Announcing Travel Tip Tuesdays

For several weeks now, I’ve had the idea that I would like to start a regular column that gives travel advice, gleaned from the many trips I’ve taken, both solo and otherwise. However, I don’t want this advice to be coming from a vacuum, so that’s where you come in. 

Every Tuesday, I’ll answer one of your questions. You can leave a comment on my blog (or my Facebook, for my FB followers) with a question about travel. If I have some advice to offer about it, I’ll write a blog about it. If I don’t, I might still write a blog about it. 

To kick things off, here’s a question I get a lot:

“How do you pack so light?”

Three tips:

1. Realize why packing light is so wonderful. The first solo trip I took, I was weighed down with a duffel bag, a backpack and a purse. When I was trying to lug it all up a half-mile hill from the ferry landing to the hostel, I cursed myself for dragging along so much junk. Now, I travel with one backpack, and getting anywhere is a breeze. When I’m riding those scary Greyhound buses where I have no idea where my baggage might end up, I can take mine as carry-on. I zip in and out of airports ahead of the luggage-carrying passengers, and if I get lost in a city, I can carry my belongings rather than dragging them behind and making myself a target for thieves. Packing light takes some practice, but it’s more than worth the effort!

2. Only bring three changes of clothes. Women especially may freak out at this idea. They can’t imagine only packing three changes of clothes for a weekend getaway, much less a two-month excursion. However, I promise you, it is entirely doable. If you make sure every article of clothing matches all the others, then you’ll have more than three outfits. Do laundry frequently (I like to wash my clothes in the sink every evening and air-dry them overnight). If you are a business traveler, you can’t avoid filling up a lot of your suitcase with business clothes, but for the leisure traveler, you don’t need that much. I have often overpacked on clothes, but I have never underpacked.

Catching a train last-minute is easy if you carry everything on your back

3. Ideally, everything you pack should serve more than one purpose. Don’t bring a pair of heels if you’re only going to wear them once. Don’t bring a towel unless you’re going to use it as a picnic blanket. Multipurpose items, like an iPod Touch (mini computer, alarm clock, MP3 player, notepad, mini Kindle, dictionary), bandanas (decorative item, bandage, napkin, handkerchief, scarf, cooling device, instant bag), and  a sarong (blanket, towel, sheet, scarf, skirt, dress, head covering, wash rag), are essential. You can consolidate toiletry items as well: shampoo and body wash, conditioner and lotion, etc.

Additionally, here’s a list of what I usually pack, to help you see how you can cram all the essentials into one fair-sized backpack. When you learn to travel light, you may never go back.

Don’t forget to leave comments with your travel questions! Until next week… Travel Tip Tuesdays. (Cue peppy theme song.)

~~~

Travel Tip Tuesdays: A Round-Up of Packing Tips

With California less than two weeks away, packing has been on my brain lately! Of course, packing for a backpacking trip is different than I’m used to, but I still think some basic rules apply. So I’ve included a round-up of some of my blogs about packing. 

The llama thinks you should pack light.

Packing light: an introduction

A sample light packing list (non-camping)

Five things I always pack

Five things I never pack

Seven helpful travel foods

~~~

Travel Tip Tuesdays: What Not to Pack

I’ve written blogs about packing light before— I swear by the one-bag policy when traveling solo and in most situations in general. No matter how heavy you’re packing, though, here are five things you can (almost) always do without:

1. A heavy coat. On my first solo trip, I brought a trench coat because I knew that the Northwest got cold. Although it did help keep me warm, it was a huge pain to lug around, and added about seven pounds to my pack weight (not to mention taking up almost a backpack’s worth of space!). Unless you’re headed somewhere severely cold, you can make do with a lighter jacket and some layers.

First solo trip, 2009: I was so proud of myself
for only bringing three bags!

2. A big toiletries bag. On my first away-from-family trip when I was 16, I packed an entire little suitcase full of my toiletries— everything from toothpaste and decongestant to a full bottle of shampoo and six different kinds of Band-Aids. I didn’t even have makeup and I managed to stuff a bag! I later learned that this was entirely unnecessary. Just bring the basics, and if you happen to need poison ivy cream or cough syrup, you can buy that as you go along.

