as she left, Microburst said, "From now on, we should only talk about poop with other hikers, try to be as awkward as possible.
'How often do you poop in a day?' 'How big is it?' 'Do you get diarrhea very often?' 'Can you see seeds in yours?' 'I saw black beans in mine yesterday, do you think that's bad?' "
At this point, I was absolutely in stitches, leading to my first mental image of the day: I was putting my shorts back on, Ieg through; the other not. I had to pee, and was crossing my legs, paralyzed to do anything productive with the shorts (like pull them up or take them off), laughing so hard and squealing, "I'm gonna pee! Hahaha. I'g gonna pee my pants!" over and over.
The second mental image was also during lunch: I looked up during a conversation about hiker food, to see her beating the dust out of her socks with all her might, saying through clenched teeth, "I. FUCKING. HATE. RAISINS!"
Later, Sweet 16 pulled out her snack options. "I have a Builder Bar, which is aimed at men, and a Luna Bar, which is aimed at women. Clif bar sure has the market cornered!"
"Or they will, once they come up with a bar for hermaphrodites."
"We will call it... Bits'n'Pieces!"
We finally saw (and smelled) some of the geothermal features Lassen is known for. I figured Boiling Lake would be a tepid lake with a hot inflow. No, the lake is actually boiling, the vents/mudpots on the side bubbling like mad. We made it to, but not beyond Drakesbad Guest Ranch. We re-ran into Jaybird, as well as Walking Flower eating dinner. We joined them for a drink, but balking at the $21 cost for dinners, declined food. Ed was not to be dissuaded, and brought us food regardless.
I woke up on my stomach, feet propped up on my pack, legs bent, and right knee in excrutiating pain. Did the long, gentle, long downhill at the end of the day really do me in that badly? My right knee was stiff all day long, even on uphills, feeling like I was hyperextending it even when bent. I started the day at almost normal speed, and got progressively slower all day long.
After crossing Hwy 36 and enjoying the fresh fruit trail magic, I was still (miraculously) in the lead. We were in the Collins Pine Co land for a while, and they had set up a display of sorts, with plots of differently managed land and interpretive signs. "This swath was clearcut by the previous owners of this land." "This area has remained unlogged and unburnt for the last 100 years." "This area has been managed with controled burns to mimic the conditions natural 150 years ago." "This plot is selectively logged for trees of all sizes and species every 15 years and managed with controlled burns." It was cool. At one point, I glanced to my left and thought I saw a huge whale skeleton. Realizing that made no sense, I looked again and realized that the "ribs" were, in fact, branches cut off a tree once down, undisturbed but for the lack of tree as "spine."
At another point, I looked up and saw two dust clouds. "Hey-o!" How strange. Road ahead and I just didn't hear the vehicles? As I got closer, I saw the clouds dissipating: obviously very recently made. Looking at the trail right there, I saw the strange tracks that resemble both human footprints and dog tracks: bear tracks. They went straight down the middle over everyone else's tracks. "Hey-o!" I hope that's the closest I'll get to a bear this entire trio, or even better, my whole life.
We ate lunch with Walking Flower, an Asian-looking woman that I originally mistook to be a tourist on a hardcore vacation. No, she's a through-hiker, and a fast one at that. I felt a racist bitch. We managed to steer clear from our one reliable topic of conversation for the entire hour, instead discussing hiker food, mileage, home, the Sierra, etc. As soon as she left, Microburst said, "From now on, we should only talk about poop with other hikers, try to be as awkward as possible.
'How often do you poop in a day?' 'How big is it?' 'Do you get diarrhea very often?' 'Can you see seeds in yours?' 'I saw black beans in mine yesterday, do you think that's bad?' "
At this point, I was absolutely in stitches, leading to my first mental image of the day: I was putting my shorts back on, Ieg through; the other not. I had to pee, and was crossing my legs, paralyzed to do anything productive with the shorts (like pull them up or take them off), laughing so hard and squealing, "I'm gonna pee! Hahaha. I'g gonna pee my pants!" over and over.
The second mental image was also during lunch: I looked up during a conversation about hiker food, to see her beating the dust out of her socks with all her might, saying through clenched teeth, "I. FUCKING. HATE. RAISINS!"
Later, Sweet 16 pulled out her snack options. "I have a Builder Bar, which is aimed at men, and a Luna Bar, which is aimed at women. Clif bar sure has the market cornered!"
"Or they will, once they come up with a bar for hermaphrodites."
"We will call it... Bits'n'Pieces!"
We finally saw (and smelled) some of the geothermal features Lassen is known for. I figured Boiling Lake would be a tepid lake with a hot inflow. No, the lake is actually boiling, the vents/mudpots on the side bubbling like mad. We made it to, but not beyond Drakesbad Guest Ranch. We re-ran into Jaybird, as well as Walking Flower eating dinner. We joined them for a drink, but balking at the $21 cost for dinners, declined food. Ed was not to be dissuaded, and brought us food regardless.
