A Hundred High Fives

Day Two

I kissed Lily goodbye a mile down the trail the next morning, and got myself into gear. Plugged into a podcast (Hardcore History, a strong recommend) and came to terms with the fact that I'd be lugging lots of water up Mt. Laguna, twenty miles away.
Except I wouldn't be, as there happened to be an 50-mile ultramarathon on that section of the PCT that very day.
Those who know me know I am, or was, a semi-serious runner. I raced. And I knew that wilderness ultras mean wilderness aid stations, which meant... Water! And better yet, it meant lots of runners on the trail. Those who know me very, very well know that I love giving and receiving high fives.
This was like hitting the jackpot. Water and high fives? I started cranking up the trail, passing many many hikers taking siestas (this trail is seriously crowded), many of whom made comment about my wee pack (I pack light these days, what can I say), just making it rain. Rain high fives. And, of course, drinking all that nice free, uncarried hydration drink. It tasted like Magic Sizing smells, but who the hell cares -- given that it was cold and weighed nothing, it also tasted exactly like winning at the races. 

Some runners were perky, others had obviously "bonked" (when your body stops tolerating all this nonsense and decides to tell the mind to go fuck itself, there won't be any more pain-free running today). Then there were the slow ones, lurching and stumbling toward greatness.  There was a whole gang of people from Baja Mexico, obviously a running club. The whole thing gave me a great sense of hope. Here are people who are taking time away from their daily travails to achieve something that has no monetary upside, nothing but the pride of completion. I stopped at 100 fives, which was just about when I rolled up onto the ridge and the cool pine forests of Mt. Laguna, with it's attendant cafe and store.
I barely made the store before close, buying some 10K empty calories. I then sauntered over to the cafe, where I was directed to the "hiker table," a large communal table set apart from the others. It was another hint for me of how the social frame conditions of the Pacific Crest Trail have changed. I mean, the table was fine, and I enjoy the company of my peeps pretty well, but it did feel a little like being asked to use the side entrance. Then again, I also smelled like the animal exhibits at the state fair, so maybe that's all it was. 

My dinner companions were three: A gentleman named Howard whom I've been seeing off and on since the beginning. A very young man going by the name of Hero, rail thin, with wire-rimmed glasses. And a college kid, or one who had just graduated from college, who had a kind of rambling story about hiking with this one girl, but then she hiked ahead, and he was doing a section. Whatever, he was quick-witted and great company.

First, we sized each other up. Where are you from, how many miles are you doing; if you've ever watched chickens who do not know each other meet for the first time, it was kind of like that. Everyone wants to know how to place those around them in a social order. Hero started by announcing he had hiked from the Mexican border THAT DAY. That was a 40-mile day, not unheard of but certainly on the more extreme end of things. Howard was hiking at a 20+ mile pace, as was I; I decided to execute a maneuver that Lily and I call "dropping the T Bomb," T for Triple, as in Triple Crown of American Long Distance Hiking thankyouverymuchgoodnight. It is closely related to dropping the A Bomb, A for Antarctica. By the way, have you asked Lily about Antarctica? You should, it's very educational.

The T Bomb has the effect of shutting down the conversation, which is cool because then everyone can eat. Also, hiker dudes stop trying to tell you what's wrong with the way you hike/pack/eat/rest. It unfortunately also puts a target on your back, such that competitive hikers are always trying to be faster and compare themselves, whereas I just want to eat Snickers, listen to Moby Dick on audiobook, and stare into the middle distance. 

So yeah, I dropped the T bomb, ate my burger, ignored the admonitions of my companions that I was a fool to walk out that night, and walked out along the trail. As dark fell, I nabbed a flat spot in the forest off the trail and settled in for a fitful night of sleep. 

like trippy, dude