Episode 8 – Eureka Dunes to Ubehebe Crater

It felt so good to be back on trail after a few zeros to resupply.

ome beaaaauuuuutiful landscapes in this one. My goodness! (I’m bias, I know. Death Valley is my love, but still). Also, in this one, trail friends, cyanobacterias, disco, a rare Joshua Tree flower, and more sand dunes.


Thank you for watching! XOX

Water Caching Anza Borrego – Rainbows and Butterflies.

We left Jacumba with about 60 gallons of water packed in Gary, Hippie’s truck. 60 gallons of water to be dropped at strategic locations between the Mexican border and the Nevada state line ~ 400 miles or 1/4 of the Desert Trail. These are the notes I took on the road.

~~~ Day 1
It was all rainbows and butterflies when we started this morning. But that’s because we were surrounded by storms and because the heavy rains of last week have triggered the beginning of a flower super-bloom, quickly followed by a butterfly baby-boom. The rain is predicted to keep coming in the week ahead, which means 1) that we’ll be staying out of slot canyons, and 2) that we’re in for the treat of a LIFETIME when next we walk through here.

The first couple of water caches were along familiar roads. Collectively, Hippie and I must have criss-crossed the Mojave about a dozen times in the last few years. PCT at scissors’ crossing, San Diego Trail, Prude to Nude, and the random “let’s see if we can connect these two towns through the middle of nowhere.” adventure. Driving along our old tracks felt like visiting old friends and family.
“And that’s where the kangaroo rat jumped on your face.” “And that’s the ‘designer’ section of the canyon that’s so beautiful that it made me cry.” “Hey, remember that time it was so cold we dug a hole under that tree to stay warm? …”
I remembered each rock and each tree, and I felt they remembered me. Actually, their memory is probably more accurate than mine.
“Wasn’t that tree over there? I remember it over there. I think it moved!”

This time though, we weren’t walking, we were barreling down dirt roads in a fully loaded extended cab, long-bed Ford F250 named Gary. We took this kind beast through scratchy brushes and up the narrowing Diablo slot canyon. Honestly, we didn’t think it would go. We figured we’d just drive as far as it would be willing, then walk the rest. But, Gary maneuvered that canyon with such grace and nimbleness, you’d have thought it was a Toyota Tacoma!
“We made it! It’s Garicle!” Hippie said. ‘A Garicle?” “yeah, A Gary-miracle.”
We dropped off 4 gallons under one of our favorite trees, and performed the same Garicle in reverse down canyon. (click here to see the Garicle)

The next section, past S22 was more new to us, more like a distant relative. It still looked familiar, but not as intimately. Or maybe we didn’t recognize it. With all the rain, the desert is green – green green green! – grasses on the desert floor, flowers about to pop everywhere, the cacti are fat, engorged with water. And it hasn’t even exploded yet. Right around our third water cache, dispersed among the pricklies, a small colony of the rare desert lily have already unfurled their long-limbed curly leaves and bobbing fuzzy heads – a lady among the hardies. No flowers yet. They wait. Oh, do I hope they wait just a few more weeks. Because we’ll be right back.

Mecca was rough. Towns usually are when you’ve been in the middle of nowhere. Mecca, population 8,000, felt like a thriving metropolis, a cacophony of cars, freeways, Salton Sea smells and Mexican bakeries. But that last one definitely made up for the others. No water caching in Mecca. We’ll have a truck or two there, as we are truck-supporting ourselves. It will be nice to see my truck and sleep in my bed at regular intervals. And I can resupply from my own stash of dried kale, plantain chips and such health treats not usually available in the resupply gas station marts along the way. I’ll supplement with pastries from the Mexican bakeries. Hippie, I believe, will try to resupply on the go. She should have an interesting diet for the upcoming months.

Beyond Mecca, the trail heads uphill, but the road that would have allowed us to cache half-way up was closed, leaving a 45 mile stretch without water. We’ll likely carry 2 gallons each. That’s about 17 extra pounds in our packs – my PCT pack, fully loaded was 18 Lbs – and that was before the Gopro, the extra battery packs, the solar charger, etc… I guess we’ll get smart, and come up with a solution to cache that section, or we’ll get tough.

So, that’s about it for today. We’re camped near a “gaging station” (as written on the map) – where hydrologists measure water flow in the aqueduct, not a place where people gag. That’s good. I’m glad we looked it up. It’s already dark and the moon is very skinny. But the stars! Oh the stars. Milky Way, right here and all the way from one side of the sky to the other.