3. Non-versatile clothing. While some clothes are single-use, most can serve double-duty. A blank t-shirt can be dressed up with a nice jacket; leggings make a nice extra layer in cold weather; a sarong can be turned into almost anything. Avoid loud t-shirts, an item that doesn’t match the rest of what you’re packing, anything expressly dressy, and so on.

4. Clothes that wrinkle easily. There’s nothing worse than ruining half your wardrobe just because it’s made of the wrong fabric! When your clothes can be wadded up, carried in a backpack for a week, and pulled out looking good as new, you’ve found the “keeper” clothes.

Third solo trip, 2010: I had cut my packing list in half.

5. Anything you justified taking along by saying “just in case.” This isn’t a tried-and-true rule, but if this was your excuse for packing it, chances are you won’t end up needing it. Since I have a bad back, I carried around instant heating pads for six trips, just in case. I never needed them. The same is true of countless little items that I carried less and less throughout the years.

With a light pack, your travel will be much more fun and relaxing. I have often packed too much for a trip, but I have never packed too little.

~~~

Have a travel question? Leave a comment and I’ll answer!

On Packing a Backpack

I’ve written about packing light before. But backpacking takes this art to a whole new level. Zachary and I are in the process of finalizing our list of everything we need to survive comfortably for the next five months— and then figuring out how to fit it into two 65-liter backpacks.

We’ll be sending ourselves frequent resupply boxes, filled with dehydrated food and candy bars and gatorade powder and shoes and toothpaste, and buying things along the way, like toilet paper and potato chips and pancakes the size of hubcaps. But everything else— shelter, bed, media, clothing— will be on our backs.

This means I will be at least five months (probably more) without makeup, accessories, any sort of dress, skirt, scarf, or dressy piece of clothing. No haircuts or shaving at all. Seven or eight showers tops. And I sit and ponder: do I need a t-shirt, a button-up shirt, a polyester jacket and a rain jacket? Is one of them superfluous? Do I need more than two pairs of underwear? Do I really need a piece of foam for a pillow, or could I just get by with a lumpy stuff sack? How many pairs of socks do I actually need? 

Once we figure out what packing actually looks like, I’ll probably post a full list of what we’re bringing. In the meantime, I will probably spend more time packing my backpack than I have in packing up my house.

~~~

Packing Light

There’s never enough time for me to finish everything I want to finish before a trip. However, this time, I’ve been happy that packing has gone smoothly. I have just a few more items to add, and then I’ll be done.

Many people have wondered how I fit all my necessities for multiple months into this:

To sate your curiosity and give you some hints on packing yourself, here is my complete packing list. Hope it helps.

~~

Quart-sized ziplock (for carrying liquids 3 ounces or less per TSA guidelines)

Deodorant

Shampoo (doubles as laundry detergent)

Coconut oil (functions as both lotion and hair conditioner) 

Toothpaste

First aid kit (Band-Aids, gauze, tweezers)

Toenail clippers (also for fingernails)

Floss

Disposable razor 

Makeup (only eye shadow and lip balm)

A bottle of PMS pills and Ibuprofen

Chapstick

Brush

Comb

Shoelaces (I’m paranoid about not having shoelaces when I need them)

Orthodontic retainer

Toothbrush

Feminine products

Sunblock (essential if you’re as fair-skinned as I am)

Tissue (emergency toilet paper!)

Trash bags (good for holding stinky clothes)

Ziplock bags (useful in many different ways)

Trail mix (I like almonds)

Spoon/Fork/Knife (plastic to be lightweight, but I wash and reuse them)

Metal water bottle

Cell phone, flash drive, iPod, laptop, headphones, camera, and all the batteries, cables and chargers used to power them (Heavy, but useful)

Mini flashlight (useful for rummaging through your bag at hostels after lights out)

Portable Bible (maintaining my faith is important on the road)

Paperback books (I like to bring a new one, an old favorite, and one that I hope will blow my mind)

Travel journal (like a diary, but full of tickets, postcards, bus schedules, and travel brochures)

Backpack

Foldable tote bag

Fanny pack (Yes, it’s dorky. But it’s also handy since girl pants have tiny pockets!)

