The Transfer Portal

I realize I have made a mistake when the TSA agent pulls my little bag off the X-ray belt at the airport and starts conferring with another agent. The agent motions me to a small interrogation table. “Is there anything sharp in here?” she asks as she starts emptying the small bag I use to carry my money, my phone and my ID. “There might be,” I say. “There might be,” she repeats, eyeballing me. I have mistakenly put my 1-inch Swiss Army knife in this bag, and I am trying to figure out how to not have it confiscated. “Does this look familiar?” She asks as she holds up the tiny red knife for all to see.

I look at it one last time before it gets tossed in the bin with the other dangerous items. I loved that knife. It has accompanied me on every long hike I have ever taken. I knew I would forget something today, but really? Moments later, at the terminal gate I press the Buy This Again button on my 2018 Your Orders page on Amazon. Through the miracle of modern transportation, this new knife will find me on the trail in a few days. But I will still miss my old knife.

The world between

Air traffic is stacked up because of thunderstorms in Denver. It seems like a small price to pay for rain. As my flight approaches Denver, the skies get interesting. The clouds have two layers – a dense lower layer that looks a lot like an Antarctic landscape, and a thin upper layer that looks like, well, clouds. The effect is that I have been transported to a strange new world, like one of Jupiters moons.

At the Denver airport, as I pay for my burrito, the cashier asks what my sign is. Confused, I ask her to repeat herself. “What’s your sign?” She repeats. “Aries,” I say. She looks disappointed. “But now I am a Taurus,” I offer. Now she is confused. “I was born on the April 20. When I was younger, that date made me an Aries, but then the astrology books changed and now I’m Taurus.” She backs away slightly. “You were born on April 20?” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.” I shrug.

I find a table to sit down. When I look back at the food counter the cashier is gone. She doesn’t return. On break? Off shift? What is going on here?

An early casualty

Keith will not be hiking with me as we had hoped. His knee started acting up again. It had been fine for a while, but now it was really painful and swollen. He doesn’t understand what is wrong. Of course he is sick about it and so am I but it would not be wise to start hiking hurt. Perhaps he can join me later after he figures out what is wrong with his knee. I have to alter my mental projections of my early hike. It’s ok though. It’s the right thing to do.

Kindred spirits

As I wait at the casino for the shuttle to bus terminal, I see a couple guys with the same pack as me. “Nice packs!” I yell over at them. They have just completed a hike on the John Muir Trail and are heading home to Connecticut. Like most folks a thru-hike is out of the question. These two need to work to pay off student loans.

Second stage

The second stage of the transfer portal uses a regional bus service called Sage Stage. They let me buy a ticket so I must qualify (as a sage, that is). They arrive at the Reno airport at 1:30 to pick people up. Also waiting there are two thru-hikers, Ghost Cat and Andrew.

They had to get off the trail at Mammoth Lakes when Andrew got COVID. The virus caused a blot clot that set up in his lungs Forcing them to take three weeks off the trail until he was cleared. They are going with me as far as Susanville on the bus, then they are taking a different bus to Chester. I am heading toward Chester on the trail from Old Station so our paths should cross again soon.

Stage three

In Susanville we split up. I got to the Subway for the fresh veggies that can be had there. I grab the sandwich and head to the highway that leads through the town towards the trail. It is 4:30 and the trail is 50 miles away. The middle of any town is a bad place to get a hitch. But I am optimistic about my chances.

Pessimists do not hitch hike, because it requires a basic trust in the goodness of people. If I did not believe that someone would stop, I would never start down a 50-mile highway in 99-degree heat with only one liter of water. After an hour of walking backwards with my thumb out, my confidence is still strong.

And then out of nowhere, a couple stops. They can only take me two miles, but I go with them because hitch hikers have to take what they get and I feel that this is the start of something good.

My intuition is correct when two minutes after leaving the first car, the most unlikely ride pulls over: a heavy truck hauling an enormous trailer. The driver is Manuel and he can take me all the way to Old Station. I am elated. I offer him my half eaten Subway sandwich which he politely refuses. We ride the rest of the way in silence.

Old Station redux

I am dropped off at exactly the same spot I started from last year. I set up my quilt on the ground in almost the same spot. I choose to sleep under the stars with no tent as I did last year. I feel so calm and purposeful.

There are more hikers here than I have ever seen in one place. The group of hikers that started from Mexico this year are all bunched up in this area. There is lots of drinking and weed. One guy is so drunk he can’t get my trail name right. He keeps calling me Pool Noodle. He says, “How did you get your trail name Pool Noodle?” I say, “It’s Doolittle.” “Pool Noodle?” “No, DOOLITTLE!” “Pool Noodle?” To which I finally reply, “OK, it’s Pool Noodle. I got it in the normal way.” That seems to satisfy him and we all move on.

Some of the hikers are chill though. This is Lueko. He started at the Mexican border. He is focused and kind. We discuss what lies ahead for each of us.

It dawns on me that I have left my hiking hat in Manuel’s truck. I text him but he too far to turn around. The store here has some trucker hats. So I guess I will have a new look until I can find a decent wide-brimmed hat again.

What lies ahead

This has been quite a day. The hike starts tomorrow. The first couple days the trail goes through the area of the catastrophic Dixie Fire – the largest fire in California history. Temps will be near 100 and everything is still mostly ash. But I am optimistic (my default position today). I have made it back to the PCT. And, as I like to say, I am happy to be here.