“Between
1914 and 1917, Lassen Peak growled and grumbled, spewed steam and lava, and
produced earth tremors, mudflows, and billowing clouds of cinders. The most frightening eruption
occurred on May 22, 1915, when a massive explosion rocked the region, created a
mushroom-shaped cloud of steam and ashes that rose to thirty thousand feet, and
sent an avalanche of lava surging down Lassen’s northeast slope.” (Gray)
From the
PCT halfway marker, it was less than ten miles to Highway 36, and the
opportunity to hitch into the small town of Chester. I had a strong
desire to get to Chester before the town rolled up for the night, but I was
still five hours away from the highway; however, with a drop of
twenty-three-hundred-foot drop in elevation, it was all downhill, so I
put the “pedal to the metal,” and moved as fast as I could down the trail.
A couple of miles before crossing the highway, I passed a small stream
with the only campsite available along this section of the trail; a number of
hikers had stopped here for the night – Pia, Cowgirl, Charlie, and Sherpa C,
plus a couple of hikers I didn’t recognize. I was tempted to stay for the
night and forget about going into Chester, as it was getting dark; but there
really was no room, so I pushed on.
At 8:00
p.m., I stepped onto the pavement of Highway 36; there was still daylight, and
I stood a reasonable chance of getting a hitch into town; however, across the
road, back in the trees, were several parked cars. I had a suspicion it
might be trail magic, which meant food. I crossed the road to
investigate, and discovered that there were trail angels present and
immediately the vortex of trail magic sucked me in, and I forgot about
hitchhiking into Chester.
Dinner
this evening was being hosted by trail angels Gourmet and Sourdough. The
half-dozen hikers lounging around the campfire had all had dinner, but the
fixings were still displayed on the tables. Sourdough asked me if I’d
like a hot dog or a hamburger, and I said, “Both please.” While I waited
for the items to be cooked, I listened to the conversation being exchanged
between the hikers.
From
Gourmet, I learned that he had hiked the trail last year, and was only four
miles from the Canadian border when he slipped on ice on the trail and broke
his ankle. Unable to continue, he had to be evacuated by helicopter
to the nearest care facility. He said he would finish the trail this
year. During the evening, I downed five sodas. I don’t know why
they taste so good out here on the trail, but they sure hit the spot.
The
conversation turned to taking days (zeros) off the trail. I told the
group that with the exception of the two days I spent with Jodie at Truckee, I
hadn’t taken any days off. Sourdough tried to convince me that given the
mileage left to Canada, and hiking eighteen to nineteen miles a day, I could
afford to take up to ten zeros and still make it to the border by the end of
September. In one ear was the little voice that said,
“Take
the zeros, you’ve pushed hard these many weeks; you deserve to relax more.”
In the
other ear was the voice of Virginia Reed, who cautioned,
“Never
take no short cuts and hurry along as fast as you can.” (Stewart)
In
hindsight, I was mighty thankful I didn’t listen to Sourdough.
Before
night was fully upon me, I went a few yards into the forest to set up my camp.
No need for a tent tonight; it wasn’t going to rain and there were no
mosquitoes, but there were those pesky, three-quarter-inch-long black ants.
Most go to bed when it gets dark, but there are a few who didn’t believe
in a curfew, and they paid the price.
As I lay
on my cushy air mattress with my GoLite down quilt wrapped snuggly around me, I
took the time to ponder. I have a long laundry list of things I could
think about, as well as a long list of things I don’t have to contemplate or
wonder about. I know that many hikers come to the trail to take a break
from their schooling, or to take a well-earned sabbatical before going back
into the real world to look for employment.
A few come to sort out the
details of their lives, to try and find purpose for their existence, to try and
make sense of all that has happened to them; others come to raise awareness for
their “cause,” or money for a particular charity they’ve devoted time and
energy to.
None of
this applied to me; I was here for the sheer exuberance of the adventure.
It was strictly a personal challenge for me – could I do it, especially
now that I’m a senior.
I know
who I am; I know what my purpose in life is. I know why I’m privileged to
have this mortal experience; I have a basic understanding of my long
pre-existence before entering mortality, of the knowledge, wisdom, and talents
I acquired before earth life; and I have a simple understanding of the
processes and conditions that will exist following the expiration date of my
mortal body.
Being retired,
I no longer have to seek employment; my family is raised and I can now spoil my
grandchildren, and then give them back to their parents. I have not
abused my body with drugs, alcohol, and tobacco; in fact, I’ve never tasted a
beer, so in my senior years, I’m not facing health issues related to substance
abuse, although I have to admit I have a strong penchant for chocolate and
banana cream pies.
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