San Jacinto from the San Bernardinos, mi 245
Animal prisons, mile 250
Hiking is hard work, trail magic mile 252
First view of the Mojave, mi 262
Spent the day eating, loafing and running errands – buying food and fuel, sending a few items back home. But mostly letting my feet have the day off before returning to the trail and upping my daily miles to 20 or so.
The Big Bear Hostel is a hiker gathering place run by Sarge, an ex-Marine. Spent most of the day hanging out with Alpaca, Maniac, Shadowfax and Coonslayer, whom I named after hearing his tale of beating marauding raccoons away all night with his hiking poles at Whitewater Preserve.
There is definitely a bimodal age distribution of hikers – everyone is in their early 20s or late 50s/early 60s. I guess those are the ages where maximal physical robustness intersects with minimal family responsibilities.
Hikers are a fringe subculture – like hoboes, only with ambition. Outsiders with somewhat weak social attachments. Although quite a few are foreigners, there is something distinctly American about the idea of wandering, but wandering toward a goal, even if that goal (Mexico to Canada) is somewhat artificial.