The Ugly Truth about Living Life to the Fullest

I hear it all the time … “YOU truly live life to the fullest!”
Yeah, way to go, Roaming Bobcat! You are such an inspiration. Way to be free from society, jobs, obligations and Old World expectations, roaming by the will o’ the wisp in your valiant Catmobile, all smiles, gratitude and high vibrations.

Well, I’ll tell you what: I DO live life to the fullest. And it is not all you’ve cracked it to be…

2 days ago. My facebook status read “Sometimes, I feel so blessed, that my only hardship is humility.”
Last night. A friend offered I sleep in his driveway because I was cold, hopeless, and crying.

Crazy Free - new cover from Scott.

“Hi. I am doing a study on the homeless population in Sedona. May I ask you a few questions.”
The lady with the clipboard picked me first. Maybe because I was standing nearest the entrance at the Food Bank, waiting for my number to be called for a free bag of food to sustain me for the week. Maybe because of my three layers of down vests and jackets, the classic look of those of us without a heated space on cold winter nights. Or maybe it was my matted hair – she couldn’t guess of my choice to grow dread locks to celebrate my passage through menopause. Or something about my unhurried pace – letting mothers and people with jobs get ahead in line. I have nowhere else to be, and nothing else to do.
“I’m not homeless.” I told her. “I live in my truck, so I always have my home with me.”
She had a checkbox for that on her form. Vehicle dwellers count as homeless.
“No, I have no income.”, “No, I don’t have health insurance.” “No, I don’t pay taxes” “No, I don’t have electricity.” “No, I don’t use any substance, no drugs, no alcohol” … She had a checkbox for each of my answers.
“Well, I’m not your typical homeless person though,” I could hear the defensiveness in my voice. I mean, I live the way I live “by choice.”
She had a checkbox for that too.

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2 days ago, the Catmobile and I pulled into Slab City, California. The “City” appears on Google Maps as a small cluster of square blocks, complete with streets (Loners on Wheels Rd, Tank Rd, etc.) and neighborhoods (East Jesus, West Satan, etc.) But, in fact, it’s little more than a haphazard congregation of  “homeless” people of the wheeled kind, a mingling (not mixing) of nomadic hippie artists, air-conditioned northern sun-seekers, off-season disoriented burners, and Alexander Supertramp followers.


I fall slightly in all categories, but mostly in the latter.
The first time “Into the Wild” landed in my hands, I was a National Science Foundation Fellow with more annual grant money for my geophysics research than all the paychecks and under-the-table money I have earned combined in the 7 years since I threw caution to the wind and leaped into this strange life I now call my own. That book sparked something wild and unstoppable in me. I didn’t see the tragedy of a troubled young man’s untimely death; I read of a vibrant explorer with the balls to go for it, explore the edges, and follow only his own footsteps, to whatever end.

In time, I’ve become my own Alexander Supertramp. I’ve lived as I pleased, following nothing but my own wishes. I’ve run out of money, repeatedly – to a documented low of $2.62. I’ve slept in the dirt (as a thru-hiker) and on sidewalks (in Cuba). I’ve forgone showers and piled hundreds of thousands of miles on my odometer. I collected friends all over the country, with names as strange as Last on the Bus, the Big Elf, Grey Wolf, Weathercarrot, Quest or Rapunzel. Enough money has always appeared when needed, and not once did I use any one of my 4 college degrees. I taught yoga, posed as a nude model for art classes, worked as a Grand Canyon guide, painted buildings and houses, restored historical windows, dug trenches, shoveled pig and chicken shit, weeded organic gardens, trimmed marijuana, wrote a book about my adventures, and lived off the royalties for a while … and, I’ve had to borrow money, dumpster-dive (mostly for pies). I’ve sung Hare Krishna songs for a free meal, and occasionally relied on food banks and the kindness of strangers. Like Alexander, I joined the ranks of society’s misfits, roamed the desert southwest, and even moved to Alaska.

But our parallel stops there. Because his life stopped then, and mine hasn’t.

salvation mountains

Standing on top of Salvation Mountain, I sent Alexander Supertramp my love and gratitude for the inspiration. gratitude for all the adventures, the friends and the overwhelming freedom inherent to living life this way – our way! I then parked the Catmobile among my misfit peers, and basked in the glow of a gorgeous sunset from the comfort of my pillow. I felt like the Grand Winner of the Jackpot of Life, and fell asleep fully contented about everything in my world.

Alexander was older now. He was walking through the desert, but only I could see him. The rows of RVs had their generators going. That was in the world. So, the noise from the world was in my dream. I was relatively sure this was a dream. I could date Alexander since I could see him. He’d be my invisible boyfriend.
“You died just in time.” I told him. “If you had continued on, you’d have run out of steam, eventually.” He wasn’t listening, but he held my hand as we walked. “All that freedom, it’s exhausting after a while.” Still not listening. “It’s like having so many options paralyzes you, because how can you choose when everything is available?”
There was a banquet for a wedding. A table covered with delectable meals. All of which I had tasted already. He sat and ate.
“Alexander, I think I don’t want to be homeless anymore. I want a kitchen, and a bathtub, a garden to grow my own food, a room for my sewing machine, and a yoga studio nearby where I can teach, and a steady income to buy gear and pay for adventures.”
“Then stop.” He kissed my temple just before I drifted elsewhere, to another dream.

supertramp
skinny slit separatorThere were no restrooms anywhere in Slab City, and no bushes thick enough to hide behind, so I left before sunrise, at the urgent request of my bowels. Then I drove 2 hours and almost ran out of gas before finding both gas and a bathroom.

“Then stop.” he had said. Well, but, I can’t. Just like I can’t stop in Slab City if I need to poo. There’s this urge to always move on. A fear of missing out if I don’t. I can’t go back to where I was before I got on this journey, because, at this point, it’s so far ago and I’m such a different person that I wouldn’t even fit at all “back there.”
And, also, I don’t want to stop for the sake of stopping. I want to stop because I find a spot or situation that I deem worthy of stopping. I’m not just gonna pull in the middle of the desert and say “I stop here. Here’s just fine.”

And what if I did stop? There were towns along the way where I’ve considered stopping, like North Conway, NH or Sedona, AZ. Would I build a peaceful hole to call my own? Get a steady job? A job would bind my daily hours, and the assorted taxes, insurances and utilities would bind my income. So I’d have the money for adventures and gear, and no time to partake in them. The eternal dilemma … I think I’d just shrivel up under the weight of a life ill-fitted to my particular genetic makeup. In fact, I’ve tried to stop in each of these towns. It didn’t take.