A day of Rainbows, Stars and Butterflies.
Luckiest people on earth!

Youtube link … Movie of Gary in the Devil Slot Canyon.

Top 5 reasons why I know I have the best sleeping bag on the face of the planet.

 

Right here … Here’s my love, the Western Mountaineering UltraLite 20 degree bag:

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#1 – Weight. When I first ordered this beauty, back in 2011, as I was getting ready for a PCT Thru-hike, it came in the mail at the same time as some hiking shoes, mini gaiters, a headlamp and other small miscellaneous objects. When I picked up the box, my face grew long … they hadn’t included the sleeping bag. I just knew. The box was too light. Then I opened the box, and lo’ and behold’ the bag was in there! I tossed it in the air, and it fell back gently in my arms. Yep. Love at first sight! Then a week ago, sending it to the WM factory for repairs, I was charged extra because “the package was too light.” Customers in line at the post office suggested I put a rock in the box – That’s light!

#2 – Comfort. The 20 degree UltraLite is not actually a bag, it’s a regeneration cocoon of love, fluff and warmth. I slept in it for 105 night straight of cowboy camping (no tent) on the PCT, without a wash (I have dedicated sleep clothes and socks), like in the arms of Angels. When I stopped walking and moved back into the truck, this was still the bag I used. If it was too cold, I added a blanket on top, if it was too warm, I used it as a quilt, or rolled it into a small body size friend and hugged it all night (yeah, single life in the truck …) It’s been damp and wet a few times, and I expected it to let me down, as down bags are wont to do, but no, a space blanket around it, and it was back to excellent zzzzzs.

#3 – Durability. When I didn’t know anything about gear and read all I could about it, I learned that one cannot expect a bag to last more than one thru-hike. That’s just one of the costs the repeat thru-hiker must factor in. Well, mine’s looking at a full PCT, several AT sections, all the New Hampshire 4000ers, 2 San Diego trails, a trip to humid Cuba, a trip to dusty India, Alaska, Canada, etc. … and 6 years in the truck, in some fashion. And that bag is not even close to being done yet.

#4 – Customer Service. Okay, so, with the oil from my body and the constant use, the bag did eventually lose a lot of feathers – I mean, you would too after 6 years of almost daily use! So I called Western Mountaineering. When I was on the AT, they were able to give me an emergency refluff – I think they mostly washed it a bunch of time. It wasn’t completely back to its former glory, but I was still impressed with WM tracking me down on the trail and getting the bag right to me without impairing my walk at all.  Now, 2 years later, I contacted them again after spending a few cold nights on the San Diego trails. Boom! Refluffed, broken zipper is fixed, all in a courteous, understanding, expedient fashion, and again they were able to work with my nomadic lifestyle and are shipping the bag right where I’ll be able to get it.

#5 – Everything else. I love its gorgeous deep blue, that hasn’t really faded. I love that it’s quiet when I sleep in it, no annoying nylon rustling. I love how small it compresses. I’ve even carried it in a day-pack to spend the night in a cave once. I love how it smells – oh, wait, that’s just my smell … I love that my best trail family members have the same bag, so we can feel like a special clique of people who scored in the gear department. I love the two drawstrings that keep the chill of the night away from my body, but my face still out to see the stars and breathe clean air. I love that the 6′ length gives me wiggle room for my feet, and extra storage for my clothes (I’m 5’4″). And … actually, there isn’t anything I DON’T like about this bag.

I get no kickback of any sort from Western Mountaineering for shamelessly bragging about their bag. I’m just assembling gear for my next adventure, and felt my gratitude and love for this loyal gear-friend needed to be passed on.

Love!

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Note: You’re actually looking at my bivy bag covered in dew here, the sleeping bag is inside. It turns out, I don’t have a picture of me in my bag, because either I camp alone, or I protect it with the bivy. You get this idea though …

AT final debrief. And the next adventure …

I finally updated the AT 2016 stories page, linked to the menu above. Here is a prologue of sort to the next adventure …

I had the means, the time and the gumption. I was going to hike the Appalachian Trail (the AT), all 2,200 miles from Maine to Georgia. My plan was to start at the summit of Kathadin in early July and roll on down south to Georgia for Thanksgiving.