Laundry bag (I can throw all my clothes in it and leave it at the hostel to lighten my pack for a day trip)

Large lock (for the lockers at hostels)

Luggage lock (a little TSA-approved one)

Money belt (for keeping my debit card, ID and passport safe beneath my clothing)

Compass/whistle (a handy little gadget to wear when trying to navigate or when trying to draw attention to yourself because that creepy guy is too close for comfort)

Pens and mechanical pencils

A baggies containing a large needle, a spool of thread, tape, safety pins, stamps, and envelopes (all of which have come in handy at some point)

Umbrella (useful for protection against both rain and sunshine)

Money, ID, debit card, a couple personal checks, insurance card, Hostelling International membership card

Back wrap (This takes up quite a lot of room, but I have a bad back)

1 pair tennis shoes

Slightly more dressy shoes (which can still be worn as tennis shoes, though not as comfortably)

Flip-flops (handy for tide-pool exploring, chilling in the sun, and avoiding nasty shower floors)

Sarong (possibly the most useful thing I ever take on a trip— functions as skirt, dress, beach wrap, warm scarf, beach towel, regular towel, picnic blanket, sheet, head covering, bag, privacy hanging and so much more)

Tank top (doubles as an undershirt)

1 long sleeved shirt 

Sweater 

1 short-sleeved shirt 

3 pairs socks, 4 pairs underwear (Seriously, this is all you need. If you do your laundry every day, you can get away with so much)

2 bras (I like sports bras because they fold down smaller and double as undershirts and swimsuit tops)

1 t-shirt

2 pairs jeans (If I had the money, I’d buy much lighter polyester-blend cargo pants instead. But hey, I found jeans that fit me at Goodwill.)

1 pair full-length leggings 

Rain-resistant jacket

Shorts (double as swimsuit bottom)

Warm hat (if the weather warrants it)

Crusher hat (I prefer this over a ball cap because it covers my ears)

Bandanas (another awesome multipurpose item: napkin, hankie, small sack, washcloth, head covering, scarf, etc.)

Belt

Hairbands 

~~

PCT 2014, Day 112: Our First Campfire

DAY 112

August 13th, Wednesday

Lightning Springs to 1853.6 (I think)

When we woke up the next morning, our bag was still damp and the air was still clammy and it was still freezing cold. Zach and I were in no hurry to leave the relative warmth of the sleeping bag, and ate our cold oatmeal slowly, as we always did— from one bowl with one spork, passing the meal back and forth to take a bite while the other chewed.

At last we decided that we had to get up sometime, so we put on our layers. I was already wearing a t-shirt, long-sleeved hiking shirt, and thin jacket, and the only layer I had left to add was a rain jacket and a hat and gloves (the gloves were useless insulation when they got wet). Zach said that when we met up with his family in a couple weeks, we should ask them to bring some warmer clothes that we could borrow. This sounded like a sensible idea. Washington loomed on the edge of my thoughts, and in my head it was all rain, cold rain.

When we finished packing up, we started the set of switchbacks that would take us back to the rim trail. Gray stratus clouds drifted close over our heads, and I came to terms with the fact that I wouldn’t get to see Crater Lake under a sunny sky— I would have to come back someday for that.

Still, when we reemerged at the edge of the lake, it was bluer than it had been the day before, and below us at the very edge, I caught a glimpse of the unearthly turquoise color of the water. We hiked for a little bit, then paused when we saw a side trail up to a high point on the rim, where there was a watchtower. We debated a moment, then decided to go for it. We dropped our packs at the junction, then practically sprinted up the steep switchbacks. Moments like these made me remember what incredible shape I was in at the moment— I sped up the trail like it was even ground, my legs pumping like tireless mechanisms. When we reached the top of the steep peak, I wasn’t the slightest out of breath.

The view at the top was well worth the slight detour— here we could look straight down at the lake and Wizard Island and get a better sense of their sizes. In front of us was the lake, and behind us rolled wide tree-covered mountains, covered in tattered fog. The clouds were nearer above than ever before, and scraped the peaks of the rim on the other side.