When I finally pulled into Sedona, and caught my first glimpse of Thunder Mountain, tears welled up in my eyes. Tears of sadness. An overwhelming sense of stagnation washed over me. I was here again. I always returned here when I didn’t know where else to go. Why? Why always Sedona? Because it’s easy. Because I know I can camp out in the desert, and get my mail at friends’ addresses, and meet people for tea, and hike trails I’ve hiked a hundred times without having to buy a map or ask strangers. I have a “spot” here. Just having this “spot” made me feel stagnant. So, not only I can’t stop, but I can’t return too often either. A pretty dire case of wanderlust!

Then I drove through town – for the first time in over a year. My favorite yoga studio is now closed, as is my favorite coffee shop. Most of the pullouts in the desert now have “no camping” signs, and worse … there is a “camping” sign on my secret road, leading straight to my secret spot – “My” spot, where I have spent months, where I know each cat-claw bush, coyote song and firewood pile. There was a massive camp in “my” spot, with enough water to last an entire season.

So, here is where it stands. The Sedona I always return to no longer exists. It changed while I was gone. So, I can stay here and pretend it’s a new town. and I know I’d discover new “spots” and meet new people. I could even find work here – I have contacts- and save enough to hike the CDT – my next dream adventure.

Oooor … I could go somewhere else, someplace new. Anywhere. I can go anywhere at all. I can go soooo anywhere that I don’t even know where I’d go.

And THAT is the ugly truth about living life to the fullest. How do you define who you’d like to be when infinity represents the boundary of what you can create? How do you narrow it down? How do you remain content with your choices when you can just look over the fence and see the green grass of a small home with a kitchen and a bath? How do you ward off stagnation when movement becomes your norm? How do you reconcile growing your own organic vegetables when you are addicted to the view outside your 32 square foot window to always, always, always be different?

What would Alexander have done, if he hadn’t died?

desert

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P.S: So … I started writing this posted “The Ugly Truth about Living Life to the Fullest” intending to write about how, often, people think I live in a state of La La Land-happiness about how awesome my life is. And anyone on Facebook could easily think that, because I only post when I’m happy. The “Ugly Truth” I wanted to write about is that life comes with great joys and deep sadness, moments of despair and confusion, the whole gamut. The key to “living fully” is NOT to be happy all the time, it is to live everything that happens. Reject nothing, it’s all good … that’s what I came here today to write about, and then, my fingers wrote something else entirely. Probably something I needed to read myself, to know where I’m at. Live Blog Therapy, of sort.

And also, this morning, as the story was writing itself, I got an offer to go live in a cob house with a friend in Colorado. I’d still have the truck as a bedroom, but there would be a kitchen and bathroom, and a wood stove, and a room I could make into an office to finally record that audio book I started years ago. And it’s in a spot I’ve never visited before. So … ??? Stay tuned.

Thank you for reading! XOXOX

[drawing of the two ladies on the cliff by my friend N.Scott Driscoll as a potential new cover for Crazy Free]

 

 

 

 

 

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The last frontiers: Alaska, menopause and ascension.

I’ve been shifting – transforming. I’ve known some process was at hand, but I didn’t know what I was shifting into. And I might still not know, but I will write about it anyway.

I came to Alaska because the thought of doing so caused me such joy that I knew it was right. It was a case of ultimate follow-your-bliss, with a potency similar to what propelled me to walk the PCT or write Crazy Free. Pure must-do.

I came, and now I am leaving again, with no regrets. The long meditative miles, the physical work at the ranch and the Alaska environment precipitated the shift. Or maybe the time simply had come. I’ve been told that, from the outside, my life looks like constant uprooting. It seems chaotic, unsettled, maybe even pointless. Am I lost? Looking for something? Drifting aimlessly from place to place?

“You drove all the way to Alaska, only to turn around. That makes no sense.”
Sense is not something I concern myself with. Only growth interests me.

This is really 3 posts in one, but I view them as inseparable. As within, so without. Alaska was a perfect backdrop for the life metamorphosis I have embarked upon, which is a stepping stone experience in my greater quest for higher consciousness.

Alaska

alaska1My two favorite things about Alaska are the trees and the people, for opposite reasons.

The trees here carry some of the gentlest energy of any forest I have been lucky to meet. I mistakenly interpreted their short stature as the result of logging when I first arrived. But the land is so vast, it was unlikely that all of it could have been logged. Then I learned of the growth limit imposed on their roots by the frozen ground of intense winters. Trees can only grow as tall as their roots will support – the same is true for humans. Such gentle trees adapted to such harsh conditions. I have enjoyed their company and learning about the medicine they offer, and I will miss them when I leave.

The people here are some of the hardiest I’ve met. If it’s needed, it must be designed, built, foraged, trapped, hunted, raised, grown or self-created somehow. Summer lasts three months. The rest of the year is a dark and cold game of survival in which humans and Nature are on equal footing. This common vulnerability breeds strength, community, respect and humility. When I first arrived, I saw a world of diesel fumes, barb wires, guns and dead beasts’ skins. But it only took meeting a few locals to realize my preconception-perception goggles were distorted.  The cycle of life is simply streamlined from birth to table, and it is entirely in plain view. There are no hidden massive production, transportation, packaging, marketing, shelving. There is also little waste. Resources are too scarce to waste. When a beast is killed, necessary food is provided. When trees are cut, a cabin is built. When a cabin is dismantled, all pieces are saved for the next project.

When I said hardy, I did not mean harsh. As anyone knows who has lived off-the-grid, the smaller the community, the tighter the bond. The size of Alaskans’ hearts are a match for the land. The mountains, tundra and all of wild Alaska are breath-taking. But the real gold here, I found, is the people. I learned a lot here, especially from Goose and Pinky, the caretakers at the ranch, and masters at dancing the fine line between adventure and homesteading. I will see them again. Alaska is only a few gorgeous thousand miles away. My little trail brother, Kristo the Lion, has found home here and will be staying. Another reason to come back and visit some day.

