The Journey Part 14

BEV IS ABOUT AS READY AS A HIKER CAN BE

I think we arrived in Campo on February 26^th. I might be off a day or two, but that’s the date that sticks in my brain.  As I write this it is St. Patrick’s Day, March 17^th. For at least nineteen days, and it may have been longer, we have been talking to hikers, discussing the hike, analyzing every facet of thru-hiking, comparing gear ad nauseum, and wishing other hikers good health as they took their first steps on the Trail.

Quite frankly, I’m amazed Bev is still a functioning, rational human being.  She has been dreaming of a grand adventure, like this one, since she was a teen.  This is her search for the Holy Grail, if you will allow me a slight movie reference, something she probably did not think was possible two years ago.  So, when I say she is beyond excited, take that as the understatement of all understatements. This woman needs to get started, feel the trail beneath her feet, feel the weight of the pack on her shoulders, and experience that unique sense of freedom that comes with stepping foot into the wilderness and saying goodbye to the structured, civilized life.

Let me tell you a few things about thru-hiking great distances like the PCT.

Hikers are called Hiker Trash in trail towns, a name of respect, and aptly named, for thru-hikers look homeless, look penniless, and do not look like anyone you would want over for a barbecue.  It is not unusual for hikers to go a week without a shower, and that week is filled with strenuous activity which exits every pore in a noxious scent.

Thru-hikers go to the bathroom in the woods, or in the desert, and using the word “bathroom” really is an injustice. They dig what is called a “cat hole,” squat and leave it, wipe with whatever is handy, and bury it all.

Thru-hikers carry the necessities of life, period. Most will carry two changes of clothes, three pair of socks, two coats, one hat, toiletries, medicines, first aid kit, sani-wipes, a tent, a sleeping bag, sleeping pad, food for however long it will be before they can resupply, enough water to make it to the next water source, with one liter of water weighing approximately two pounds, and their pack; the weight will vary, but will usually be between 17-30 pounds, and they will carry that weight for thousands of miles.

Thru-hikers will walk in all kinds of weather for they must if they are to finish before seriously dangerous weather arrives in the late Fall. They hike in rain, they hike in snow, they hike in heat which literally can fry eggs, and they hike in an unrelenting wind which will sap the spirit from the strongest.

Thru-hikers are away from family and friends for five, six months.  Many of them quit their jobs, their source of income, to attempt this “insane” undertaking. They have saved money for months to pay for this adventure, and they have no idea what job they will have when they finish.

Thru-hikers face injury and, for a few, death will occur. They must climb over fallen trees, they must traverse snow fields, they must cross rivers without the aid of a bridge, they must endure mosquitoes which attack in waves, for hundreds of miles. They risk facing bears, cougars, and rattlesnakes. They will sprain ankles, pull muscles, endure blisters, suffer heatstroke, fall on loose rocks, climb elevations comparable to climbing Mt. Everest eighteen times, and go through prolonged periods of doubt, denial, fear, and loneliness.

And a few fall off cliffs, have trees fall on them during lightning storms, or drown in the rivers they attempt to cross, never to see their loved ones again.

So, when I tell you I am proud of Bev, a sixty-two year old grandmother, for following her lifelong dream, maybe now you have some inkling why.

OUR NEW BEST FRIENDS

I’m not exactly sure when I first started posting about Bev’s upcoming hike and our bus journey. I think maybe the first videos showed up maybe nine months ago.

There was definite apprehension on Bev’s part about posting videos and, if I’m completely honest, I had a tinge of regret when I hit “publish” on that first video.  Bev and I are pretty private people; we are not prone to advertising anything about our private lives, so that first video was a step into uncharted territory.

The first “strangers” to comment on our videos were a couple named Mary and Judy.  They had plans to hike the PCT in May of this year, so nine months ago they were devouring every PCT video they could find, and ours was one of them.  Shortly after that first video, and that first comment, we received an invitation from Mary and Judy to buy us dinner in Campo the day before Bev started her hike.  We of course accepted, not knowing much more than that about our future benefactors.

We met Mary and Judy today, for that promised meal; they drove two-hundred miles to prepare dinner for us.  Let me say that again . . . they drove two-hundred miles, from Joshua Tree to Campo, to make us a dinner of ravioli and sausages, and topped it off with a pie from Julian Bakery, which they had purchased on the way to Campo.

Who does that? Where does that kind of generosity come from? I thought I had seen some very impressively helpful and generous people since arriving in this desert town, but Mary and Judy made all the rest look like imposters.

And . . . and . . . it turned out they are funny and intelligent and instantly-likeable, my two new best friends.  It happens every so often, I will meet someone and immediately like them, and it happened today, and I am so happy Mary and Judy saw something in our videos which made them want to meet us.  They are both gems, and I really want to stay in touch with them into the near and distant future.

Wonderful human beings! Thank you, Mary and Judy!

THE UGLY DUCKLING

I don’t know how many of you spend any time at all in campgrounds and RV parks, but let me tell you what I see as the norm rather than the exception.

Most RVs and trailers I have seen on this journey of 1800 miles and counting are behemoths, many of them new, and I am guessing the average cost of them is easily over $100,000. We are approaching two weeks at this Lake Morena County Park, and I am not exaggerating at all, the average length of our many neighbors is 30-feet, most with two slide-outs, most with power awnings and outdoor speakers and even some with video screens for outdoor movies.

And then there is Puddle Walker! Imagine the old actor Mickey Rooney standing next to John Wayne. Imagine Ruth Busby standing next to Heidi Klum. Puddle Walker is, without a doubt, the ugly duckling, barely 18-feet long, maybe 8-feet wide when she exhales, a drab white in color and not one thing new on her outside.  You know the old joke, you can put a dress on a pig, but at the end of the day, you still have a pig to take to the prom . . . that’s Puddle Walker!

And I love her! She matches my personality perfectly.  She is an extension of Bill Holland, the perfect “RV” for only one owner, and that owner is me.  A hiker stopped by our campsite today and said we had the best-looking Skoolie he had ever seen, and I beamed with pride.

This bus really is an extension of me. I do not rush out to buy new things. I don’t partake in the latest toys. I buy on sale, I buy used, and I wear clothes which I have worn for many, many years. Riches do not impress me.  Possessions do not interest me. I have an old body but the engine still performs admirably.

I am perfectly happy, and contented, living in a 1999 bus and having no brick-and-mortar home. In fact, this is the happiest I have been for a very long time, counted in years, not months, and ain’t that a remarkable thing?