The Journey: Part 16

LEARNING PATIENCE AND FLOW

There is a scene in the movie “Office Space,” one of my favorite scenes, all-time, from the movies, where the lead actor of the show is driving to work, except he is barely going anywhere because of traffic. In fact, he is making such poor progress that an old man with a walker is travelling faster than the lead actor.

I was reminded of that scene today. The plan was for Bev and son to leave Lake Morena around nine a.m., hike about ten miles, and then another ten tomorrow, arriving at Mt. Laguna mid-afternoon on Friday. I was going to leave in the bus, find a camping site at Mt. Laguna today, and wait for Bev and Leo to arrive tomorrow to resupply them.

The weather gods had a different plan.  The road to Mt. Laguna required chains due to the winter storm which blew in yesterday and dropped six inches of snow in that mountain town. I do not have chains for Puddle Walker.  Therefore, Bev and Leo, walking, made better progress than I did, driving Puddle Walker.

Patience!

Bev, during that ten-mile hike today, crossed two streams which are actually not listed on any map. Such is the nature of the snow melt in these parts this year, the Year of Record Snowfall.

The Flow!

See how I tie everything together for ya?

I’m antsy to hit the road and do some travelling. I’m a bit tired of Lake Morena County Park. I now know the names of some of the locals. That’s a sure sign I’ve been here too long. Hopefully the road to Mt. Laguna will be snowplowed tomorrow, and with sunshine forecast, I just might make it.  If not, if I have to detour again, I have no clue where I’m going to go, but between Toby and Maggie and me, we should be able to solve that mystery.

Still no sightings of rattlesnakes.

Still no sightings of scorpions.

Both are good things!

A MINI UNITED NATIONS

I met a young lady yesterday. Her trail name is Tye Dye, for obvious reasons once you get to talking with her a bit. Jenny is her real-life name, and I’m laughing as I write that, because what is our real life, anyway? I feel like I’m living my real life for the first time in decades, so there you go.

So, Tye Dye and I got to talking, formed a friendship in a short period of time, and I still get goosebumps thinking about how easily that happens out here on the Trail; Jenny is from Pennsylvania, steel country, she a craftsperson, for lack of a better term, but more than that just a quality human being, and I feel fortunate for having met her.  She is going to “angel” her way north, just as I am, following her partner, resupplying him, and hopefully, if I’m having one of those seven-come-eleven sort of lucky days, I will meet her again along the way.

Doing laundry in the Anza-Borrego Desert, place called Stagecoach Trails RV Park, so named for its history as a stopover for the old stagecoach line, I love that kind of history, random and yet so damned important, and in walks a guy, dark stubbles, short hair, intense eyes, sits down to recharge his phone. I ask him where he’s from, Nice, France, he says, and we manage to have a fractured conversation for a half-hour, and I love that sort of thing, too . . .

And while we are on that topic, right next to us, in the RV park, are three guys from Australia, and coming out of the men’s room earlier today, at Mt. Laguna, some guy from Denmark I had met a week earlier, and we greeted each other, as friends do, asked how our lives were progressing, and it all left me with this amazing feeling, like when you asked your parents for a bike, back when you were ten, never thinking they would come through, and there it is, under the Christmas tree, that kind of feeling, that this world really isn’t that large, if you think about it, and the differences between us are not that grand, again if you think about it, and that seems like a damned good foundation to build something, don’t you think?

“Yes, I suppose it does,” answered Pooh, licking his paws and smiling that Pooh smile.

THE WONDER OF IT ALL

Coming out of Mt. Laguna, heading north, maybe four, five miles along, there comes a turnout on the right, a place to park to see the vista Nature has provided one and all.

I am a writer, but there is no way my words can capture the view, from five-thousand feet, of the Anza-Borrego Desert below.

I caught a glimpse of it, going by, was so stunned by it that I turned the bus around, a half-mile later, and returned to that spot, and I am so glad that I did.

A prelude of sorts . . .

Before Bev had this idea of hiking the PCT, my life consisted of walking the dogs twice each day, doing chores around the house, watching television at night, falling asleep, and doing the same damned thing the next day, and the next, and the next, and I could literally feel myself getting older each day.

There was an old song, back in the 40’s, maybe 50’s, and I believe Peggy Lee sang it, titled “Is That All There Is?” And that’s what my life was a year ago, wondering if that’s all there is, and all there would be, until the day the black-hooded card shark dealt me a final, losing hand.

Fast-forward to today, that vista, and similar vistas seemingly every single day of this trip, and I gotta tell ya, I am so happy I traded suburbia, and a slow death, in for an eighteen-foot bus and feeling alive once again.  Is there uncertainty with this kind of lifestyle? You bet there is, but that uncertainly is overwhelmed by the sheer excitement I feel waking up each day, wondering what wonders I am going to experience on that day.

I watched my parents live out their days, one agonizing repeat, day after day, and other relatives of mine, and maybe it made an impression on me. Or maybe it’s me being adopted, and the DNA in me of a restless soul, needing to take risks in hopes of a big payoff. Whatever it is, it has led me to this place, on this day, and a feeling of deep appreciation and gratitude for having made it here. I have no idea how many more years I have left, but I know I’m going to live them balls to the wall, full speed ahead, and never shall the words “is that all there is” come from these lips of mine.