I always wanted to come to Alaska, and now I have. If I had landed here when I was 25 years old, I probably would have stayed. But my days of needing to prove myself have passed. I just know I could thrive here, and therefore I don’t need to choose to experience it, not even for one summer. There is only so much lifetime left and priorities of experiences must be made. Which brings me to the next topic …

Menopause

Woman-Goddess-Nut-by-Maya-CointreauI think it is reasonable to assume that I can and will live to 94 years old. Which makes this year, 2017, the exact middle of my life. When I look back at everything I have created so far for myself, I get stupidly teary-eyed with gratitude. But just when I thought I had finally reached my cruising speed and altitude, comfortable in my own skin and living my dream of a nomadic off-the-grid life, metamorphosis began again.

My favorite thing about menopause so far are the hot flashes. Seriously. The sensation is similar to drinking a good whiskey, except instead of a traceable warmth down the throat and into the belly, the heat radiates from any starting location in the body and expands until it fills it fully. I love to watch it spread, like the flow of a private inner hot spring. The covers fly off. And 5 minutes later, I’m scrambling to gather them back. Hot flashes make me giggle.

The other physical symptoms, I love less. I traded periods for monthly migraines, which prompted me to research natural medicine with a greater sense of urgency. My eye-sight acuity is now inconsistent, but my sense of smell is keener, which makes working on a hog ranch a real challenge. My brain gets cloudy. Some days, I’m just plain dumb. Functionally dumb – I can still read about and understand the intricacies of quantum physics, but I just can’t fathom how to put that pin in that hole that ties the whatchamacallit to the tractor, or remember where I put my glasses. My physical strength so far seems unaffected. “The old that is strong does not wither” (Bilbo Baggins). She might not wither, but neither is she thinner. I can walk, shovel or dig all day until my muscles are pumped and my core is solid. And still, the good bits sag and the middle thickens.

The greatest ride of this metamorphosis, however, is in my mind. All the moody moons of the past decades culminate now. And I cannot falter in my self-awareness or the thoughts take over and drive me nuts. All the stored repressed feelings, fear, guilt, shame, etc. are coming up, amplified. Menopause – isn’t that what happens to old people? Should I prepare myself for the crone stage of life? I’m probably too fat to be loved anyway. I should just be a spinster with a bun on my head and a cat on my lap in a rocking chair. I watch thoughts and feelings arise, and breathe through them until they move on. It helps me to think of it as a detoxification process. Whatever I see is no longer hidden. Like with a thru-hike pack shakedown, I get a chance to decide what I want to carry for the next leg of the journey, or not. It took 47 years to acquire and store all these internal dramas, so I expect the process might take a little while. But I’m on it – like a hawk.

I created most of the experiences of the first half of my life unconsciously. Given the same number of years forward, and now in full awareness, if I do this transition right, the second half of my life should be spectacular.

Ascension

Accessing_Higher_Levels_of_Consciousness__WOUNDS_David_Icke__GrEENZILLA__158215Ascension is a funny term with unfortunate religious connotations. I’m not physically ascending anywhere or leaving my physical body to become a “light being”. Like the trees, I am growing deeper roots so my canopy can reach higher. Higher what? Higher vibrational frequencies, higher levels of self-awareness, higher consciousness and clearer perception of how and why I create what I perceive to be reality.

It’s an ongoing growth journey. And each stage (an arbitrary division on a continuum) seems like an achievement. But I have long understood that enlightenment is a verb, not a destination. And anything I think, say or write, could be revealed as over-simplistic or inaccurate at the next stage. The climb itself is the sought-after experience, not the standing at the summit. Which is why I still use the term “ascension”.

While my body was exploring the rawness of Alaska, and my mind releasing the densest stored energies about and within me, a new knowing entered my consciousness. I felt it coming for a while. I’ve been feeling restless and unsettled. Then one morning, at 4 am, it revealed itself – “The mind that sees all paths, sees the map, and therefore no longer needs to choose a path.”

The understanding that came with it was visceral and wordless with ramifications extending to all experiences and connections past, present and future. The vantage point extended beyond (and including) the body, the self, the higher self to Source itself.  The timeless blue-print behind the script of reality and the scaffolding of beliefs through which stories are told about the script, are in my own handwriting. Like a beating heart, consciousness expands and contracts from self to Source and back again. Because it is more exciting “down here” and less chaotic “up there”. On the screen of my mind, the world is a perfect reflection of everything I am -everything that composes “me”- and vice versa – “my” experiences and “my” self (the experiencing part of consciousness) are locked in a chicken-and-egg dance, an Ouroboros meal. Why create reality? Absolutely everything is a choice of an experience, a keystone detail, the most important thing ever to exist. That’s why.

And, simultaneously, none of it matters … including this so-called ascension process. All of it is make-pretend. How awesome and freeing is that? No need to work so hard to manifest/create something better. It’s already perfect and inconsequential. “There is nowhere to go, nothing to see, no one to meet, nothing to read.” (Christopher Loren)

So, let’s just have fun with it. I get to be a middle-aged goddess. And I get to live in Alaska for another day or so, before the truck and I point south again, to Nelson, British Columbia, for the next adventure.

Some people take drugs for insights … I drive 3000 miles every month 🙂

May all your creating be delicious.
Thank you for sharing this experience with me.

XOX

Roaming Bobcat.

Fearless – 5 secrets to survive your new love in a tiny home

“2 people. 32 square feet. And barely enough cash to get to where we’re going. What could go wrong?”

Previously, on the Roaming Bobcat … remember how I met a man in Maine, a new sparkly love, and invited him to travel back to the desert Southwest and live in the truck with me for the winter? Right, because living in 32 sq feet wasn’t challenging enough by myself, I guess.
I seriously questioned my sanity at the time, and I panicked a few times before departure. But in the end, you know what killed the cat … There was no way I was leaving without him. We left fearlessly on December 1st and traveled “all over this great Earth”, as Jim liked to say. Here’s a map of our roaming adventures. jimandmeltravels

8,700 miles in total we traveled. From the sand dunes of Death Valley, to the gigantic Redwoods of northern California, via the Sierra Nevada, the rocky mountains, the Cascades, the wind-swept Wyoming plains, through a couple of hot springs, a sunset over the Pacific Ocean, a years’ worth of Brussels sprouts and a new love for green chilies.

Jim flew home a week ago, a month later than he had originally planned.
“Come here, Lovey Bumpers.” he said right before crossing the TSA queuing line. I cried as I watched him leave, and that was a good thing. That meant we still loved each other, after all this.

