August 7, 2016 Mile 1076.6-1081.1 4.5 Miles Someone is shouting. The bus is shrieking. I brace my feet on the seat in front of me and fear the worst. Impact. Crunch of steel, pop and jangle of broken glass. The shockwave passes into my legs but no further. A baby starts to cry big, siren-like wails. “Is everyone okay?” The bus driver asks after a minute. There is no confidence to his question, as if to say I don’t know what to do if you aren’t. A lady up front is talking about her neck. She sounds more upset than hurt. We’re all ordered off the bus to wait alongside the road near a couple of closed buildings: a post office and a shuttered restaurant. On weekend trips in the future, I’ll drive by this area and learn that we were near the town of Strawberry. Someone tells us the bus driver wasn’t paying attention when a car turned onto the highway, and he just barreled on ahead until someone shouted at him. A little later, the driver tells us that Amtrak is sending another bus; it’ll be here in about an hour. In the meantime, the police arrive and take statements. A young german couple who are headed out to do a SOBO section offer me a hard-boiled egg and some trail mix. They have been friendly and curious about my hike when we’ve talked for the past couple hours, and I am glad to spend a little more time in their company before we head our separate ways. Another bus comes sooner than I expected—time is already passing differently—and we all board and finish our drive to South Lake Tahoe. I find a Mexican place to eat lunch, then walk towards the campground. It’s late afternoon and I don’t really want to hitch. At the last second I decide to grab an Uber; it’s not that far to the trailhead and I was going to spend the money on a campsite anyway. I’d rather get an early start tomorrow. When I set off from Carson Pass, I have the settling feeling that everything is right with my hike again. There’s no more vertiginous feeling of the past being ahead of me and the future behind me; all of the past is behind, all of the future ahead. It’s a straight shot to Canada from here, no more breaks, no more flip-flops, just ahead, ahead, ahead. There are small white boulders in the trail that I have to step over and around, and it feels like a different part of my brain is coming back online, a part that’s ready for wilderness, that expects obstacles and looks forward to them. The air is cooler, thinner, and I have to make the choice to let go of conditioned spaces. Solitude settles in on me like a heavy blanket and I have to resist the urge to grab my phone and try to reconnect. It wouldn’t work anyway, there’s no service out here. I hike about a mile and come across a trail runner at a junction. We hike together in enthusiastic conversation. It turns out he was a classical saxophone major in college, so we geek out on wind band literature for a while. It’s strange how all these niche interests keep popping up on trail, and how connected they always make me feel with complete strangers. As it turns out, he is thru-running the entire Tahoe Rim Trail, doing about 40-50 miles a day. Intense. After a couple miles of hiking together he has to get running again to finish his mileage for the day. I wish him well, a little sad that I’ll probably never get the chance to talk with him again. It is a good reminder that everything is temporary.
Twenty minutes later I walk up on Showers Lake and several campers. I am almost past the lake when I meet two PCT hikers, California Katie and Austrian Felix, who invite me to camp near them. Katie is a firecracker who enjoys making slightly inappropriate and shocking comments to get a reaction, and Felix is almost the opposite—quiet, reserved, shy. But he laughs at Katie’s jokes without fail, and they make great company. We all make dinner by the lake and Katie offers me cookies and nutella, which I gladly devour. We talk for a while from our tents as we’re getting ready for bed, and we’re all asleep before 8. I feel settled, safe, and connected. It’s a perfect way to ease back into the wild.
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Nick is a teacher, writer, and amateur adventurer. Archives
June 2020
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