The best water on earth
Nothing came of my plan to stay in Dunsmuir for only one night. The longer I'm underway, the farther away the goal seems. Sas and Janice from Perllan House told me the second night only costs $49, because the $25 cleaning charge only applies to the first night. And because I had this fantastic room, including a great breakfast of scones, cereals, milk, juice, and organic apples from the garden, I decided to stay. I still needed to update my blog, prepare a package for Olli with all the stuff I no longer needed, including the SD backup cards and a little surprise: a Rocky Road bar, our favorite sweet on the trail (which had once disappeared under mysterious circumstances). It's marshmallow with a layer of ground cashews, covered with chocolate. In the meantime I'd contacted Jule in Guatemala, wanting to know if the weather permitted wearing a skirt. It's the "cold" season, she'd answered, but she herself feels most comfortable wearing skirts below the knee, out of respect for the women there, who mostly wear native dress. So I put the shorter of my two skirts in the package for Olli. In addition to all the other chores, Olli and I were in the habit of "processing" the recommendations of other hikers in the Guthook app – and old habits die hard. Which meant I wanted to have a meal at the Wheelhouse, but had to delay this because it only opened on Wednesday. So the idea of staying a second night segued nicely with my usual routine of hiking out in the afternoon, giving me time to explore and also recuperate. Besides which I could also have Janice wash my hair at Perllan House ($10).
Monday and Tuesday were quiet days in Dunsmuir; many places were closed. Tuesday I headed to the Cornerstone for a second breakfast, followed by a saunter through town. I stopped by the fountain with "the best water on earth," the art museum – which, while closed, offered interesting views, and in the courtyard next to it discovered painted walls and Indian gods on columns. Ultimately, I ended up in a bar in the afternoon and ordered a whisky. I desperately needed a toilet and nothing else close by was open. ;-))
Are you a good or a bad witch?
But by the time I got to the Cornerstone, which unfortunately closed at 2 pm already, I'd received many messages that needed answering. Besides which I'd spent a long time talking with Jamie, a helper at Perllan House. A nomadic seeker in her mid-30s, she has another job in "hospitality." For the past two years, her car has served as transportation and moveable home. She'd attended college for a time, but this way of life suited her better, a little of this and a little of that.
Re the bar, it was great fun to sit there and indulge in voyeurism. People came in for a quick drink, placing the cash on the counter right away. A single woman with a dog came in and ordered a double gin tonic; two of the barman's relatives played pool. People exchanged a few casual sentences – everybody knows everybody – and left. It's a very nice bar, by the way, with vintage metal plates on the walls, funny sayings, posters of famous musicians, including one with the Beatles walking across a crosswalk and a small stage. A wall in front of the toilets featured a giant movie poster with Reese Witherspoon in the movie "Walk the line," a biopic about Johnny Cash. Reese Witherspoon also has the lead in "Wild" – portraying Cheryl Strayed, who hiked the PCT to get her life sorted out and to quit drugs. Ever since the movie came out in 2014, the PCT has become even more popular. The ladies' room door featured a picture of the Good Witch of the West from "The Wizard of Oz," one of my favorite movies, with the words: "Are you a good or a bad witch?"
Strings of pearls on the windows
In the evening I headed back to the brewery; I'd promised the guys I'd drop by again. Between two beers and a Reuben sandwich (turkey and red cabbage - outstanding), I resupplied for the next stretch. I finished Tuesday evening at Yaks, a café/restaurant off the beaten track next to the gas station and within view of the Dollar General Store. I had a glass of red wine at Yaks. The windows were hung with fashion jewelry necklaces, like a curtain, and I made a mental note to send some of Aunt Christa's necklaces when I get home – a very pretty decorative idea, which my aunt would have appreciated.
On Wednesday I had chicken wings in garlic along with a glass of sparkling wine at the Wheelhouse, wrote my blog, and prepared the package for Olli. Water flowed beneath the Wheelhouse, visible through a pane; attractive artworks – paintings and sculptures – hung on the walls or were placed throughout the space. Our friend and games collector Thomas Hanisch in Germany would have been in Heaven. The only thing lacking was a trail register – or perhaps it had been put away.
Mail can open souls
After these pleasant experiences during the two days, I had another experience of the third kind at the post office, after many great experiences at US post offices. I left the Wheelhouse and entered the PO at 4:45 pm.