So here is a short list of advice for you, if you wish to embark on such an adventure. 5 lessons I’ve learned from our wild journey, and also a few insights on what I wish I had done differently.

  1. Unjustified confidence.
    Before we left, Jim predicted we’d make it. When I asked how he was so sure, he replied “unjustified confidence.” He was right, as long as we both chose to believe that we would make it, our perspective-goggles remained focused on what did go right instead of what could go wrong. This self-congratulating attitude set the stage to create more of the same. If there are ups, there must be downs, and vice-versa. So as the roller-coaster goes, keep your eyes on the horizon. I failed at this a little bit. When it was up, I assumed it would keep going that way. When it was down, I quickly jumped to cutting bait conclusions and threatened to fly the man home. I wanted justified confidence, but sometimes, I’ve learned, keeping the peace just takes good ol’ blind faith.
  2. Com-mu-ni-ca-tion.
    You cannot sit and stew, when you live in 32 sq. feet with someone else. You might think you’re avoiding an argument, but your heart is emitting the energy of the unspoken words you’re attempting to save your partner from. And said partner picks up that energy unconsciously and projects onto it much worse than the actual problem at hand. So speak up, whatever it is. Clear up the air early with truthful, calm, open communication. After a month of adapting to each other, Jim and I established a daily “check in” – a safe place where whatever was coming up or moving through us could be shared. I loved the daily check-ins. In hindsight, I wish I had learned sooner that if frustration reaches a boiling point, it is best to walk out into the desert or the forest and discharge that energy first, before the check-in. I mean, isn’t that why we live in our vehicles? So we can have all this open space at our disposal? Use it. Open space doesn’t mind loud noises, but your partner does.
  3. Respect all Alien life
    Living with someone in the truck’s tiny space is like having a microscope on full zoom on each other’s quirks. 90% of the time, these quirks will make no sense to you whatsoever. Why do you need to keep this desiccated piece of wood? He just does. Why must I wear pajamas in bed? Because it’s my bed and I said so. Men are from Mars, women are from Venus, but your beloved will suddenly seem straight outta Alpha Centory’s third left moon. This is a good time to sit back, relax, and dismantle. We are all programmed from birth to what society and our parents deemed right and good. Others’ programs might overlap, or they might not. We only get upset if we believe that our programming is superior. Understand, it is not. On the partner’s home-world, that quirk is what is right and good. And if you can laugh at the differences, you get bonus points.As a recommended extra step… Reinforce respect with daily small appreciations.
    “Thank you for packing the truck this morning.” “Thank you for the hot water for tea.” “Thank you for driving me all over this great big Earth.” Feeling seen and appreciated fills up the space with good vibes and makes the aliens feel at home.
  4. Space and your personal frontiers
    No matter how tight you like to snuggle, you will need breathing space to survive. And it might happen that it is pouring rain out, for days, and that neither of you feels like walking out into the cold. In such times, a good skill is the ability to create a bubble of privacy in your mind. Quiet space is private space. You can also sleep in opposite directions. Having someone’s feet by your face somehow feels more private than breathing their breath. Keeping a private journal and separate social media are essential. One partner can also get dropped off at a coffee shop or a library for a few hours. If the rain stops, then go ahead and walk away. Hike different trails, find each other at the top. Consciously choose different experiences to ensure that you always have some exciting stories to share with each other.
  5. Strap yourself in and feel the Gs.
    If this was a “normal” relationship, one or both partners would go to work all day and reunite for a few minutes between dinner and some TV show in the evening. On the road, a two-year relationship gets crammed into each week. So, you can expect two years worth of “stuff” coming up in that time-span. Here you are, thinking you’re on a geographic journey … 8,700 miles, 20 states, 5 national parks, etc. That is nothing compared to the internal space explored. The person with whom you started at mile 0 is gone by mile 1,000, and they’re not coming back. They were changed by the shared experience and by the constant contact with you. And you are different too, even if you don’t see it. Feelings, expectations, plans, preferences – everything changes. Your partner is not inconsistent, he or she is evolving. So, support their growth with love, and honor yours with self-respect, because in the end that is what the journey is all about – that, and nothing else.These are the biggies on my mind at the moment. But Jim only left a week ago, and I suspect I will continue learning as layers of memories are revealed in order of increasing subtlety, like layers of an onion.

    Until the next adventure …
    Jim and I
    To Jimmy James. Thank you!
    XOX – Loves.

Lunacy

​Lunacy. A real thing.  Alone on the Wolf Moon in a desert I love,  like so many other nights.  Midnight. A truck full of screaming drunken men races up my dirt road. There’s metal banging.  The engine roars. I can’t tell if the scream is of pain or joy. I feel the fight or flight hormones rushing through. The truck is now open and I’m ready. I could run and hide up the hill.  I know this desert better than they do.  And leave my truck open to vandalism?  Never. What weapons do I have? 1 ice axe, 2 fire staffs. No gun. No need. I wouldn’t shoot. I know this. The screams are closer now. Pots and pans must be tied to the bumper. What feeling is this?  The opposite of feeling safe. Would I feel safer if Jim was here?  I can’t rely on others for my feeling safe. Would I feel safer if I believed I was safe? Yes. I used to believe. I don’t know why it changed. Would I remain aware and believing in a loving, kind universe if these men got here? Fascinated by the inner dialog, I feel it all,  like an observer and a potential victim both.  

They turn around less than 20 feet from the truck. I am parked on a muddy dead end road.  They never saw me.  I find their tracks in the morning. They drove back and forth through the thickest of the mud. They broke some trees and drove over cacti. 

I follow their tracks all the way to the paved road. They were on a rampage. Mayhem and destruction everywhere they drove. I knew their path before I saw it. As they left the desert, I could hear their screams and see their red fading lights for miles. I wished those lights stay red.  Don’t turn around. Don’t come back here,  lunatic wolf moon madmen.

[Reposted here from a Facebook post from a few days ago]

*the Wolf Moon is the first full moon of the year. 

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 D-01. Pre-partum

Last minute inventory. Gear is packed. Check. Truck has a home for 5 months. Check. Bobcat is ready … question mark.

I don’t actually have a choice. The thought of not walking the trail makes me much too sad to even consider. But, this is definitively a different trail, and I am definitively a different person.

