Day 13 May 7
Hwy 18 to Bridge over Deep Creek
Yesterday I took a zero in Big Bear because it fucking snowed. The desert is manic this year. So Masshole, Dewey, and I saw Wes Anderson’s Grand Budapest Hotel and smoked cigarettes on our motel balcony.
Galactic alignment sent me 33 miles up the trail. It was cold, I had fresh legs, the trail was easy, water was plentiful, and I’m cocky.
I passed Miss America. I met her at a bar in Idyllwild. I don’t remember exactly how our conversation started but she told me she was fast, hiking 30 mile days, and that hikers wanted to name her Cheetah. But somehow that name didn’t stick. Was it because she wasn’t “fast” or because she acts like a sorority girl? “How far you going?” she inquired. “I’d do a 30 too but I have to wait for one of my group members, his box didn’t show.” I am two weeks into this hike and already indestructible bonds have formed.
I wanted to tell her to say fuck it and hike a 33 with me. She’s into it right? But I knew it was a front. And so I was alone again.
I got to the Deep Creek bridge at dusk. As I cooked Idahoans I wearily looked around for glowing eyes. “I’m at the watering hole, there’s going to be a convergence of wildlife, and I’m the outsider. Grade: American Made, plump and pasty, Tasteeeee,” I thought.