I was up before 7am this morning, getting those last minute things done to get ready to go back to the trail. I posted some recent journal entries on the website and wrapped up email correspondence before packing up my backpack for the trip on the plane. Ashley and I headed to the airport around 10:15am after a sad goodbye to my favorite Lucy and Maggie and to Eric and Ashley as well. The good news is that they have lots of projects waiting for me after my trail journey is complete. I may just hang around Portland or Mount Hood for the winter; it is up in the air, but I have been thinking about it a lot and my options are wide open. I still love Charlotte and all of the amazing friends, family and support systems there, but I also am not in a hurry to jump right back into career mode until the PCT trail has been conquered. So I may work for the winter and spring out west, then finish the PCT if it is unattainable this year. No definitive plans yet to do either and I have many days and miles to think about it!
So the flight was full and I was the last one on, but it was on time getting to the Reno airport. I had an hour and a half to wait at the airport for the bus and fortunately the airport was in a festive mood. This weekend is Blues Festival weekend and there was a damn good blues band set up on a stage near the baggage claim area, so I got to listen to some great music and watch people blow their money on the slot machines while waiting for the bus. It, too, was on time and there were 4 of us plus the driver riding 2 hours to Quincy (at $12 per person…not enough to even cover the gas to get there). The driver asked me if I was going to the PCT, so he obviously had been educated by some prior hikers. He then asked if I needed to go farther than Quincy to get to the trail . I responded that I needed to get to Belden and that I planned to hitchhike the last 30 miles. The old man sitting across the aisle from me piped up and said he was going all the way to Belden and if I was willing to walk slow with him from the bus stop in Quincy to his car, I could ride with him to Belden.
Voila! Trail magic! And I didn’t even have to get out my cardboard sign which I had constructed this morning! The two hour ride on the bus was uneventful, but I got nervous when the first hour and a half was in hot desert mountains. Finally trees appeared and the landscape became more lush. I know we have some hot, shadeless hiking coming up, but I was wanting some nice wooded shade to get started in on the trail. By the way, I forgot to mention that, speaking of cardboard signs, there was a guy standing outside Powell’s bookstore Wednesday that said, “Help, family killed by Ninjas; need money for martial arts lessons.” What a hoot! If I hadn’t been driving, I would have had to fork out a dollar for the guy, just to hear his story.
The bus neared Quincy and the driver asked Gene (the man who offered the ride to me) if he needed to be dropped off somewhere other than the normal end point. Gene’s response was gruff and curt that he needed to be dropped off where he was picked up…at the end of the route. At that point I figured Gene to be an unhappy old man, a curmudgeon for sure. At the Quincy stop we got out and I followed Gene across a parking lot and into an alley where he had a longbed pickup truck with a large 55 gallon drum strapped into the bed. I placed my backpack in the bed and waited while Gene slowly got in the cab and eventually reached across the dash to unlock the passenger door. When I opened it, lots of cat litter or something similar, was piled next to the door and some fell out to the ground. The truck cab was filthy and I had trouble locating the seatbelt buckle, but finally found it. Gene drove aggressively out of the parking area to the highway and swore a lot (every other word) as he began telling me about his dog that had ripped up the back seat of the cab with the nails of his paws. Apparently the dog goes crazy when an 18 wheeler gets near the truck and paces back and forth across the backseat.
Gene continued to swear a lot as he talked about the economy, price of gas, and the fact that all of the cities he’s lived in (Seattle, Reno, Portland) are going straight to hell. Turns out old Gene was a merchant marine for 30 years and owns a gold claim near Belden, which his son now works because the nerves in Gene’s feet are gone and he stumbles and falls a lot. They pan for gold daily and make just enough to get by, according to Gene. The 55 gallon drum gets filled with gasoline when Gene drives to Nevada to save 30 or 40 cents a gallon. I held on for dear life as Gene flew around 35mph rated curves at 55mph. Several times he was on or over the yellow line as cars came the other way and we squealed around the curves. I imagined a head on collision, followed by a fiery explosion from the gas bomb just feet behind me in the bed of the truck. Thankfully we caught up to an 18 wheeler and for several miles were behind it, before Gene got a chance to pass. I was thankful for the ride and even more thankful when it was over.
Hard to believe it’s 2005 and there are still gold prospectors trying to pan for gold to make a living in the California hills. Gene and I arrived at the Caribou Crossroads RV park and store where I ordered some dinner. I inquired about hikers and the owner said plenty had come through, but none in the last several days. Because I didn’t have the data book or guide book pages for the section leading up to Belden, since they were still waiting for me at the S. Lake Tahoe post office, I called Ashley to get the phone number for the Brattens, trail angels who let the hikers stay at their summer home in June and July. I wanted to see if Happy and Phantom, etc. had showed up yet at their place. Mr. Bratten answered the phone and informed me that they were closed for the season and were cleaning up to leave town and he hadn’t heard from any other hikers.
So I called Happy and Whoop Ass and left voice mails with both that I was at Belden and would hike down the highway 2 miles back to the trail and hopefully would see them there. I began hiking down the dangerous highway with virtually no shoulder and after a few minutes a car stopped and offered me a ride. It was Mr. Bratten, who had seen me hiking by their place. He dropped me off at Belden Town Resort (oh, so misnamed!) and I checked voice mail…only to learn from a new message that Happy and company were still 20 miles back on the trail, playing cards and partying at Buck Lake Resort. Bummer! I debated several options, finally deciding to hike a couple miles north on the PCT to camp.
Just as I was hiking out of Belden Town, a couple of SOBO’s came out of the saloon…Twisted Sister and Sampson. They had hiked from Mexico to Walker Pass 50 miles south of Kennedy Meadows, then flip flopped to Canada and began hiking south…and only have 600 miles to go to finish. Twisted Sister said my camping options would be extremely limited and that I might have to sleep on the trail. She was right. I hiked about a mile, then stopped to filter water at a beautiful rushing stream with a nice bridge to cross (no fording). Another half mile behind me, I checked and the cell phone signal was weakening as I hiked away from the highway. It was almost dark, so I found a flat spot right next to the trail and pitched the tarptent for the night. So…for the first time ever on a long distance hike, including both PCT and AT, I am camping alone. I got inside the tarptent, did some journaling, read some, and checked the cell phone one last time to see if Happy had called me back after we had traded voice mails back and forth. No response, so it was time for sleep. It’s exciting and daunting to be back on the trail, so far back of the main hiker pack. Today’s mileage: 1.5. Cumulative miles 878.7.