When I say I’m a “different person”, I don’t mean the gentle meme version with the inspirational quote about embracing change and one’s natural evolution. No, this past week I went through a complete alien takeover. The alien who occupied my body was a freaked out basket case. Suddenly, I was afraid of encountering bears, of getting Giardia from unfiltered water, of running out of money, of being lonely out in the woods, of sleeping on hard, cold ground, and of feeling trapped in the green tunnel for months. My foot started to hurt, the tip of my pole bent, my headlamp disappeared, I couldn’t get a ride to Katahdin. I cried a few times and hid in my truck in the woods. Total dismantling of the Bobcat I know. Where was the superhero cape wearing fearless woman of the PCT, the one who talks to bear and filters water by loving it?

The new moon has come and gone. I survived the wave of doubts. Not sure what that was all about. Maybe it was the moon. Maybe I was PMSing. Maybe the sudden contrast between the desert southwest and all this New England green threw me off. Or maybe the AT was sizing me up. It sent its thought-form ambassadors ahead to run through my mind every possible horror scenario to see if I’d shrivel away. Meet the guardian at the gate, the first selective round before being granted the privilege of walking the trail.

I’m glad I freaked out. I needed to be certain. Decisions made in the desert need not always be upheld in the forest, and I am committed to following my heart even when it changes its mind. If I had discovered that I no longer wanted to walk, I would have postponed or canceled without qualms. But through the fears, doubts and obstacles, my AT dream remains. I passed the first test and was rewarded with my first bundle of trail magic, all delivered within a 24 hour period. The moment I said “Yes, I’m walking this trail, no matter what. Even if I have to beg, hitchhike, fast, hunt and limp.”the sky opened up and fireflies filled it. I have a ride to Katahdin, an unexpected rise in book sales royalties, new tips for my poles, a gift of a new headlamp and some Arnica for my foot. All will be well after all.

I start the AT where others finish. My first carry will be my heaviest and longest of the whole trail. 8 days through the hardest and most remote section – the 100 mile Wilderness. I feel like I’m stepping in complete unknown once again. Man oh man. Excited, scared, psyched, nervous, rapidly cycling on repeat.

I suppose it wouldn’t be as fun if it wasn’t scary. Right?

Next post will be from the trail …

 

 

 

 

My 32 square foot home – the bedroom

Some day, in a distant future, I might again live indoors, with a ceiling, running water and indoor plumbing. I imagine at that point I’ll look back on my current life and wonder “how the hell did I fit my entire life in 32 sq fit for all these years?” So, in case you are curious too, and since I am cleaning the truck anyway … here is how:

Bed of truck (bedroom)- 6X4 = 24 sq ft
Behind the seats in the cab – 2X4 – 8 sq ft

Part 1 – the bedroom.
20160610_155059Blank canvas. Almost … 6X4 truck bed outfitted with Vision high ceiling cap, 6 climbing bolts (3 on each sides), metal wire shelves and Tibetan prayer flags.

20160610_155238Side shelves, design of my own – plywood sheet cut and joined with piano hinges, rest on the wheel base, held in the bed liner grooves.

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Waterproof barrier. The shell has been leaking for a few years in spite of having the seals redone. This keeps my mattress dry.

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Ikea firm mattress, with zippered cover. Makes it easy to wash.

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1.5″ memory foam – the secret ingredient in the camping->home alchemy.

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Jersey cotton sheet stretch to fit. Regular sheet are almost impossible to get smooth in this setup. The secret ingredient in the home->palace alchemy.

20160610_175359_Richtone(HDR)Lower shelves. On the right, trash bags, winter hiking boots, stove and fuel box (alcohol stove, windscreen, lighter, funnel for fuel and spare straps), zero degree sleeping bag and winter camping pad. On the left, hiking poles, hiking shoes and sun shade for the side windows, bag of climbing gear and mountaineering bivy bag. Bedding goes underneath the shelves when not in use.

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Middle shelves. On the right, bedside basket (toothbrush, toothpaste, earplugs, pencils, headlamp, solar lantern, solar lamp, pocket knife, assorted crystals, bio-tune tuning fork, Ganesha statue found in the sea on Nantucket island), medicine box (lotion, vitamins, tiger balm). On the left, book shelf (books in progress, coloring books and pencils, local hiking maps, journal). On the shelf-above-the-feet, denatured alcohol (fuel), water ninja (1 gallon, in a tee shirt for protection), kitchen box (pots, pans, etc), food box (including a full spice rack and nice selection of oils and vinegars), nuts and seeds box, small suitcase of clothes. Welcoming mat for the tailgate.

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Top shelves. To the right, tea box (great assortment of green and herbal teas) and wolf-friend, utility box (scissors, batteries, lighters, candles, tampons, sage bundle, pins, compass, pens and pencils, spare reading glasses), towel, bathroom bag. To the left, hats and gloves box, socks box (I’m packed to be gone all winter, possibly for a couple of years), underwear and truck window curtains. Back shelf, jackets (rain and puffies), pants (yoga, work pants and 1 pair of jeans). Protective sheet of plywood slides under the mattress for sleeping.

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Driving mode – the boxes come down from the shelf-above-the-feet for a clear view out the back. Toys come in (2 fire staffs on the right, a hula hoop on the left) and cooler in the back for easy access.

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Final touch for New Hampshire departure. This time I’m also packing a bin of climbing gear (ice climbing tools, ropes, crampons, ice climbing boots, mountaineering boots, harness, helmet, etc …) and a pair of AT skis.

All that is left is to decorate.

“Courage cannot be tested cautiously” (with the sea horse).
“Follow your heart and know you are loved.” (note from Margaret)
The green bungee cord holds the recorder I use to create the audible version of Crazy Free. It hooks to the other side of the truck when in use, rests on the same side when not in use.

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This one is indispensable for extended stays in the desert. It has been on the wall of several brick and mortar bedrooms before gracing the side of the truck.

That’s the bedroom. Next, the living room (cab)).

Appalachian Trail. Gear Check.

[Update … wooohoooohoo. Got some heat for that post. I’ve removed the “adopt a cat” (donation) button at the bottom of the post. Sensitive business, I guess, suggesting others help you fund your hike. I’ve supported others in the past, so I thought nothing of it. Now I know. Hey, it’s all good. I was just trying something new, and apparently it doesn’t fit. The AT is happening, regardless. I have left the missing bits in red. I’m not suggesting anyone get them for me – Cheers!]

AT GEAR LIST (in red are the missing bits)
Planned start 7/4/2016 – Kathadin, southbound Maine to Georgia.