Looking down at the volcanic island in the lake, Zach said, “If I ever become an evil overlord, that’s where I’ll put my castle.” I nodded supportively.

We read informational signs about how many times Crater Lake was “discovered” by explorers who were never able to compare notes. It was named several variations of “Blue Lake,” but my favorite title given it was “Lake Majesty.” 

After taking some photos, we flew back down the switchbacks, slung on our packs, and took off along the rim trail again. Soon we were walking on the shoulder of a road, and at last the trail turned away from the rim of Crater Lake. 

“Goodbye!” I called to the lake, waving to it. I knew I’d have to return someday.

The landscape before us now was beautiful and a bit barren— a wide stretch of fields, mostly crumbling brown rock but speckled with red plants, stretched out to meet the distant rolling mountains, which were still capped with fog or clouds. Rain spat on us as we walked along, and I felt a sudden surge of nostalgia and happiness to be here. It was so beautiful, so incredible. I couldn’t believe that we had actually made it to Crater Lake.

Now we left the field into woods full of slender-trunked trees. In my diary I record, “We fight & eat. Later we fight some more. Well, more like arguing.” I hardly remember what either tiff was about, but whatever it was, it didn’t last long.

Soon we were walking through a dense wood of tall trees with no underbrush. The gray sky lowered above us, making the air about us dark and a little spooky. In our hiking all day, we saw no one except for one sobo. As we hiked along, I was grateful that there wasn’t any snow— when my parents had hiked in 1981, the snow was waist-deep in places.

The trail soon took us onto the shoulders of the dramatic Mount Theilsen, a triangular spike of granite that juts up near Crater Lake. From our vantage point it looked less sharp than it had in the distance, but still jagged. We saw its ghostly peak above us, looming impressively, before it was shrouded in mist.

It was near the end of the day now (as we could tell by the slight failing of light in the grayish fog all around), so we began to look for a place to camp. We paused at some spots, then decided to go down to Theilsen Creek to gather water first. We zigzagged down to a small muddy bank alongside freezing water, and as we crouched to gather water, we heard cheerful voices not too far ahead. Curious, we quickly climbed the opposite hill, and emerged into a veritable campground— flat pine-needle-covered ground with evergreens all around, scattered with tents and hikers, most of whom we recognized.

“Hey!” Stumbles called as we walked up, grinning at us. Happy Nomad and Butterfly turned around as well and waved. Happy Nomad’s arms were full of wood. “We’re starting a fire!” he called.

We soon were introduced to the other two people there— Trinket and Lobster. We’d seen them at Crater Lake but not been properly introduced. “Lobby,” as everyone called her (even though her full name was The Immortal Lobster) was as tall as me, with brown hair, wide brown eyes, and a cute grin. Trinket was her mother, a middle-aged woman with frizzy red hair, twinkling blue eyes, a smile that could make anyone grin. Trinket had joined up with Lobby at Kennedy Meadows and they’d been hiking together ever since.

There were a couple other people milling about, but this was our core group. Within a few minutes, Happy Nomad had a fire going in the pit, and we all contributed a liter of water to help put it out when we were done. Still, in the dripping dampness of an Oregon evening, none of us were too worried about setting the woods on fire… for once.

And so, on day 112, Zach and I had our first campfire on trail. Most people can’t fathom camping without one, and frankly, I can’t imagine car-camping without a cheery bonfire at the end of the night. But backpacking in the dry desert, where every road crossing contained signs emphasizing how very easily California can catch on fire, when most of California required a special permit just to light a camp stove, and when even in the less-flammable High Sierra you weren’t allowed to build a fire above 10,000 feet, the urge had not been very strong nor the opportunity very often.

But here, on a chilly night with a ghostly mist hanging around and a group of friends gathered in the perfect camp site, it was glorious. Zach made mashed potatoes and we all crowded around the fire, sitting on our rain jackets or logs or whatever else we could find. As the night crept in, our backs grew freezing, but our faces were warm in the light of the cheery fire.