But you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and bobcats … I made it to the top of Kathadin, across Maine, New Hampshire and half of Vermont. 500 miles I walked. Then I landed in the hospital. Here are the stories of my hike and its unexpected left turn –> here.

As I update this page in the fall from my temporary home in New Hampshire, I now know that the sickness that landed me in the hospital was a gift. This is still 2016. The year when I asked the Universe to “surprise me”. It might even surprise you … but hold on a little bit. The next chapter is being written, and I don’t have a full grasp yet of its extent. For now, I’ll tell you that it comes with delicious green eyes (or grey, or orange, depending on the weather) and an air of certainty, of game-change, of uncharted territory.

So, stay tuned. The adventure ain’t over yet, even if the AT is temporary (or permanently) on hold.

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AT – day 44 – the unposted story 

[I still had one story written on the trail saved in my phone.  This was the day that started it all. I hiked another entire day after that one with belly pain before deciding it’d probably be wise to exit, especially since the rotten egg burps and frequent runs to the woods I had expected never came.]

Some days, I fly 20 miles up and over steep rocky mountains. Others, I drag my sorry ass 10 miles on almost perfect level terrain of soft easy pine needles. I guess it’s called balance. 

This all started last night. I knew a big storm was coming,  and I knew a nearby trail angel offered hikers dry space in a barn and breakfast in the morning. But I was enjoying my solitude in the Vermont open forest so much that I made a conscious decision to stop short a mile from town and brave whatever storm came my way instead of facing yet another crowd of new hikers. 

The storm came, and what a storm! Vermont went from drought to flood warning in a few hours. The rain was so heavy and thick that it collapsed my tent immediately. I had feared this would happen. I had pitched the tent stakes at an angle through a few inches of leaves over a solid bedrock of granite. In dry weather it probably would have held,  but in that storm, not a chance.

I got out in the downpour and dragged my tent to an area with thicker leaves. There were no loose anchoring rocks anywhere in sight, but eventually, after the n-th collapse, the tent finally stayed up. I was soaking wet by then, and still needed to hang my food bag up in a tree. Lighting crashed just over the next hill. I quickly coiled my bear line for the throw and found a worthy tree. The first two branches broke under the weight of the wet food bag – a nice full bag replenished that morning in Hanover – but the third one held. I was very pleased with myself – I can take care of myself in the wilderness. Yay! – and crawled back into my then still dry home.

I slept on and off,  woken up often by some of the loudest thunder I have ever heard. The clashing traveled from one side of the sky to the other, creating shock waves that shook the ground under my sleeping pad.  I had to contend with the usual tent leaks, and kept count of the time between lightning and thunder to gage the storm’s proximity. The closest it got was 3 seconds,  so still about half a mile away.  I don’t worry until it’s less than 3. I felt safe, in spite of the situation.  

I awoke this morning to clear skies, a dry pad and quilt (my sleeping bag is off to Western Mountaineering for refluffing of feathers – that’s another story). But, by my feet, my pack swam in a inch-deep indoor lake. The area had been level and dry the night before, but leaves cannot be trusted to hold up weight. Everything aside from my pad, borrowed quilt and the electronics in a ziplock bag was dripping wet. I sat up to assess the damage and was immediately shot back down by a sharp pain in my lower right belly. 

My brain quickly ran through its experiential files. Period cramp? Nah, too localized. Muscle cramp? Nope, too internal. Well then, I guessed I was in for some fun times ahead – rotten egg burps and frequent runs to the woods. I have a pretty good guess which of the water sources did it too. The stagnant one below the beaver dam, right after the steep uphill where I lost half my own body weight in sweat,  and 9 miles away from the next water source. That one.

This isn’t my first sick belly rodeo. I don’t filter. I treat my water by loving it. It works 99% of the time. I have long ago accepted the consequences of my unusual choices.  

So I started the day in pain,  with a pack heavy with wet gear. My pack belt occasionally unsnapped, forced open by the growing girth of my bloated belly. I just walked slower and focused instead on the beauty of rural Vermont, its sugar maple forest,  little barns and open fields of wild flowers. I was slow and bloated, but not unhappy … Until I climbed down the bank of a stream, slipped on rocks and landed smack on my tail bone. 

That pain was so intense that I laid right where I fell for a minute, with tears in my eyes and both shoes in the river – damn it, those were my dry socks! A moan escaped my lips, the polite emissary of a rising flurry of curses. I kept them all in. A family of day hikers with kids was approaching. 