The big 4:
Shelter – Six Moon Trekker – 24 oz
I only used a bivy bag on the PCT, and cowboy-camped every night until mid-Washington.
For the AT, I expect a lot more “weather”. I just purchased Onager’s (PCT 2012) tent. A sweet Six Moon Trekker with side entrance.
Pack – Ray Way home-made pack – ~ 11 oz
I meant to use my home-made pack again on the AT, but the trip to Cuba finished it off – it’s time to let it go. It came back from Cuba held together by Duct Tape, and I had to put a pack cover over it while hitchhiking across the US because potential rides thought me a homeless person. I’ll be sewing a new one, same design, same color, same belt.
$89 for the fabric and instructions from Ray Way website.
Sleeping bag – Western Mountaineering Ultralite 20 degree mummy bag – 16 oz
My Western Mountaineering love will be of the journey again. I’ve been sleeping in that bag since 2011, almost nightly. It’s a little thin and flattened. Western Mountaineering suggested I wash it 4 times with Dr. Bronner’s soap to get all the oil out of the feathers. The first wash did fluff it up a bit, I’ll keep going. If I’m still cold in it, they’ll put feathers back in the bats for a maximum of $30.
Sleeping pad – Therma-rest Trail Scout 3/4 length – 14 oz
The same one I had on the PCT. I place my pack under my feet to complete the length to 5’4″. I sleep well on it.
==> ~ 4 Lbs

Kitchen
My thru-hike cooking system is the exact same one I use in the truck every day. I’m actually a thru-hiker on wheels:
Alcohol stove with aluminum wind screen, denatured alcohol bottle, REI 1.2 L titanium pot with lid and 1 nalgene bottle to make hot water bottles on chilly nights and for re-hydration the rest of the time.
I will use the same water purification system I used on the PCT – hold the water to my heart and ask “Please don’t make me sick. I love you. Thank you.” It’s worked so far.
==> ~ 1.7 Lbs with a filled fuel bottle

Ditty bag for the day
The same one I had on the PCT, which I also use in the truck.
Plastic spoon, pocket knife, lighter, MP3 player, headphones.
I’m leaving the harmonica behind this time, replacing it with an iphone and a way to charge said iphone on the trail so that I may write stories on the go.
Need – solar charger? battery pack? Not sure how to work this out yet.
==> ~ 5 oz before the phone and charging system TBD

Ditty bag for the night
The same one I had on the PCT, which I also use in the truck.
Small journal, 2 pencils, headlamp, toothbrush+toothpaste (REI Toob – love it!), clean wipes, small bottle of Purell (or hippy equivalent).
Because there are so many towns along the AT, I won’t carry a supply of tampons or spare batteries as I did on the PCT.
I will add some coconut oil in a small container, which will serve both for cooking, lotion, hair conditioner and other things (“other things” ☺ )
==> ~ 10 oz before the coconut oil. I need to find a tight, lightweight container for it.

Clothes
I’m still sitting on this. I have everything I need and could look exactly as I did on the PCT – Prana hiking pants, blue home-made tank top, black Patagonia shirt, Patagonia puffy, Mountain hardwear lightweight rain layer, Cascadia 7 shoes. I have all the pieces. They are my “Grand Canyon guide outfit”. But, I’m thinking I’d like to add a little fashion, a little sass, to my AT hike. I’m thinking yoga pants, purple skirt, colorful scarf … they just can’t be cotton is all.
We’ll see what finds me between now and Kathadin …

Misc
My trusted hiking poles will also be of the journey.
I’m thinking about not taking a camera, since I’ll have the phone.
Maps? Are there maps for the AT?
Compass – probably

Food
This is the one area where I foresee my AT hike will be much different from my PCT hike.
I ate well on the PCT, especially compared to others, but still succumbed to the temptation of cheap options, like Ramen, Pasta Sides and such. In my perfect world, there’ll be none of that on the AT. This Bobcat runs on clean food. I am devising a whole food trail diet. I plan on carrying green freshies, raw cacao, chia seeds, almond butter, coconut oil. I am looking for clean proteins beyond packet tuna and canned Vienna sausages.
I can hike the trail on the extremely limited budget I have.
I can hike the trail with a whole food diet and finish healthier than I start – rather than gaunt and with no muscle mass as I have before.
I’m just not sure I can do both.
I’m estimating about $100 a week for food, taking into account the increased quantities needed. This includes no town meals – just me and my food bag. For a 20-week hike, that’s $2000 just for food. Right now I have about $600 and 3 months to departure.
I think it can be done … especially if someone adopts a cat!

Would you like to adopt part of a cat? It can be a small part!
It all goes to the AT fund. If you do, contact me in person, or visit my Crazy Free book page …

Thank you for being in my world!

XOXO – The Roaming Bobcat

appalachiantrail

 

Ten lessons from the trail

My good friends Northstar and Shutterbug recently posted “Five lessons from the Trail“. I loved their post. The content rang exactly true for me. Inspired by their example I decided to add a few of my own.

First, here are the first five (by Northstar and Shutterbug):
http://wanderingthewild.com/2012/11/12/five-lessons-from-the-trail/

Senses awaken in nature. People are goodHike your own hike. Fewer possessions is freeing.  Wilderness is home

To these I would like to add …

Joy is our natural state. On the trail life is reduced to its most basic necessities: water, food, sleep, shelter, safety from the elements and natural beauty. Because our minds are freed from having to handle what Northstar and Shutterbug call the constant jumble of sensory information, we are open to tackle deeper and deeper levels of thought. Because the trail is so long, at some point we run out of things to ponder, analyze, consider or solve. When that happens, the void that is left seems to immediately be filled with a sense of joy and peace. So, at our most basic level, underneath it all, this must be our natural state.

Life is a mirror (you get what you give). I have experienced this more than once on the trail: If I approach the road in a joyful and optimist state, I wait for a hitch less than five minutes; if I approach it with a bad attitude, it will be a long while before I get picked up. The kindness and generosity we received as hikers I believe is in direct correlation to our own state of open-mindedness. The opposite is true also. Fear attracts scary situation. People who feared bears had bear encounters. I started the trail worried about poisonous plants and managed to get poison oak on one leg and poodle-dog-bush on the other. When I became grateful for the cortisone cream two generous hikers gave me, the oozy mess cleared up over night.