Mile 1333.6: HALFWAY!
8/1/2010
Last night we camped with a southbounder named Keegan and his burro, Burly. Keegan was nice and friendly and generous with his mashed potatoes; Burly was so cute! His calls were so expressive, and eyes so big and pretty. Apparently he likes being around people; Keegan told us a story about Burly feeling mischevious and "running away," Keegan ran after him, but got tired and stopped. When Burly looked back and saw that Keegan wasn't chasing him anymore, he turned around and ran right back. As I hiked out this morning, I was following cute mini-donkey tracks (and cute mini-donkey turds), as well as more disturbingly, bear tracks.
I headed out half a minute before Sweet 16, and Microburst took her time to make and drink coffee and chat with Gnar (who wasn't even awake when I left) before hitting the trail. I got to lunch half a minute after 16, and Micro one minute later. It was pretty much perfect. What was not perfect was that in the cool morning, I only drank one liter over 13 miles. I left lunch, 10.4 miles to the next water source, with a little under three liters. Even with rationing, I sucked my dromedary dry about a mile before the spring. It was no big deal, obviously, but I hate getting dehydrated.
We passed an inocuous little monument this afternoon, marking the official (though now inaccurate) halfway point on the PCT. All I could think to write in the register was, "Yay! -Thump Thump." It's cool though, I am now closer to Canada, my destination, than Mexico, my departure point. We hope to cover the distance it has taken us a month and a third to cover in less than two.
Last night we camped with a southbounder named Keegan and his burro, Burly. Keegan was nice and friendly and generous with his mashed potatoes; Burly was so cute! His calls were so expressive, and eyes so big and pretty. Apparently he likes being around people; Keegan told us a story about Burly feeling mischevious and "running away," Keegan ran after him, but got tired and stopped. When Burly looked back and saw that Keegan wasn't chasing him anymore, he turned around and ran right back. As I hiked out this morning, I was following cute mini-donkey tracks (and cute mini-donkey turds), as well as more disturbingly, bear tracks.
I headed out half a minute before Sweet 16, and Microburst took her time to make and drink coffee and chat with Gnar (who wasn't even awake when I left) before hitting the trail. I got to lunch half a minute after 16, and Micro one minute later. It was pretty much perfect. What was not perfect was that in the cool morning, I only drank one liter over 13 miles. I left lunch, 10.4 miles to the next water source, with a little under three liters. Even with rationing, I sucked my dromedary dry about a mile before the spring. It was no big deal, obviously, but I hate getting dehydrated.
We passed an inocuous little monument this afternoon, marking the official (though now inaccurate) halfway point on the PCT. All I could think to write in the register was, "Yay! -Thump Thump." It's cool though, I am now closer to Canada, my destination, than Mexico, my departure point. We hope to cover the distance it has taken us a month and a third to cover in less than two.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Mile 1308.6: We didn't start the fire...
7/31/2010
I'm listening to "We Didn't Start the Fire," by Billy Joel, a song I get stuck in my head at least once a week. Today it's appropriate, because... we didn't start the fire. After lunch, we looked back down the valley toward Belden, and there was a column of smoke going up. It obviously must have started after we had gone past. Sweet 16, Microburst, and I all pooped before leaving Belden, and we pack out, not burn, our toilet paper. So what was the cause? No lightning, it must have been human-caused.
None of us slept well last night, it turns out that camping in the middle of a highway-railroad sandwich is not conducive to sleeping well. At one point, a train went by, and a confused 16 reacted to the loud noise as if it were a large animal trying to eat us (or worse, our food), yelling, moving around, and generally making a racket of her own. Micro had to tell her, "shh, that's a train, not a cougar!" which 16 realized she knew all along.
The first 13 or so miles of today were all uphill. I heard complaints from Micro, 16, and Gnar, but there were none from me. I am built to go uphill! Not only was I able to catch up, I was faster than the others at times, and I felt (and still feel) perky and refreshed, not exhausted and beaten.
I saw a huge slug today, sliming it's way under my clothes (we ate lunch and cleaned up at a deepish creek, I was not wearing many of them). I wish that I could say creepy crawlies didn't bother me at this point, but to the contrary, the bravado I usually hold in reserve is all dried up, and they surprise and annoy the shit out of me.
I discovered today that wiping with a wad of wild mint sprigs causes a fresh, tingly feeling: not altogether unpleasant. This is opposed to yucca leaves, which 16 used once in a dire pinch. She reported that it stung for days.
I'm listening to "We Didn't Start the Fire," by Billy Joel, a song I get stuck in my head at least once a week. Today it's appropriate, because... we didn't start the fire. After lunch, we looked back down the valley toward Belden, and there was a column of smoke going up. It obviously must have started after we had gone past. Sweet 16, Microburst, and I all pooped before leaving Belden, and we pack out, not burn, our toilet paper. So what was the cause? No lightning, it must have been human-caused.
