Bucket

I thought it was a small bout of food poisoning that had me feeling woozy for a couple days last week, but now that Lauren has come down with the same thing, it's clearly not.

Actually, it's quite similar to the stomach bug that we both respectively battled on the trail north of Pearisburg, exactly one year ago. We learned countless things about each other on the trip, and how to treat the other during hard times was definitely on the summer's syllabus.

I can't stand to be crowded or over-cared for, but certainly appreciate knowing someone is there when I yell "bucket!"

Lauren, on the other hand, will take all the TLC she can get.

So I'm sitting beside her with my head on her forehead, making sure she takes plenty of fluids, while I'm watching a streaming version of Frontline's Storm Over Everest.

ADZPCTKO 2008

We've never been down to the PCT Kickoff (Annual Day Zero PCT KickOff), but this year we had a great excuse. To see our friend Clearwater off for the start of his 2600 mile thru-hike of the Pacific Crest Trail.

Pictured here are some of the 150+ hikers attempting to hike the trail from end to end in 2008. It was a mellow festival with about 500 people gathered at Lake Morena, some who we'd met on the A.T. last summer... Matt, Honey & Bear from the cabin in Maine, Chuck Snorris & Tigger.

My highlight was hearing Eric Ryback give a slide presentations from his 1970 thrhu-hike, complete with his original Kodachromes. I was also impressed with the general mellow and friendly atmosphere, and the organization of the food, activities and speaker panels. And listening to Squatch with his improv humor made for some great times.



On Sunday, we drove the rest of the way to the Mexican border and dropped off Clearwater to start his journey.



After a few great days together and some goodbyes, and loaded with five liters of water, Clearwater headed north, unaware of the 6 pound watermelon we had stashed into his pack. I keep laughing out loud imagining him finding it after lugging it for 20 miles.

Lauren's Hiking Song

Lauren had a few songs bouncing in her head this summer too.

She made up this one in Virginia as we approached a weekend stop with her sister in Leesburg. It wasn't as much of a song as it was a rallying-chant that she used to encourage herself up steep hills, with plenty of pauses between words to catch her breath.

I... can not wait... to see... My sister,
My sister... and Jason... My sister and Jason.
I... can not wait... to see... My sister,
Amanda and Jason... Amanda and Jason,
*A *and *J!

*Fist pumping in the air

Soundtrack of the Summer

We intentionally did not bring headphones or music on the trail, so we could be present and immersed in the experience of the trail.

Sometimes when hiking, a song would pop into my head anyway. Early on in the journey it might be "Georgia on my Mind" by Ray Charles among other songs that I just don't remember.

But Johnny Cash seemed to make his way into a high percentage of my mental playlist. I think there is something about the cadence of his music, and the way he vividly describes the American landscape that links his music to the trail for me.

"Tennessee Stud," came into mind often, but after meeting Winton Porter at the Walasi-Yi, the song that I couldn't shake was:

Will Work for Beer

On one sweltering June afternoon we emerged from the trail at a road crossing in southwest Virginia, and took a short roadwalk to a nearby convenience store.

Over a few cold drinks and junk food, we exchanged pleasant conversation with the proprietor. Then, the sawmill across the street emptied for the day and we witnessed a fascinatingly disturbing cultural phenomenon; the 4pm beer run.

The scene goes something like this. Two guys hop out of the pickup and leave the ignition running. They make a beeline for the back cooler, plunk down their hard earned cash at the register and each walk out with a six or twelve-pack in hand, presumably to finish on a Thursday evening before returning to work the next day. One car after the next.

Sounds like a tired stereotype, but unfortunately, we witnessed it first hand.

Drips vs. Drops

On our first rainy night of the trip, Lauren and I chose a protected site, climbed into our tarp, and watched and listened in awe as a thunderstorm blasted through.

By the morning, the ferocity of the storm had passed, and we were engulfed in a thick fog that reduced visibility to about 50 feet. The pitter-patter on our tarp lulled us back to sleep and made a nice excuse for a late start.

Finally by 8am we decided it was time to face a day in the rain. We spent a little extra time putting on our rain gear and breaking camp.

Once on the trail, we realized that we had made a rookie mistake. It wasn't actually raining; instead the leaves had been collecting condensation, releasing heavy drips every so often. We quickly overheated in out unnecessary rain gear.

After a mistake like this we quickly learned to tell the difference between drops and drips.

Captain Morgan

One day we were hiking and met two hikers heading south. We said hello and began to pass, when I noticed a purple goatee and handlebar mustache scribbled on the face of the second hiker.

I said to him, "Hey, I like that look," to which the first hiker replied, "Yeah, he's trying something new," referring to his 3-day stubble, after which he kept on moving in a determined manner.

A minute later, we met two more hikers who looked like they might be a part of the same group, so we asked if they knew the story with the ones we'd just met. We learned that the first hiker had scribbled on the second guy's face several days earlier, and no one had told him yet. They had been calling him Captain Morgan, and he said he liked that as a nickname.