The PO, practically across the street from Perllan House, was open till 5 pm, which I'd noted on the entrance door the evening before. There were only two people in line – a woman who was being served as I arrived and the guy in front of me, both of whom were quickly done. Nevertheless, the postal clerk informed me she couldn't take my package because "international" takes on average of 12 minutes, and we didn't have that much. I reminded her it was just past quarter of; I'd never experienced the like. She informed me of a sign on the door, which said international packages required being there half an hour before closing time. I asked her where that sign was. I'd stopped by the evening before expressly to check the PO's opening hours. It turned out the sign was posted on the second entrance door, in a place where I could not read it in the evening. The exterior door was kept locked due to vandalism and theft. She agreed I could not have known this. But no, I would have to come back in the morning. I said I'm hiking out right now and won't be here in the morning. She remained implacable. I told her I was really shocked; I'd never experienced anything like this at any of the 20 post offices that had helped us with our postal needs. She responded she'd process the inland mail. But that's no help to me if I have to send yet another package to Marylou in New York; the package has the back-ups and the surprise for Olli. I considered my options. I could ask Sas and Janice ... I felt tears roll down my cheeks. Disappointment. Not everyone is nice. But the tears also reflected my general mental and physical exhaustion. I turned away so the postal clerk couldn't see. It's not my style to pressure someone with tears. But I also couldn't prevent them. So I cried in the other direction. The clerk sensed something. She softened. She took my customs form, which I'd already completed and processed the package. I could barely suppress a sob, practically chocking. I was so grateful for her soft heart. In a brief chat with the guy ahead of me in line, I'd found out that the clerk's husband is apparently ill. People often grow hard if they have troubles. I just wanted to send my husband this package. Without words, she and I were suddenly agreed. The 2-lb, 11-oz package was processed, costing $37.50. I left the PO at 5:05 pm.
Sas and Janice don't understand that I want to hike out; darkness will soon fall. They invite me to stay another night. But I tell myself, if I don't leave here today, I'll never get out. I ask Sas to take me to Kellyfish crossroads. I'd decided to spend the night in Kelly's garage, which is 1.5. miles closer to the trail, complete my blog, take a look at her place, and leave next morning as early as possible. Kelly was fine with that, but noted there was no toilet anymore – the garden was available. All I cared about was a functioning internet. We'd often had no service with AT&T, neither phone, nor text messaging, nor internet, not just on the trail but even in smaller towns. Which meant having to rely on WiFis at hotels, motels, hostels, etc.
Sas took me; he'd always wanted to meet Kelly anyway. At Kelly’s hiker garage I had a wonderful evening with wine I'd bought and internet (ultimately not via Kelly's WiFi but my mobile data, because she'd accidentally given me an incomplete password). I had time, peace and quite, nothing to distract me, no sightseeing tour.
I was able to take care of a lot in that hiker garage. Finally, I signed the hiker guestbook and in leafing through it found a wonderful quote by John Muir:
"The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness."
Since we'd gone through many forest wildernesses and I still had some ahead of me, I was sure of a clear way into the universe. :-)
I'd purchased a lovely card for my cousin in Sydney, so I decided to send him this quote.
French press, weapons, and my dear cousin Philipp
Next morning Kelly came into the garage and asked if I wanted coffee. French press ... I sat in the sun to drink the coffee; the November cold was already noticeable. I spread out my stuff and my small keyboard on the round table, and wrote like mad on my blog. Kelly went to a Pilates class. Jon, her volunteer, emerged from his small cabin. We had a long and sometimes funny conversation about US Americans’ perception on weapons. I recorded the interview.
After uploading the new blog, I made repeated attempts to upload the relevant photos. Now being in possession of Kelly's complete password, I was able to get a connection briefly via Kelly's WiFi. But the photos were too big, even for my mobile data connection. So the sunny afternoon passed. I decided just to write the card to Philipp. While hanging up my laundry, I observed a resident emerge from the larger wood cabin (which can be rented to hiker groups). The simple act of hanging laundry catapulted me home. On trail we mostly used dryers, occasionally hanging up socks or underwear near the tent; but usually nearly all the hiker facilities had dryers. I place three oak leaves in the letter to my cousin. Besides the John Muir quote, I wrote him how much the last months’ exchange have meant to me. My cousin and I had walked together, in a manner of speaking: he with his child in a pram during afternoon strolls through Sydney, I through the ecosystems of the USA. Thus I was with Philipp in the obstetrician's waiting room, while buying Greek yogurt, in a pharmacy, in the park, on the streets, while washing dishes – and had a rich urban soundscape to listen to while on the trail because I usually downloaded his up to 11-, 12-minute voice-mails at the resupply stations and then listened to them some time later. He, on the other hand, accompanied me while huffing and puffing up various mountains, walking on sand or snow, on forest floors with pine cones cracking underfoot, while climbing over felled trees or struggling through underbrush, among many other sounds of nature. In between we shared our thoughts on life, surviving, meditative effects, and the topics offered by daily life. Including childrearing, children, dealing with limited resources, earning money, spending money, health, limits, etc.
I wanted to share the experience of the wilderness with him, and so I placed the oak leaves in the envelope. I had encountered a wide variety of oak trees during the last days, and would do in the days ahead. Three, one for him, one for his wife, Cosima (whom he'd met through me, coincidentally, when I'd visited him during his studies in St. Petersburg), one for their son Marlon Franz. Philipp had studied business, and as I jokingly said: he was a maximizer and optimizer. Kelly had promised to bring the letter to the PO. I tacked a $20 bill to the donation board and packed my stuff. It was already dark.
Finally, I inspected my Oboz shoes, which I'd been wearing since Kennedy Meadows Nord, and which had now seen well over 1000 kilometers. Small fissures, but the profile was still in great shape. Somehow, that seemed familiar ...
(All photos for this blog will follow in an extra blog.)