That night is possibly one of my best memories on trail. Everyone ate together, chatted, talked about what they were doing next. Butterfly and Happy Nomad were some of the most accepting and encouraging people I’d met on trail, and they inspired me to be less uptight about the “thru-hiker” label. We should just let people experience the trail the way they wanted, and not worry too much about the “right” definitions. I was never able to quite let go of my idea that “thru-hike” should be a word with a clear definition, but on that night I began to realize how silly it was to be a purist.

I don’t remember everything we talked about that night, but that’s not what really matters. When I close my eyes I’m taken back to that moment, which a damp half-rotted log as a chair, the ghostly misty night pressing on our backs, the crackling warmth of the fire at our faces, Stumbles’ wide smile and shining eyes, Butterfly’s serious face, the light glinting in Happy Nomad’s glasses, Zach feeling relaxed beside me, the jokes about why didn’t we pack out some marshmallows and wine.

Several more people joined us over the course of the evening, including some people we’d see later: Gingersnap, Stampede, and Mr. T., who all looked like they were about thirteen years old. Gingersnap was blonde as blonde could be, with a nose ring and a cute Belgian accent. His girlfriend Stampede had a half-shaved head (the other half was long and blondish-brown), several piercings, stylishly raggedy trail clothes, and a tiny backpack. Mr. T. was her younger brother (the family resemblance in their faces was clear), and he was in fact only 17, trying to hike as much of the trail with them as he could before he had to go back to school for his senior year. Gingersnap and Stampede were giving him a hard time because they had gotten separated at Crater Lake for several hours because Mr. T. took the Equestrian PCT instead of the Hiker PCT. Tomorrow we’d be coming up on another junction, so they scolded him like parents, trying to drill into his head to take the right path. I watched the three of them with a bit of awe, trying to imagine hiking this trail at their age. Zach and I later agreed that we would totally let our teenaged kids hike the PCT someday if they wanted to.

We also met some southbounders who had started at Cascade Locks, the Oregon/Washington border, and were headed to northern California. Their external-frame packs were dizzyingly huge: they carried heavy Mexican-style blankets in addition to their sleeping bags, as well as a full-sized pot and enough gear to clothe an army. They said they’d done 14 miles today, their longest day. We congratulated them— walking even 14 miles with a pack that obviously weighed about 70 pounds, if not more, was pretty impressive to us!