“Are you alright?” The mom yelled down from the top of the bank.“I don’t know yet.” I crawled back up to her on all four and asked her to look down my pants. Nothing broken, she said, just a bit of blood from a cut right on my tail bone. “You’ll probably have a bruise.” Yep.  I expect it. 

I slowed down even more after that. Bruise in the back, bloat in the front. The forest was still beautiful. I was still mobile.  

A few painful slow miles later,  I came upon Sweet Toots, Monster and their dog, Beast, in a river. 

“It’s only going to be a 9 mile day,” Monster said,  “but we’re going to camp right here.  Look! There are pools where we can bathe!”

Good enough for me. The water was frigid, but it was nice to get the sweat and blood off my body. 

Sweet Toots (the man of the couple) built a fire,  and Monster (his wife) recounted how they met in China, where she once ran a sex toy import business. I was full of questions, and, in the back of my mind, grateful to the slow miles for the opportunity to camp with these two.

So, overall, I think this day still comes out in the positive. Now, I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep. My belly wants me on my back, my tail bone won’t have it. Also, there are mice here. I haven’t had to deal with mice in a while. 

Should be another interesting night. 

Lights out. 

Xox.

The Bobcat. 

Vermont, the beautiful. 

VT – day 1.  

Well, folks, I just moved to Vermont. 

My hospital room has been looking more like an executive’s office this morning. I’m up, in no pain, unplugged from the IV, eating solid food and I have pants on. There’s been an almost constant parade of people with paperwork in and out of the room.

J.R. from financial assistance visited.“Are you moving to Vermont?” “I can, I’m mobile.” “Good. I looked at your file, with your income (royalties from Crazy Free), you qualify for Medicaid.” – So, that’s it. This entire hospital bill, all associated follow up meds and the upcoming colonoscopy are covered. See Dad? You worry, and I tell you it’ll all work out, and it always does. 🙂

I also had the visit of Virginia, the hospital dietician. Get a load of this … I’m on a restricted fiber diet for at least a month. The anti-Melissa diet, only grain products made from white or refined flour, and as little vegetables as possible. The irony makes me giggle whenever I look at the list of food I can and can’t have. Thank God it’s temporary. If I’m gonna be moving to VT, I want to be able to indulge in all its farmers markets.

The transition/release facilitator lady was here. She is going to find me the most alternative, health-based doctor in town (Rutland). This will be my doctor when I get out of here. I don’t know what she heard out there in the corridors,  but she came in very excited to meet me. She said I’ll just love Vermont in the fall and that Rutland is a very progressive town. I guess I’ll find out. I only had time to see about one city block of it before I landed here.

Lisa the social work had to wait a bit – I almost need a secretary at this point! – but finally got to see me. She’s arranged for the last of the antibiotics to be ready at the pharmacy when I get out of here. She says I should have no problem finding work as a yoga instructor here. Two friends of hers just opened a cross-fit gym. They have a team training for the Spartan Race. She gave me her number and invited me to come and check it out when I’m all better. 

Doctor Bruce was in also. She said we might never known what I had, but all my ongoing lab cultures will be forwarded to my doctor in town, now that I’ll have one. 

And finally, Lynn, my friend Brian’s mom, who is a nurse on the 3rd floor, came by. She’ll be taking me home tonight and keep me until I get a ride to my truck, which should be later this week when my North Conway Elves come to get me. In the meantime, Lynn said I’m welcomed to use her truck for my errands. I think Brian is concerned about all the embarrassing childhood stories his mom is about to share with me. But he’s too far (on the PCT) to do anything about it. Bwaahaaaha 😁

Seriously! Why wouldn’t I want to stay in this lovely town of delightful people?  

Maybe this all thing – walking the AT, getting a bellyache, landing in the hospital, etc … was just a ploy to get me to Vermont. And North Conway is still only 2 hrs away.

So, here ends this section of my journal, and the next adventure begins. 

Thank you all for being by my side in spirit and through the electronics during this most strange of adventures. You sure know how to make a Bobcat feel loved. ❤

Xoxoxoxo. 

Rutland … for an undetermined bit. 

AT – off trail day 5 – Move to Vermont?

The nurse in charge of nurses just visited, she wanted to know how her staff is doing.  I gushed goodness about them,  of course. On the way out she said “You look way too good to be in here!” 

I feel as I look.