None of us slept well last night, it turns out that camping in the middle of a highway-railroad sandwich is not conducive to sleeping well. At one point, a train went by, and a confused 16 reacted to the loud noise as if it were a large animal trying to eat us (or worse, our food), yelling, moving around, and generally making a racket of her own. Micro had to tell her, "shh, that's a train, not a cougar!" which 16 realized she knew all along.
The first 13 or so miles of today were all uphill. I heard complaints from Micro, 16, and Gnar, but there were none from me. I am built to go uphill! Not only was I able to catch up, I was faster than the others at times, and I felt (and still feel) perky and refreshed, not exhausted and beaten.
I saw a huge slug today, sliming it's way under my clothes (we ate lunch and cleaned up at a deepish creek, I was not wearing many of them). I wish that I could say creepy crawlies didn't bother me at this point, but to the contrary, the bravado I usually hold in reserve is all dried up, and they surprise and annoy the shit out of me.
I discovered today that wiping with a wad of wild mint sprigs causes a fresh, tingly feeling: not altogether unpleasant. This is opposed to yucca leaves, which 16 used once in a dire pinch. She reported that it stung for days.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Mile 1289.3: Belden (and bitching)
7/30/2010
Last night, Microburst and I had the television on as background noise while we packed up for the trail. Anyone who knows me well would know this is a recipe for disaster (or at least zero productivity), as I am very easily distracted by moving images and can't multitask with TV going. In this way, even though I had far less to do than Micro, and she took breaks to call her boyfriend, etc., we both ended up ready for bed at the same time. But wait! We had flipped to a channel that was playing 'Orphan,' a truly creepy movie that had us scared shitless, screaming, hyperventilating, and in the same bed, clutching at each other for reassurance.
The scary movie cuddle fest was a nice break from what ended up being a long period of bitchiness (or may I say, downright hostility?) that started last evening and ran through late this morning. I feel sensitive and embarassed about being the slowest member of the team and afraid of current trends continuing, Micro hates being characterized as the slave driver. As we stiffly made up this morning, I realized how huge an effect aplologies have on me: with a little aging, all is forgiven. I also learned that my way of requesting things in the "but I can be flexible way" just comes off as being passive-aggressive, and I need to just say things like, "I'm tired and I want to camp here. I can keep going for up to another hour before we camp if you guys want to keep going."
The terrain this morning was lovely and rolling, I'd catch up to Sweet 16 on the uphills and she'd pull ahead of me on the downhills. The afternoon, however, was six miles of switchbacks downhill. It was brutal.
Here in Belden, I staggered my way into the bar with my jelly-legs and jelly-gut. I ordered a "Tree Smacker," a fruity drink that got me sloshed in no time. Now we're camped right outside the place. When I went to set up my spot, I laid out my tarp, spread-eagled myself across it, pulled my sleeping pad over me with the nozzle in my mouth, and slowly blew it up, on prolonged breath at a time. After a sobering dinner, I returned and saw that my hard prep work of earlier amounted to no more than my half-inflated sleeping pad and my sleeping bag in a disheveled pile partially on the dirt. Yep, drunk.
Last night, Microburst and I had the television on as background noise while we packed up for the trail. Anyone who knows me well would know this is a recipe for disaster (or at least zero productivity), as I am very easily distracted by moving images and can't multitask with TV going. In this way, even though I had far less to do than Micro, and she took breaks to call her boyfriend, etc., we both ended up ready for bed at the same time. But wait! We had flipped to a channel that was playing 'Orphan,' a truly creepy movie that had us scared shitless, screaming, hyperventilating, and in the same bed, clutching at each other for reassurance.
The scary movie cuddle fest was a nice break from what ended up being a long period of bitchiness (or may I say, downright hostility?) that started last evening and ran through late this morning. I feel sensitive and embarassed about being the slowest member of the team and afraid of current trends continuing, Micro hates being characterized as the slave driver. As we stiffly made up this morning, I realized how huge an effect aplologies have on me: with a little aging, all is forgiven. I also learned that my way of requesting things in the "but I can be flexible way" just comes off as being passive-aggressive, and I need to just say things like, "I'm tired and I want to camp here. I can keep going for up to another hour before we camp if you guys want to keep going."
The terrain this morning was lovely and rolling, I'd catch up to Sweet 16 on the uphills and she'd pull ahead of me on the downhills. The afternoon, however, was six miles of switchbacks downhill. It was brutal.
Here in Belden, I staggered my way into the bar with my jelly-legs and jelly-gut. I ordered a "Tree Smacker," a fruity drink that got me sloshed in no time. Now we're camped right outside the place. When I went to set up my spot, I laid out my tarp, spread-eagled myself across it, pulled my sleeping pad over me with the nozzle in my mouth, and slowly blew it up, on prolonged breath at a time. After a sobering dinner, I returned and saw that my hard prep work of earlier amounted to no more than my half-inflated sleeping pad and my sleeping bag in a disheveled pile partially on the dirt. Yep, drunk.
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