All you need is love and gratitude. Somewhere in the first few hundred miles of the trail, I became so frustrated with my UV water purifier and so jacked up on iodine that I stopped using any sort of water treatment. Instead, I held the water to my heart and told it, sincerely, “I love you, please don’t make me sick, thank you”. If you have read some of my previous posts, you know that the method proved excellent the whole trail, including with that one batch of “bear pooh water” (see “I believe in angels”). Inspired by my success, I also used this method as sunscreen (I love you Sun, please don’t burn me, thank you), bug-repellent (I love you spider, please stay off my tarp, thank you) and holographic deck (I love you trail, could I get a shady spot, mosquito free, by some water, thank you). Seriously, it works. Try it for yourself.

Freedom is an intrinsic quality. Before I left, a good friend told me that the PCT would likely be the one place where I could find enough space to accommodate my humongous need for freedom. All former thru-hikers I have met mention “freedom” as the greatest gift they received from the trail. All that fresh air, clean water and open space seeps into your soul and sticks. I think freedom is always in us, but sometimes our vision of it is clouded. Once we touch that quality within us, it remains wherever the end of the trail finds us. Some of us continue to wander, travel, explore or hike; others return to former lives and jobs from an expanded perspective. In all cases, you can take the hiker off the trail, but not the trail out of the hiker.

Laugh it off. Never mind great truths and life-changing discoveries; we know nothing. Any labeled identity we create for ourselves will be destroyed as soon as it’s uttered. I once wrote on this website that my feet hurt, the next day my feet stopped hurting. I once wrote that I preferred solitude, the next day I found myself  hiking with a small group of fun people and loving it. I once was very upset at the thought of no-longer being a “thru-hiker”. I think we all feel that way. That is in part why we seek the company of other thru-hikers post-trail. Am I still a hiker if I’m not hiking? Who cares! Each experience is worth its weight in gold. I think it’s important to not take ourselves too seriously and as Dacia so eloquently put, to get out of our own way, learn to surf the wave, revel in the power of it, and let it all come together.


I love you thru-hikers, thank you for the experience.
I love you readers, please forgive my many typos and grammatical errors, thank you!
XO. TheBobcat

I believe in Angels

I have a dream, a song to sing
To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale
You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I’ll cross the stream – I have a dream

– Abba – “I believe in angels” –
Song stuck in my head for most of Washington thanks to my friend Margaret.

I have told you about the steep hills of Washington, and about my almost extraordinary night-time 40 mile adventure, but these were really just sidelines to my Washington experience; Washington was actually all about my angels.

I am blessed with amazing friendships (not to be confused with French hips). As I got within driving range of home, they all came out of the woodwork (Woodwork, you know, just west of Steven’s Pass) to spoil me rotten. Here they are, in order of appearance:

Mile 2155 – Cascade Locks – Bridge of the Gods, border between Oregon and Washington.
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I have several angels to thank right around there.

I’ll start with the beautiful Ana Sofia, my soul twin. Ana picked me up at the Timberline lodge on Hood, not Cascade Locks, but her impact lingered, so I will include her here. Ana drove me to Portland, got me and all my clothes cleaned, took me on a civilization reintroduction tour, which included wonderful fancy restaurants, deserts and more deserts, then released me to Dacia in the afternoon (see Reintroduction Inoculation story). That day with Ana, I felt out of place in the off-trail world and maybe also resentful about my sudden loss of super-hero status. I have heard stories of besties falling apart after one of the friends hikes the trail. Nope, not us. A few nights later, we talked about the visit and its weird vibe. We would have been fine without the talk, but I think we both benefited from it. I know for my part I needed the feedback. I am not a thru-hiker any more than I am a geologist, a yoga instructor, or even Melissa TheBobcat Park. I am Nothing. These roles I step into are merely that, roles I play in the world for the purpose of learning, growing, awakening. I think it is much easier for people who dislike who they play in the world to operate from a higher plane. I just love who I play so much, I get sucked into the role – like when Val Kilmer couldn’t let go of his Jim Morrison persona after he played in The Doors. The greatest gift Ana gives me is to set me straight when I need straightening. We all need a ball-busting angel sometime. The second greatest gift Ana gives me, on a continuous basis, is rescue from anywhere anytime. It’s like having my own personal AAA. When I needed a ride to the airport to get on the trail, she took a day off, drove up to Bellingham to pick me up and back all the way down to the airport. When all my maps got soaked in the one of three rains we had, she reprinted and overnighted me the whole set. This list could go on for such a while that you’d probably fall asleep. Just know this: Ana is amazing.

In Cascade Locks also, my thanks go to Anne and Del. My God I was tired when I got to their house! They gave me precisely the combination of space and company I needed. I enjoyed getting a computer to myself for a whole day, and being able to nap without time restrictions, but I did spend a lot of time alone on the trail, so I equally loved chilling out on their back porch, catching up on life adventures (they have just returned from living in Dubai for a few years) and day-dreaming of next adventures. I can’t wait to see them again … it’s in the works.

Weathercarrot was my third Cascade Locks angel. He came from Portland to share with me a border crossing on my 42nd birthday. We hadn’t hiked together since before Etna in northern California, and it was fun to fall in step again and engage in mind-boggling conversations. Although I think Weathercarrot is the bee’s meow (and the cat’s knees), even when we “hiked together” we rarely actually hiked together. We quickly figured out that we shared a fierce independence and stubbornness about hiking our own hike. We understood and respected each other’s need for space. After he left the trail I indulged in the most delicious lonesome selfish hike ever. In turn, this made the occasional visit or phone call feel like a great trail treat. Weathercarrot, who has hiked over 20,000 miles – I was with him when he crossed the mark, and I sang him a “happy 20,000 miles” song -, says that at the beginning of any thru-hike you know that you are on the brink of meeting amazing, exceptional, fascinating people, you just don’t know who they are or in what way they will be fantastic yet. He definitely ranks as one of my top finds for this first thru-hike.

Mile 2303 – White Pass, WA
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There was magic at White Pass. In hiker’s speak that means that there was a tent setup at the pass with free food and drinks. The trail angels there, Mother Goose and Lost and Found, had vegetarian chili, fried zucchini bread and cookies for weary hikers coming out of Goat Rocks. In addition to this “public” magic, I had my own trail Angel – none else than the famous pilot and photographer John Scurlock. In order to meet with me, John drove all the way down to White Pass. On the way, he stopped and bought so much food for my ressuply that he probably could have resupplied ten hikers for all of Washington. He set up a tarp on the ground in the parking lot at the pass and literally covered it with food. When I told him “John, you went food-crazy!”, he replied “I just wanted you to have choices”. I have ressuplied at grocery stores that had far less choice than what John had mustered up in his little car.

