August 10, 2013
0 miles today
Mile 1912

Big sound screamed wake up, ever-increasing, ever more alarming to the groggy. Reached for the panic button to pump adrenaline and flee. Then the locomotive passed. The wisdom of camping 100 feet from train tracks a morning topic. Wandered down to the store for a bulk cereal and milk breakfast. Took it by the fire pit that had been taken over by PCT hikers, the heat of the fire good against the chill of an Oregon winter morning. Happy Century Day to Orbit and Myself.

The Alaska hikers, with their huskies, departed just as Ole and Track Meet appeared, their pursuit complete, and then my reunion with Tammy Dean, an old and good friend who I had taught with in Japan and who is now the CEO of a bumper car company. At times I have modeled on her bumper cars at tradeshows. This demonstrates either the height of friendship or a serious misjudgment of talent on her part. She came bearing cupcakes, toys, friends and the keys to a pontoon boat.

The friends were Martha and her three kids Alma, Sam and Jacob. Loaded up the boat as the sun suddenly showed promise. I was appointed captain. As soon as I figured out F, N and R on the shifter, we were off. Buzzing around the lake at full throttle with five bearded pirates made boarding other boats difficult to resist. Decided to spare the children from bloodshed and instead stopped and ordered a full bathing for the unwashed. Then Martha tortured us with descriptions of the menu at her organic restaurant. An oncoming storm forced a retreat to Harbor. There, my pathetic attempts to dock resulted in an injury to deckhand Slack. Leaping for the dock to end the hopelessness, he came up short. A ricochet. Blood in the water being part of the life of a pirate.

Jack and Sandy, Tammy’s parents pulled up to complete the reunion. No two better people live in Oregon. Jack is famous for having lived to tell about a chainsaw that pierced through his stomach and out his back. They had brought 18% of a supermarket and every form of portable barbecue that exists. His simple challenge “you can’t eat it all.” “But we can,” the collective response. It was on.

An umbrella tent went up, for the rain came down. Steaks came and went. Ole tried to regain his lost 40 pounds in one afternoon. A silent concentration hovered over the picnic table, and then a savage realization that the battle was unwinnable. Jack smiled as one by one his victims fell away from the picnic table. He continued to cook and gloat in the rain. A roll call of his victims, Veggie, Slack, Orbit, Track Meet, Ole, and Blast. Jack’s victory pose consisted of holding a plate of steaks and gently asking “room for another?”

Games on the grass with Alma and Sam followed and then a run into a supermarket for resupply. Getting caught up with radio station music put everyone in fine spirits. With multiple musicians jamming in the giant truck cab, improvised riffs on impoverished pop songs had laughter echoing. Upon return the mandatory face paint by Alma’s face design. The winter moon came early and the cold began to bite.

In search of warmth, we moved to the fire pit, but it was over its occupancy limit. So it was off to a bar. Warm and with three pool tables, we were good to go. People kindly ignored the target painted on my forehead, Veggie’s dropping ass flap and our general malodor. The bartender even took a group photo of the PCT raid for the bar’s Facebook page. At midnight, shop shut down and we returned to air that hinted of snow.

Back at camp where the conversation revolved around news that two hikers had broken the speed record for the PCT this year. A man finished in 59 days and a woman in 60 days. The man was supported while the woman was not. This smashed the old record of 64 days. Crazy impressive. But as I walked back to my camp by the tracks, meteors showering overhead, I wondered how many games of pool did they get to play?

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

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