At last we all decided we should get to bed— night was thick around us. We each dumped a liter of water on the fire, stirred the ashes, then retreated to set up our tents in the cold darkness. We hurried as quickly as we could, then ducked into the tent that now seemed chilly and dank. Zach and I huddled together, wondering if our sleeping bag would ever not feel damp, closed our eyes, and pictured the fire, crackling and bringing warmth to us on this chilly Oregon night.

~~~

PCT 2014, Day 89: Hat Creek Rim

DAY 89

July 22nd, Tuesday

1382 to 1409

I woke up the next morning to feel a cool breeze over my face, and sat up to see the tip of the sun spilling light across the flatlands to my right. I stepped outside the tent and looked out, over Hat Creek Rim to the mountains beyond, bathed in golden light and shadow. It was going to be a good day.

Zach got up and we packed up in record time, hitting the trail by 6:30. As we began walking, I looked far in the distance to the north, and glimpsed a massive snow-covered mountain. I stared at it, rapt, as clouds the same shape as the peak closed in and shrouded it again. I had gotten my first sight of Mount Shasta.

We sped along the path with easy strides, still waiting for it to turn into lava beneath our feet. But it never did. The weather was mild all morning and the sun, while hot as it gained the sky, never felt too deathly. And as we walked along the perfectly-flat trail we enjoyed dramatic views of the rim to our left and the flatlands to our right.

We paused at an old lookout station and found a cache of water, although we only topped off our bottles. Several miles later, when we were a bit sweaty from hiking so long in the sun, we stopped at “Cache 22,” a cache in a little hut of sticks near Forest Road 22. A few other guys were sitting there. I can’t remember all their names, but that’s where we first met FIG JAM (we later learned that his name was an acronym: “F---, I’m Good, Just Ask Me”). He was an incredibly skinny guy, about 6’6” if not taller, who had golden-brown skin, hair like Zach’s, and a wry sense of humor. He was drinking a bottle of maltodextrin in a desperate attempt to get more calories. 

We sat with him and a few others under the shelter of twigs, sipping water, talking about calorie-dense food, and watching flies buzz around the watermelon rinds, remnants of an earlier hikers’ feast.

We hung around the cache for a little while, but the sun was still not too hot, so we hiked on, beady with sweat but otherwise not uncomfortable.

We paced FIG JAM and the others all day, never walking together, but always catching up to each other. They had started at Old Station earlier that morning, and were headed for Burney Falls tonight, a trip of 42 miles. I could see why the challenge might be fun— in a theoretical sense only. We wished them luck.

 I loved the openness of the landscape. We kept on glancing stunning views of Mount Lassen behind us, and, once the clouds cleared, Mount Shasta ahead of us. To our left, the flat valley, dotted with trees, was covered in great cloud shadows. Volcanic rock pocked the landscape all around, but the trail was dusty and smooth. Hat Creek Rim was turning out to be much more pleasant than we expected!

We followed the Rim for many miles, but at last began some mild switchbacks toward the valley floor, which was rising to meet the rim. After walking on perfectly-flat ground all day, our knees and feet were unused to the downward slope of the trail, slight though it was!

The trail delved down into a woodland, crossing forest paths and cutting through humid woods and into a slightly industrial area. It skirted the edge of a fish hatchery, past rushes and water-grasses and a wide area with netting over the surface of the water. We still saw a lot of native fishers: cormorants, pelicans, and an osprey! Seeing these ocean birds after so much time in the mountains was bizarre to me, like we were walking through a zoo.

Then the trail departed the hatchery and climbed a little bit, cutting through a fir forest on perfectly-flat ground.

It was barely mid-afternoon, and Zach and I had already walked 27 miles. So when we came to Highway 299 and saw that the town of Burney was just a hitch away, we decided to go for it.

We stood by the shoulder for several minutes, but got picked up soon enough. The guy was terse but friendly, and tried to get us to go to a pizza buffet instead of McDonald’s, which we politely refused because we didn’t want to spend too much money. The town was a small strip of road with buildings on either side about a mile long, and he dropped us at the McDonald’s and wished us luck. I got a dollar-menu burger and a McFlurry.

As we sat eating our food, we looked over our resupply strategy. Today was Tuesday, and our next stop on trail was Castella, about 90 miles away. Going more than twenty miles a day, we’d get there on Saturday. However, when we checked our sources, we saw that the Castella post office wasn’t open on Saturdays. So we would have to spend the weekend there and leave on Monday. 

For some people, this might not have been a big deal. However, for me, it was a delay that I didn’t want (and where would we spend the night?). I was so eager to get to Oregon, and so tired of California. I didn’t want to hang around for two days doing nothing! But it looked like we would have no choice.

I distinctly remember packing our resupply box for Castella: there were two places to send it in Castella, the post office or Amaretti’s Market. Indecisive, I finally said, “Ah, let’s just send it to the post office.” Instead of the market that’s open every day. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I wanted to go back in time and slap my past self.

I didn’t realize how upset I was until I called home and started talking to my mom and telling her what was going on. I paced outside the McDonald’s, feeling more and more agitated. When I hung up, I leaned against the hot brick building and began to cry.

A car pulled up in front of me, and a graceful black woman looked out the window at me, her face open and earnest. “I’m sorry you’re feeling bad,” she said.

Taken aback by this, I sniffled, “Oh, I’m okay… just… having a bad day.”

“I know,” she said. “But I wanted to acknowledge your pain.” Then, with a compassionate smile, she drove off.

This odd encounter threw me off, and I returned inside, feeling a bit better.

Hitching back to trail took forever, since slightly bigger towns couldn’t always tell the difference between a hiker bum and a non-hiker bum. But at last, when the sun had gone behind the horizon and twilight was in the sky, a guy coming home from his shift at UPS picked us up. He liked to trail-run in the area, often on the PCT, and told us that there was a nice cache about a mile down the road. He dropped us right at the trailhead and we thanked him, then hiked into the dark woods.

Sure enough, in about a mile we came to the cache— and what a cache it was! Someone had built a free-standing cupboard completely stocked with canned goods, a cooler full of soda, and a picnic table covered in hiker names! We ate some snacks and read through the trail register, where they had asked us to leave our favorite joke. I went for the shortest and simplest one I could think of: “There once was a tavern known as The Fiddle because it was such a vile inn.”

I sat back on a lawn chair and nibbled on a Reese’s, some crackers, and a fig newton, sipping orange soda and feeling considerably mollified. It was impossible to feel sorry for myself under such conditions.

Zach and I decided to camp there, celebrating our longest day yet at 28 miles. Just as we were ready to pick up our packs, we saw movement next to his bag and saw a cute little rodent snuffling at his bag— a rat! We shooed it away and walked several yards away to camp, hoping we wouldn’t be bothered in the night. 

I woke up in the dead of the night, hearing the snapping of a twig. My adrenaline pumped through me as I stiffened, half awake, trying to hear what was going on. The twig snapped again, and I realized that it was just the sound of wind in the bushes. I relaxed a little, but my body wasn’t willing to let go of the adrenaline it just spent, so I was wide awake. I tried to fall back to sleep, jumping at every little noise.

