June 22, 2016
Mile 702-702 (0 Miles) Unlike most of the two-hundred-ish hikers here at Kennedy Meadows, I wasn’t up late dancing and drinking and partying on last night, so I’m wide awake shortly after it gets light out around five a.m. I’m told this place sells pancakes most mornings, but that won’t be until seven, so I laze in my sleeping bag and read The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I don’t know much about what made this book so famous, but if I were to guess, it would be the fact that the structure seems so much more intricate than most novels of that time period. The way he sets up scenes to reveal small bits of information must have been fresh and novel to audiences at the time. Many current novelists seem to have polished and refined those ideas, and especially made the transitions less clunky, but for a novel written in the 1800s it’s an enjoyable read and I don’t feel like I have to drag myself through it like I do some classics. I’ve actually been fascinated with this idea for some time, and I mull it over for a while: certain ideas spread into the larger culture, and are often absorbed by them so completely that the originator of the idea eventually seems uninspired or unoriginal. The early pioneers of Rock n Roll, for example, are rarely listened to nowadays except by aficionados, and many of their songs seem rather ho-hum compared to the innovations of later times. But those later innovations were tiny compared to the sharp musical break that started Rock n Roll. Similarly, the composer Franz Josef Haydn is rarely considered as great a composer as Mozart or Beethoven, but the most well-known features of the classical style—particularly the sonata-based symphony and string quartets—were really Haydn’s inventions. I suppose the iPod would be another example: MP3 players existed before, but nobody celebrates the inventor of the MP3 like they celebrate Steve Jobs. Over time, we seem to value the apotheosis of an art form over and above the initial creation that made that apotheosis possible. I get up a little before seven to get in line for pancakes. I take my book with me, but I don’t have to pack up today, because I’m not going to hike. Before I started the PCT, there were only a couple places where I really wanted zero days: Kennedy Meadows South and Ashland, Oregon. Ashland, because so many people rave about the food and feel of the town. And Kennedy Meadows South, because of the sense of community and camaraderie among hikers that was expressed in every trail journal I read. There’s no line for pancakes. There are only seven or eight people awake, and most of them are taking care of chores to get ready to start hiking—filling water, packing a tent, repacking a resupply package into their bear canister. The cook asks me whether I want plain, M&M, or blueberry pancakes. I’m tempted to go with M&M pancakes, but I’ve been eating M&Ms every day, and I haven’t gotten much fruit. I opt for the blueberries. I stuff myself with pancakes as the rest of the camp slowly comes alive. Hikers are starting to pick through a dozen hiker boxes on tables alongside the store, which are mostly beat-up shoes and nearly empty canisters of fuel. It seems like it’s all garbage, but I guess you never know what someone might find valuable. I walk back to my tent to check on my stuff and brush my teeth, and pass Jim and Danielle, who have moved and are setting up their tent in a recently vacated spot. I jokingly ask Jim if he’s ready to get started drinking. They tell me they’ll join me in a few minutes. When I return to the porch, it has gotten busy. Along the wall, multi-outlet powerstrips are plugged into one another and spiderweb out into cell phones and battery packs. I look for a place to charge my phone, but every outlet is occupied. Hikers are everywhere, but they all seem engaged in their own conversations with friends they have hiked with for weeks. I overhear one hiker say that he’s been waiting four days for his resupply to show up. Wow, I hope my resupply is here. I take my seat at the far end of the porch and dive back into my book. Jim and Danielle show up a few minutes later with the first six-pack of beer. We sit and chat and get to know each other. They are friendly, kind people. I’m grateful for the company. Around lunchtime, I go into the store to pick up my resupply, if it’s here. I walk in barefoot and grab a bag of potato chips, a gatorade, and another six pack of beer before I walk up to the counter. The man at the counter asks me for my last name and has me sign a clipboard while he walks over to look for my package. I watch him with some trepidation while he searches. It takes him a couple passes through the stack, but he does find it. I stack the other items on top and then lug it all out to the porch. We continue drinking through most of the afternoon. We cheer for hikers who arrive, tell each other stories about teaching and our lives, give each other recommendations—music, movies, books—, and compare experiences through the different sections of trail we have already hiked. Danielle tells me that she and Jim followed my footprints through the overgrown sandy section of trail last night, and how she was calling me Saint Nick for getting them through that section. I wonder briefly if that will be my trail name. As we’re drinking and talking and eating lunch (a veggie burger for me), I notice the other groups around us. I can see at least three hikers reading books by themselves. I strain a little to try to see what they’re reading, of course. There seem to be five or six tight-knit groups of four to six hikers each. Nearly everyone is caucasian, tan, and a little dirt-worn. A few distinguishing characteristics stick out from the mass: a neon yellow shirt, an 80’s-style tank top, a tie-die bandanna. A distinctive white panama is worn by a tall girl sitting on top of a table. She’s the only person on the porch sitting on top of a table. She laughs with her group as someone hands her a bottle of beer. By the evening, I’m starting to feel like I may have monopolized Jim and Danielle’s attention today. I know that I have a tendency to stick with people I feel comfortable with, especially when I’ve been drinking. I hope they haven’t felt stuck talking to me. As it gets dark I’m feeling pretty bloated from the beer, and a little dehydrated. I tell Jim and Danielle that I’m planning on leaving fairly early in the morning, and I hope I see them ahead on the trail. I get their last names so I can look them up on Facebook later, when I have service again, and head off to get some water and go to bed.
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
Author
Nick is a teacher, writer, and amateur adventurer. Archives
June 2020
Categories |