The Journey: Part 15

BEV BEGAN HER JOURNEY TODAY

So much for taking it easy!

I left Bev with two pieces of advice as she prepared for the start of this walkabout.  One, be safe and stay aware of your surroundings. Two, there is no hurry, take it easy the first two weeks and let your body slowly get into trail shape.

Today I got a message from her, at four p.m., that she was camping for the night at Mile Marker 15, which was easily five miles past where we had talked about her stopping.

Adrenalin! It’s a real thing.

I suspect my 62-year old wife will be sore in the morning tomorrow. I hope I’m wrong.

I’m sure one reason for the surge forward today is the news that yet another Pacific storm is heading our way, destined to drop more inches of rain upon an area reeling from record winter rainfall. The sooner Bev gets to her first layover spot, which happens to be Lake Morena, where we have been for the last ten days, the drier she can stay when the rains begin.

Anyway, she made it through the first day unscathed. Only about 155 more to go. Fifteen miles down, 2635 to go.

For those wondering, and for those who have asked, no, I’m not worried about her. Everyone talks about the injuries and dangers of the Pacific Crest Trail, just as the news stations only talk about the sensational stories of murder and mayhem on the Five O’clock News.  All anyone wants to talk about in this area regarding the PCT is the record snowfall in the Sierra, and how dangerous that makes this trek.

But it is doable, and it is doable if hikers stay aware of their surroundings, do not hike alone for long periods of time, and pay attention to their inner voice when it is screaming about impending dangers.

Bev will do those things. Of that I have no doubt.

So, anyway, she started today.  It’s kind of a big deal, if you ask me. Some people will never understand that. A few will.

The plan is to ride out the storm in Lake Morena, and then leave Wednesday heading for Mt. Laguna and then Julian, which should take us through to Sunday, the 25^th, and hopefully drier weather, and warmer weather, will be in the forecast by then.

Me and the dogs bid you a good night!

WINDMILL

I was given a Trail name today, kind of a big deal since I’m not even hiking the Trail.  But a couple hikers decided I deserved one for the angel work I’m doing, so they named me Windmill.

Why Windmill? The Holland connection is obvious, but the second reason is because, they explained, I create positive energy like a windmill does.

I was very touched by that.  I guess I never think of myself as the creator of positive vibes. I always see myself as a quiet curmudgeon, off in the corner, wishing he was part of the party, wishing he did more to help others, wishing he did more to be proud of.

Old wounds . . . that’s just the real of it.

There’s a line from that song I mentioned earlier, “She Used To Be Mine,” and the lyrics go like this:

“Sometimes life just slips in through a back door
And carves out a person
And makes you believe it’s all true”

I’ve believed the wrong narrative for decades, a scratched record stuck on one part, playing over and over and over the same line, I will never be good enough, I will always fall short of the goals, I will, I will, I will . . .

At times I think the words on my imagined tombstone should simply read “He just kept getting up and moving forward,” a paraphrase of words my dad was fond of, “they might knock you down, Billy Boy, but you need to just keep getting up and moving forward, one step at a time.”

My greatest accomplishment, I wouldn’t stay down, no matter how many times I was floored by a right hook of my own throwing.

The ghosts of the past rarely visit me anymore, certainly not with the ferocity of years gone by. I no longer believe their words, no longer subscribe to their falsehoods; but having said that, it’s important to understand that not all scars disappear. Some will always remain, slight discolorations on the flesh of the soul, serving as reminders to always get up, always move forward, and duck whenever you see that right hook being loaded.

Anyway, my Trail name is now Windmill.

FROM SWITZERLAND, WITH LOVE

Today’s storm was everything they said it would be, banshees howling through the oak trees, rains reminding me of Catechism classes as a young kid, St. Patrick’s School, Bible study, stories so grand as to compete head-to-head with Superman and The Flash, the Great Flood kind of rains.  In fact, the weather was so fierce, hardly any hikers opted to hit the Trail today, taking the Road of Better Judgement and hunkering down for the day inside soaked tents and, of course, Puddle Walker.

We decided to get a cabin, ride out the next couple days in a dry environment where there was room to stretch our legs, room for the dogs to move around a bit . . . until Bev met a trio of siblings from Switzerland, tent-bound, miserable, and she asked them if they would like to share the cabin with us, and never was a YES spoken so quickly.

And so here I am, and the dogs, back in Puddle Jumper for the night, while the three Swiss siblings, and Bev, and her son Leo, sleep in the cozy log cabin, and the rains begin again in earnest.

And I love that she made that offer to them, and I love that we were able to talk to them about cultures, bridge that gap a bit, just six adults sharing life’s little pleasures, a campfire, popcorn, and laughter.

I can’t speak for others regarding this PCT adventure, but for me, this is all about the people.  It is, and forgive me Sister Mary Charles for saying this, better than anything she served up in Catechism class.