On yet another leg of my circuitous journey back to the PCT, sitting in the SJC airport.
Behind me is the drive from Boulder to Forest Grove OR to deliver a car to daughter #2 (and future lawyer #2, how did THAT happen?) for her move to Northwestern Law School in Chicago. That was followed by a flight from PDX to SJC, which gave me a prime, and disquieting, view of the fires and smoke blanketing NorCal. Next is a flight from SJC to RNO, then a shuttle bus to South Lake Tahoe. How I get from SLT to the PCT is still TBD.
Maybe once I’m at the hostel I’ll get a line on a trail angel offering rides. Or take an Uber. Or just hitch, which is how I got from the trail into SLC on the last leg in 2016.
That level of indeterminacy probably is as good a marker as any of the boundary between town life and trail life. It’s more a mental than physical boundary, a letting-go of the illusion that we are in charge of our lives and can plan out the next step. Or the illusion that the universe will respect those plans. Ultimately we are all dumb-asses. Best just to acknowledge that and move on.
So I will start walking tomorrow not sure where I will end up. Maybe it will be too smoky. Or maybe some piece of gear will break, or some part of my body will break down, or maybe I’ll get lost or a bear will rob my food.
Or maybe none of those things will happen and I will have pleasant and beautiful stroll from Lake Tahoe to Mt Shasta.
That’s what I want and there is one way to get it and that is to start walking.