~~~

PCT 2014, Day 20: McDonalds!

DAY 20

May 14th, Wednesday

Silverwood Lake to 342ish

We woke up late the next morning, and Grandpa Ed made us breakfast: two eggs, two strips of bacon, and two pieces of toast for each of us. We devoured them almost instantaneously, then raided the fridge to consume the leftover pizza from our restaurant visit the night before. 

We spent the morning chatting with him, and he told us stories of his Walden-like adventures in Canada. He moved there when he was a young man to homestead. After obtaining a miner’s permit to search for gold, he staked a claim near a river ten miles from the nearest tiny town, and proceeded to build a cabin, hunt and forage for food, and live off the land through a cold Canadian winter. He built a buckstove and burned green cottonwood in it, since he didn’t have enough time to season the firewood. Eventually the pitch built up in the chimney pipe and caught his roof on fire. He was barely able to save the cabin.

His talk lighted Zach’s and my minds with thoughts of homesteading and living off the land. Granted, his description of how to gut a squirrel was a bit off-putting, but there was something delightfully romantic about it all. 

After that, we looked through some photos, some of ours and some of his when he and Sande were visiting King’s Canyon, where Zach and I would be headed in a few weeks. The picturesque photos of the mountains seemed so far away from the desert we’d been hiking through.

Around noon, he drove us back down the tortuous roads, dropping us at the shoulder where he’d picked us up. We snapped a photo with him, waved goodbye, and continued on the trail right where we’d left off.

The landscape that day seemed downright boring to me for the most part, although later, when I saw the one photo I snapped of that whole section, I wondered why I didn’t take more pictures of this beautiful landscape! It was a tapestry of small but rugged green mountains, and we followed the spine of a ridge and looked off to the left to see a cliff that disintegrated into giant pillars and rifts of sandstone.

We could see the interstate, Highway 15, in the distance, sometimes to the left, sometimes in front of us. The semi trucks looked like toys zipping along a tiny thread of road, their noise not reaching us up on the breeze-blown hills.

My diary records that I had a huge meltdown, and a conversation ensued. However, I have no memory of it. Meltdowns became so commonplace later on in the trail that I can’t remember which was which.

It was still mid-afternoon when we paused by a sign with arrows that read: McDONALDS .4

I was surprised— I knew about this McDonald’s, having seen photos of hikers with twenty Happy Meals, but for some reason, I had imagined the McDonald’s somewhere in the forest, not the desert. Zach and I had a little debate, and I worried about spending too much money that wasn’t in our budget. Fortunately, Zach put his foot down. “We have to enjoy ourselves sometimes,” he said. “We can’t skip one of the most iconic places on the trail over a few bucks.”

I knew he was right in my head, but I still felt upset and stressed about money (this would become a more and more common theme as the trail went on). Still, we took the little detour toward the McD’s in search of cheap junk food.

