July 23, 2013
5 miles
Mile 1506

Awoke. For my eyes, Mount Shasta framed by my tent door. For my ears, the groan of the I-5 Freeway some 5 miles distant. For my stomach, hangover convulsions from Swiss Goo. Move, for a town and it’s lures propels. A total downhill experience. Waterless, foodless and flying. The only mystery being a series of exploded Bluejay feather patterns. Perhaps the Ospreys have tired of fish executions?

The trail bottomed out at the asphalt. Out went the thumbs. Normally the odds of hitching a ride on a freeway are akin to bankrupting a casino, but fortune smiled and soon we were in Dunsmuir. After a series of break fasts we discussed the collapse of our plan, which was to get in and out of Dunsmuir in a couple matter of hours. Inertia and Red’s injury channeled us into a hotel room search. With only one real hotel option in town, my negotiating position was weak from the onset. My opponent an Indian American woman. “Welcome, no discount.” I tried both traditional and nontraditional gambits. “No discount.” Finally my ace in the hole. “You were born in India. Your caste is Brahmin. You were born in the city of Bodhgaya, also birthplace of the Buddha.” “Wow that’s amazing. How did you know? You’re right on all three! No discount.” Beaten, I had Red Beard pull out his credit card.

Once again the post office delivered. My bounce box was there as well as new shoes. Thank you Jill. Cirina’s  care package of real backpacker dehydrated trail meals arrived. They will keep all four of us in nutrition for the next week and relieve me of couscous depression for a while. A large thanks of gratitude. And finally a box of ass blasters arrived. I distributed them to my excited co-hikers for a trail trial run. I’ve always wanted to use those two words in tandem.

Kept attacking my backlog as the day slipped away but didn’t pull it off by dinner. Salad and barley wine, oh yeah. Passed a St. Bernard with his head sticking out of a pick up. His muscled arm draped over the outer door. A cigarette dangling from his mouth would have completed the picture. The day concluded in the inevitable bar with a pool table. There Orbit and I played pool against two Central Americans who won bragging rights. Red Beard talked to the very beautiful bartender and Slack grooved to mystical reggae down the block. The evening ended as expected with Charlie, a Louisiana native, holding aloft an empty glass skull which earlier in the evening had been full of his personal vodka. As the bartender winced for the inevitable shattering drop, Charlie began to recite the graveyard scene from Hamlet. The place went nuts as Red cheered and I translated Shakespeare to the best of my abilities for my Spanish speaking friends. Yep, just as I expected.

Steve Halteman
On the Pacific Crest Trail
Hiking the PCT for the Kids of Escuela Verde

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