John also was my Canadian Angel. He took a day off to drive up to Manning Park and get me and Deborah (BlueGirl) back to the USA. I was glad that John was our ride back. I alternated between the joy of being done, the excitement of the next adventure and a deep sadness at the loss of my trail, my trail friends, my open space, my silence, my trail lifestyle. I know they aren’t lost completely – they live in me -, but there are just things I might not get to do again for a while, like eating a half-gallon of ice cream sitting on the sidewalk in front of a gas station in the middle of no-where. Those were the thoughts that made me cry. John understood because he was a PCT hiker once himself, 39 years ago, and that made me feel better.

Mile 2402 – Snowqualmie Pass, WA
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By the time I got to Snowqualmie Pass, I really felt home. I used to live right down the hill from the pass and I have been up in that area and on all the trails around it extensively, though never on the PCT. My friend Margaret kidnapped me right off the pass. She hiked in a few miles to meet me and I loved that she did that. It was like being met “in my world”, a much gentler extraction than when I have to hitch to town or meet people at trailheads. I am a frequent guest of Margaret and Steve’s living room floor. They have taken me in on my way to and from the strangest adventures. The best part about staying there is that the spoiling is highly customized. When I am there, I get to drink my favorite tea in my favorite mug, Steve cooks exactly the meal I have been craving and Margaret supplements it with a full bowl of spinach (“Wow did you know I was craving spinach?” – “You ALWAYS crave spinach” – I guess that’s true). Their attention to details about my preferences is remarkable. I sometimes feel they know me better than I know myself.

In addition to being one of my best friends and an exemplary angel, Margaret was also my resupply person for the whole trail, i.e. the person who was burdened with storing all the crap I no longer wanted to carry on the trail but couldn’t bring myself to throw away so I just sent it home, the person whom I called whenever I needed something that I didn’t have time to find myself (new earphones, my passport, an emergency $100 when I lost my credit card, an ipod filled with fresh songs, etc.),  the person who kept an eye on my bills and paid them when they became overdue and I was out of reach (I’m all caught up now), basically the person who took care of all my off-trail affairs. She did so with gusto too. Any box I received had something meaningful to us but so quirky that it would be sure to have the post-master raise an eyebrow. I kept a lot of the boxes, they live in the back of my truck now and hold gear. When Margaret and I first met, we tried very hard not to be friends. I no longer remember why we did that, but that plan was an epic fail.

Mile 2595 – Rainy Pass, WA
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“2646 – that means nothing to me!!” … oh Deborah, my beloved BlueGirl. Deb’s timing for joining me was impeccable. I was just at the point where I ‘didn’t want to anymore’, and here was this ray of sunshine and enthusiasm to help me along. That is what she had signed up for. She told me about a year before I even got on the trail that she would walk the last section with me. The reasoning was that the weather would be ugly (fall in the Cascades) and I would need a cheerleader/ moral supporter to help me get to Canada. The weather turned out fantastic, but Deborah’s company was no less precious to me. She saw the trail with fresh eyes, got excited about vistas I was no longer noticing, and she did push me up that last hill after I stopped and flat out refused to climb up any more hills when the map showed an all-the-way downhill to Manning Park, BC, our final destination. Deborah made the trail fun again. We have a well established banter routine that amused us and other hikers. We didn’t lack in material to tease each other … everyday was filled with silliness. Here is a few choice stories of our four days together:

On day two, Deb discovered that I had no water-filter. She had assumed I’d have one. She didn’t know that for the whole trail my water-purification technique has been to hold the water to my heart, tell it that I love it and ask it to please not make me sick. So, on day two, there I was demonstrating the safety and effectiveness of my technique by scooping water straight off a little waterfall and drinking it in place. After about a quarter of the bottle, Deb said “Is that a big pile of bear vomit up there?”. I looked up and right in the path of my water source was indeed a big pile of something that looked like bear vomit. I stopped drinking with a look of stupefaction and sprayed out anything still in my mouth. It turned out to be bear poo, not vomit, and my love-purification technique worked just fine for me, even in the face of drinking obvious bear-poo-water, but I didn’t live down the bear-vomit-water incident for the rest of the trail.

On day three, we met a hiker we both thought was very handsome by the name of Gondo. I’m sorry Deb, yeah, I’m about to tell the Gondo story :-). Later that day, Northstar and Shutterbug asked us if we remembered the name of the man at the trail magic. Deb, in an effort to remember, said “G-g-g-g-g-g …”, to which I answered, “no Deb, that’s the sound WE make when we see him”. After that, all we had to do was mention G-g-g-g-g-gondo and we’d both laugh hysterically.

On day four, in the late afternoon, Deb and I got tired and irritable from too much walking, hunger and maybe slight dehydration. On the last hill before camp, Deb turned around and asked me how far the water was from camp, but since the water was at camp, her question confused me. Finally, I caught the part of her question about the location of the next water. My answer was “2646”. Now, any thru-hiker would have known that I meant mile 2646, counting from Mexico, which is how water sources are cataloged on the maps we almost all carry. But if you are not a thru-hiker, you might have Deborah’s reaction, “2646? That means nothing to me! Never mind!!” and walk on. That one was funniest after the fact, but then it was very funny.

It was such a treat to have a best friend on the trail. After only four days we had so many inside jokes that every break was an opportunity to laugh. It made me regret having done so much of the trail solo, but I got what I wanted in the end. I just think that I might consider hiking with others more on subsequent thru-hikes, and if ever Deborah can join me … she would be my top choice. BEST hiking partner ever!

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That’s all. This wraps up the PCT 2012 stories.

Thank you so much to all my readers for visiting and reading and commenting. I started the trail with a giant thirst for open spaces, freedom, solitude, walking. I feel I am now fully satiated on all fronts. I hope that the stories I wrote represented my states of mind and the trail accurately. This is the end of the PCT stories, but not the end of the adventure. My life is a crazy continuum … so keep this link. There’s more to come! 🙂

Thank you trail for taking such good care of me. I love you!

Love to you all too.

XOX – TheBobcat.