"We've made it this far!"

We saw a lot of hikers leaving as we were coming up, including Thistle and Ouzel, who we stopped and chatted with. Then we stepped into the air-conditioned bliss of a fast-food restaurant, set our backpacks in a booth, waved hello to the half-dozen other hikers there, then went to drool over the dollar menu.

We each bought three dollar-menu burgers, thinking that was a reasonable start. (We had heard horror stories of hikers eating ten burgers and packing out ten more, then making themselves sick and barely being able to hobble along.) After we devoured the burgers, I returned to the desk to buy a McFlurry. As I stood behind a normal (non-hiker) customer, I overheard the following exchange.

The customer sniffed the air, then wrinkled his nose and asked, “What’s that awful smell?”

The clerk, speaking in the lowest voice he could manage, murmured, “Hikers.”

“WHAT?” the customer all but yelled.

“Hikers,” the clerk said a bit louder, glancing at me uncomfortably.

“HUH?”

“Hikers!” I exclaimed from behind him, raising my arms in a jubilant display of carelessness and horrendous body odor (yes, I’d showered the night before— but a day of sweating nixed its helpful effects). 

The customer, looking more confused than ever, backed off.

Zach went to the gas station next door and bought some headphones so he and I could take turns listening to music. It was an important purchase, one that did a lot to curb the boredom that was overtaking us at a rapid pace.

We stalled at the McDonald’s for a few hours. I called home. I cried a little bit. I felt stressed about where we would camp for the night, since we were at a highway crossing tucked between steep hills. At last, in the darkness after sunset, when only a faint purple glow showed that the sun had been up, we returned to the trail.

We were very happy to have two headlamps now, but they didn’t make much of a dent in the overwhelming darkness. Despite the massive highway rushing by, there was very little light.

A tunnel from earlier in the day. The
 scary tunnel was much bigger.

We passed through a tunnel underneath the highway. The small scope of light that my headlamp cast, coupled with the roar of the trucks and cars overhead, made me dizzy and a bit frightened. We heard a train roar by. I was battered by irrational fears that we would be attacked by an axe-murderer. (Oddly enough, this was the only time on trail that this particular fear came into my mind.)

We emerged from under the highway and squinted at the sandy trail that wound between prickly bushes and cacti. The trail blazes, mounted on flat fiberglass posts, glowed in our headlamps. We picked our way through a grove of trees and back into the desert landscape. Dimly ahead, we could see hills rising up. Camping might be sparse soon.

Despite being only a hundred yards from the highway, Zach and I decided that we should just camp here. We found a flat spot that didn’t have too many rocks or thorns, and carefully set up camp, trying not to jab our inflatable pads into any of the prickly plants around.

We huddled in our tent, exhausted, but determined to wake up early and get in more miles the next day.

As I was going to sleep, I heard a noise like a jet-plane, rushing closer and closer. The sound roared over us like thunder, all around us, as if a ghostly freight train had rushed through our tent. My ears were ringing afterward. But Zach and I were so tired that we just went to sleep anyway.

Our ghostly jet-plane-thunder-freight-train noise visited us frequently that night. But it, like other white noise, barely brought me to the surface of consciousness, and I soon went back to sleep.

In the middle of the night, though, Zach urgently shook me out of a dead sleep. He was half-sitting up on his pad, staring at me with wild eyes.

“Huh? What is it?” I asked.

“The snakes,” he said in a breathless, not-quite-slurred voice. “They’re going over the tent.” He made a sweeping motion from one side of the tent to the other with his finger. “The snakes… over the tent…”

I had seen him in this state before, where his body was awake but his mind was still dreaming. “There aren’t any snakes,” I said as soothingly as I could. “You’re dreaming. Go back to sleep.”

“No,” he said in a hushed tone, clearly upset that I wasn’t heeding his warning. “The snakes… they’re going over… they’re going over…”

“Shh. Go to sleep.”

Zach stared intently at the ceiling of our tent, his eyes flicking back and forth at the invisible snakes. Then he sunk back onto his pad and started snoring.

~~~