The doc came by yesterday and said I’ll most likely be able to get out Monday. They still dont know “who donnit”, but I’m improving by leaps each day, with only a little pressure left in that one abdominal spot.  I’ll still have to take antibiotics for 2 more weeks after I get out, and I’ll need a colonoscopy after the treatment is over. He made me promise I’d get one, looking me straight in the eyes for signs of evasion. That doc sure figured me out fast.

I promised, but also explained my financial situation. He said “I understand you are mobile and can live anywhere. If you move to Vermont, our social worker, Kate, can set up a full coverage medicare for you and you could have the colonoscopy done here.”

Well, why not? Vermont is a beautiful state and I’ve liked everyone I’ve met from here … Mmmh. Wouldn’t that be a twist in the plot?

My plan thus far is to retreat from here to The Bobcat Rehabilitation Center in North Conway, NH (i.e. my truck). I’ll have paperwork to fill and phone calls to make. Just a bit of adulting, not too much. I’ll also need to rebuild. Get all sorts of good bacteria back in my belly, healthy food in my system and get my legs moving uphill again. 

The AT’s on hold for now. I’ve got too many unknowns, financial and otherwise, to know yet what I’ll decide about it. I’m pretty confident I’m no longer thru-hiking it, but I might still catch the Smokeys in the fall, maybe Ashville to Georgia, or maybe I’ll go back to Sedona, or elsewhere, or stay in North Conway, or move to Vermont. 

The antibiotics have eradicated all former plans. Blank slate … reset. Not a bad place to be. Not a bad place at all. 

From here … Infinite possibilities

Sunset through the window of the room at the end of the hall, on the 5th floor of the Rutland Regional Medical Center. My home for a week.

AT – Off trail day 4 – Dr Mustard, in the kitchen, with the …

Good morning world! Its sunny, bright and warm in the room at the end of the hall,  on the 5th floor of Rutland Regional Medical Center. 

The IV was moved again – my hand couldn’t take the amount of substances injected, especially after the spine-arching painful dye for the CT scan traveled through. The IV is now on my left forearm  (4th location!) and my right hand is free again for writing. Yay. 

Yesterday, I had 2 CT scans (for a total of 3), 4 more blood cultures, 2 more blood tests of other kinds and  1 stool culture. I now have 3 doctors working on the case, including the general surgeon (because if the antibiotics fail, I’m going under his knife) and a newly hired specialist in infectious diseases, in case I have something of the sort. 

The CT scan shows a large inflammation in the lower right corner of the abdomen.  “The kind that would cause massive pain” the doc said – why yes, that would be the kind. Behind that,  a bit of the appendix pokes into view and it looks fine. Usually, with appendicitis, the whole thing would be inflamed, so it doesn’t look like appendicitis, but they can’t rule it out either, because they can’t see it. If it were an inflammation of the colon (forgot the name), the antibiotics should have cleared it by now, so it might not be that, but they can’t rule it out. If it was cancerous, an abscess or tumor, the sides of the inflamed area would have a definite line,  and they don’t see that, but they can’t rule them out either. I could just have an atypical one of any of those.

The blood cultures show nothing yet, but they’ve only been brewing some for a day, some for two, so nothing in there yet, or at all. Same with the stool culture. 

My blood count is normal,  vital signs of a healthy person,  still no other symptoms except for a bit of diarrhea – but then my last solid meal was roasted corn on the cob, cooked over a fire in a lookout cabin on the AT, 5 days ago. 

If it’s Giardia or another water-borne diseases, I’ve got none of the symptoms. It’d be a very atypical one, but again, they don’t rule any of them out.  

So, that’s that. Until they know, they feel the best course of action is to keep the drip of antibiotics going and keep looking. 

Meanwhile, I am actually doing much better.  I can sit up by myself,  move around, and no longer need help to the bathroom. Talk about an exercise in vulnerability and trust. Nothing like a bit of pain to drop all “I can do it myself” pride. 

The nurses and nurses aid have all been exceptional angels of love, respect and patience. Each comes with a precise unique mix of qualities they all possess. All are professional, efficient, caring, comforting, etc. but draw on these qualities in various ways. In short bursts of visits to change IV bags or take vital signs,  I get glimpses into their world.  Here, it’s all about the patients,  but outside, they are mothers, wifes, girlfriends, mountain hikers, motorcycle riders, maple syrup fudge recipe inventors, travelers, with a whole spectrum of adventure dreams and plans. My surgeon is a mountaineer and climber, waiting for his kids to be old enough to become his rope guns. I imagine not everyone gets to find out all these juicy bits, but I’m curious, and my backpack with all my gear (brought to me from the Yellow Deli Hiker Hostel by Trail Angel Tom yesterday – thank you!!!) sits on the chair reserved for visitors,  first in view when you come in the room. It’s a great conversation starter, that’s why I leave it there. 

