The Journey Part 21

LIVING MY BEST LIFE

I was sitting in the city park this morning, in the touristy town of Idyllwild, California, snow-capped Mt. San Jacinto rising above the postcard-to-happen, the dogs laying at my feet.  Bev and her son were having breakfast in some restaurant, something I am not fond of doing, that whole restaurant thing closing me in and making me want to scream, and I took a picture, shared it on Facebook.  About an hour later, one of my FB friends commented “you are living your best life, Bill,” and you know what? She is right!

Later that day, another FB friend, mentioned that I am living the life many, many retirees wish they could live, but for one reason or a thousand, they cannot, or have not, or will not, live it.  And I understand completely.  It is an act bordering on lunacy, to sell everything you own, the possessions we all consider our comfort blanket, a home, the equity in that home, and just say “to hell with it,” and take off with nary a back-up plan.  Truthfully, this is my backup plan. If the bus breaks down, that place on the road will be my new home. It’s as simple as that. I guess I could sell the bus, get what I can for it, and limp my way back to Olympia, but to what? To where in Olympia? I own nothing in Olympia. I am driving my domicile. Period. End of story.  So an act of lunacy?  Probably, as viewed by most Americans, yes.

But, if not now, when?

Those words have haunted me since a year ago, when we began talking about this venture, and those words have been my North Star daily.  If I don’t do it now, when in the holy hell will I ever do it? I felt I was slowly dying in Olympia, wasting away, wasting my life, and that would have continued until death do us part, if I didn’t decide if not now, when?

That same FB friend mentioned something I have been thinking about for quite a few nights now. Back in the 60’s and early 70’s, many a young person hopped in a van, said no to the economic system, and traveled around the country.  Most adults thought they were irresponsible and crazy for doing so. I know my parents thought that way.

I wanted to, badly, but lacked the courage, at that time, to follow that whim/dream/Thoreauvian lark.

If not now, when?

THE FLIP FLOP

It happened, as I suspected it would. The conditions were simply too dangerous at Mt. San Jacinto for Bev to attempt that section of the hike at this time, so the decision was made to flip-flop.  Turns out many hikers decided the same thing.

A flip flop simply means going north to hike a less-risky section of the trail and hiking southbound toward the section of the trail you left.  In this case, we left Idyllwild, drove 170-miles to Tehachapi, and Bev and Leo struck out on the trail going in the opposite direction, what is called SOBO, for southbound.  Once they make it to Idyllwild, and the snow conditions are less treacherous, we will drive back to Tehachapi and they will resume NOBO (northbound) from there.

It’s an unusual weather year, and I suspect this is not the only time we will be doing a flip flop.

Our time in Idyllwild was restful and fruitful. We saw quite a few hikers we knew and picked up a hiker as part of our tramily (trail family). A lady from Oregon, who we had befriended back at the beginning of the trail, was looking for a ride to Tehachapi to do her own flip flop. We had room in Puddle Walker, she rode with us, and it felt good giving her a ride because she was discouraged by the problems on-trail and was, I suspect, close to going home.  Now she is with Bev and Leo and quite happy.

There is a saying on the PCT . . . the trail will provide . . .I am a firm believer.

Things like that happen all the time, I am learning. Real connections are made on the PCT.  Hikers form bonds, very strong bonds, and I am so happy to be considered a part of their community.  While in Idyllwild, we ran into a couple from Australia, such a nice, young couple, had a nice conversation, and nice conversations happen constantly on this adventure. It is so cool to meet total strangers, and within hours consider them close friends, and I have never experienced anything in my life to equal it.

HEADING TO HIKER TOWN

Pulling up stakes this morning and steering Puddle Walker south fifty miles, to a rather unique place called Hiker Town. I don’t know the history behind this little oasis in the desert, but it is a conglomeration of little shacks, on a fenced property, where hikers can stay for the night and get out of the desert sun.  It’s just this random, miniature town for hikers, about as random as you can imagine, surrounded by desert.  It is also famous among hikers because it borders the L.A. Aqueduct, and it marks a section of the desert when most hikers will hike during the night to avoid the oppressive midday desert heat. That is not the case this year, in April of 2023, as the feared heat is nowhere to be found . . . yet.

Bev and tramily will put into Hiker Town sometimes tomorrow (Saturday), and I suspect, after four days on the trail, they will want to go somewhere for a shower and a decent meal, and that somewhere looks like the city of Lancaster, the closest town of any size.  I will have a full twenty-four hours at Hiker Town, just me and the dogs, and I posted that on Facebook and two of my instant friends wrote back that they will be there at that same time, and it will be so good to see them.

The wonders just keep on coming my way.

And now this little addendum: I had my first negative experience of this whole trip this afternoon. I pulled into Hiker Town, and the woman at the gate told me, rudely I might add, to leave, she did not want the bus on her property.  I’m not sure if she was having a bad day, or if Maggie’s barking scared her, or what, but it was a very strange reaction on her part. I think we might have had a language barrier, in addition, but I can’t be the first old white man she has dealt with.

Anyway, it is Friday night, a little after eight, proverbial pitch black outside, and the dogs and I are tucked away in the desert, on a random dirt road that leads to who knows where, and I readily admit it’s a bit disconcerting and, at times, troubling, being alone on a dirt road, at night, in an area I do not know, do not know anything, about local crime, about local sounds, or whatever.  The windows are covered, so I can’t see outside, and that leaves me, and the two mutts, to imagine what all those sounds are.

I’m beginning to understand why people frequent RV parks on trips.

I was looking at the map going forward, and this particular section of the trail is going to present some challenges as far as meeting up with Bev.  We were so accustomed to meeting each other every other day, and this section we will be lucky if we see each other every four days.

It also presents challenges for me regarding places to spend the nights. I better get comfortable with this boondocking thing, because it appears there will be a lot of it during the next month.

It is Good Friday. I’m not sure how much significance that has for any of you, but let me wish you a Happy Easter, just in case that’s something you do.