I see the nurses the most,  but really, everybody that has come into my sphere has been absolute top-notch personel, from the transport-technicians who gives me bed rides down to the CT scan room, to the cleaning ladies, to the handsome green-eyed maintenance man who came to unclog my toilet – right, because I totally want to meet handsome men while wrapped in a saggy hospital gown, with dreadful fever bed hair! Luckily, he was also very efficient,  and out of here in two flushes. 

I’ve also had the visit of the hospital dietician – how cool is that? This hospital has a dietician! She came to enquire why my tray of mostly sugar and high fructose corn syrup water was returning to the kitchen intact. I told her that it seemed to me the last thing my body needed right now, it the midst of this epic fight to heal itself,  was nutritionally empty substances I don’t trust or usually consume. Now my tray comes with hot water, herbal tea, wedges of fresh lemon and chicken broth. 

So, overall, I’d say life is good and getting better!

Thanks again for the deluge of love and support. I am sure it’s helping, in one way or the other. 

The last solid supper – the night before I got off trail.  

AT – off trail day 3 – the mystery thickens 

This will be a short post.  They’ve moved the iv to the top of my right hand,  which makes doing phone things difficult.  

A doctor was just in here. The massive antibiotics they have me on seems ineffective (so far). Still in pain, but better than yesterday – yesterday was epic! Now I’m spiking fevers. So,  they don’t know what I have. But kudos to the doctors here for how hard they are working on it. They’ve checked for tick-born diseases,  bacterial infections … several blood tests, urine tests, etc. and now back to the CT scan in a few minutes.  I have no symptoms aside from the pain in the one spot in my belly.  

I’ve just been sleeping a bunch. I even finally befriended the incessantly beeping iv machine. I’m hurt but not unhappy. Just having a very different kind of experience than what I’m used to. Also, I can see mountains out the window (I’m on the top floor). And the moon was full last night and hovering right there.  The outside world is not too far.

Thank you for all the love making my phone buzz like mad whenever I turn it on.  

Xoxoxoxo 

AT – Off trail day 2 – The facts. 

WordPress alerted me that a whole lot of you have visited my site, looking for info, I surmise. 

I’ll write the full story when I’m in less pain and have a little more perspective.  This is just a bottom line of facts.  

I got off trail two days ago because of increasing pain in my lower right abdominal area.  I figured I’d better be in town if the apendix was the problem. I landed at the Yellow Deli hikers hostel, in Rutland VT, and slept for about 18 hrs before deciding to go to Urgent Care.  Urgent Care took one tap at my appendix and sent me to the Emergency Room. Nice people too, didn’t charge me for the visit (I have no health insurance), and the doctor gave me his cell number in case I need anything. 

I spent all afternoon yesterday in tests. CT scan, blood,  urine,  etc. The verdict is that it is most likely not the appendix,  but an inflammation of the lower colon.  Pain is the same, and the usual method is also surgery.  The doc said that, at this point,  if he was to perform surgery, he’d have to remove a big chunk of my colon,  so instead, he’s bombarding my body with antibiotics for a few days and hope that does it.  The pain is pretty intense. I think my pain scale went up a notch. I get morphine at night. 

Silly and Long Spoon, two nobo hikers I just met, and Angel Tom “plans too much” have been visiting me.  And my friend Brian’s mom, who happens to be a nurse here (what are the chances?) visited too. Tom said he’ll come back later with Miss Janet. Not how I thought I’d meet the famous Angel Miss Janet, but pretty cool still. Trail family is the best! Thank you all, trail family or not,  for your love and support!

The doc said I’ll be here a few days. I don’t know how long.  I talked with the financial dept. They said they’ll work with me to get me the most financial assistance they can. 

I’ll decide what to do about the AT when I’m back on my feet.  

That’s all.  The iv machine is beeping again,  driving me bonkers! 

Love to all. This is just an experience among many. I’m feeling good mentally. Xoxoxoxo 

The beeping nemesis.