Road Coast

Static over the palm sized walkie. A plume of dark smoke emits from Vals van on the road to Redding California. Looks like a pit stop.

Its pitch black through the open sliding door, the sky a predawn blue, the sound of a foreign soft electronic beeping sounds in my mind. No one stirs, not the dog, no one. The sound persists. I lay there nearly unconscious before the sounds starts up again. This continues.

It stops and starts again, am I hearing things, I sit up. Check the sky, it's lighter, the dogs still and Val hasn't moved. I put my shirt on, the sound is gone. Exhausted I lay back down, eyes heavy, I'm in a dream world once more and then the electronic beep begins its repetitious moan once more. Again I sit up and this time Val stirs lightly then groggily moans for the electronic interruption to quite, I'm not crazy someone else heard it. A giggle from the loft echo's apologies as I stumble to the bathroom disoriented as if I've been abducted by aliens and now at this moment just returned to my own reality. It's half five, apparently time to get up. I flop back onto the couch and its day time when my eyelids lift again.

It's too hot for sweat pants, but I'm wearing them. Mid day on the 395 far from Mammoth and Bishop. Mule days according to the amused and obviously bored California State line guard.

Two California rest areas later and I'm sitting, well laying with my feet out the window as val borrows flying internet from Barns and Noble ala Redding.

The sun fades away, the light turns on in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Tomorrow its find a mechanic in a town that's closed on Sundays or cross the fingers and make a mad dash for Portland. There will be no sitting on the beaches of Humboldt smoking tree this trip. The Vans engine sputters and rumbles, somethings terribly a miss.

Flying Dog

Eight am Monday morning, weathers calls 80 degrees. The sweat sticks, I zip back the mesh of my bivy, the air is already body temps.

I feel drowsy like bad allergy meds. Stumble to the dirt, slide into a pair of cords. they hardly resemble there original shade, dust beaten and unwashed. The rumble of a broken muffler trembles up behind my truck, e-brake thrown on. I quickly pull my pants up from half mass and zip up.

A familiar voice screams, "wad up buddy?" It's Ben, I stumble groggily past Vals van, bumping past with swollen eyes. I played with my tangled mat of hair while Ben explained his new project on the table lands.

Stumbling back through the cars, Ben bounces away down the gravel path in his 80's Toyota hatch back, over to my tripod set up for a snap shot of some spring flowers. Half assembled, I could no longer hold the movements in my bowels.

Hobbling down the path shovel and TP in hand up the rocks, nervously banging the shovel to deter potential snakes. Finding an appropriate bush, looks just like the rest, but this one is just right. Attempting to dig a hole only achieves two inches before hitting the impenetrable layer of rock that is the table lands. Unable to hold on any longer I noticed a small single engine flying directly towards my position. To late for that, my pants now at my ankles, my gut impatiently grumbling. I squat, leaning on my butt of my shovel and give out little flight enthusiast the show of a life time.

I hope he had a camera to capture my glaring paper white ass so he could show all his friends and family. I hope they all get a great laugh, because as drowsy as I've ever been, this was one hell of a highlight to my trip. So I hope they all believe his story.

Jack Pot - Sunday, Monday

We three stood huddled around the burners of my stove. Watching 20 boiling eggs and 10 frying. It was snowing lightly now, almost hail. The ground had a thing frosting, but the mountains surrounding were white as English nobles. Last night the grocery store put us out an Easter egg hunt, with many goodies to go along. We scavenged over 60 eggs, premixed salads, pre-sliced fruit, Naked juice and snack packs. Now after our 12 pound dollar/pound ham and our bread Jack pot last night, we are fit to eat like kings. Well, cheep kings, but kings none-the-less. Tuesday morning, now, is hot and clear, from my vantage the Buttermilks near 2 feet of snow is receding at a generous pace. After a forced rest day I feel good to go and with a Thursday forecaster 72 Fahrenheit, we'll be back, "home" as Val calls it, in the Buttermilks soon enough.

Continually Happy - Sunday

The sun rose Sunday morning in a haze of cloud that swarmed the valley. I threw my bivy a top the truck and dropped the tail gate for some banana, cinnamon, brown sugar oatmeal. The sun emerged from the haze as we three lazed in our lawn chairs. The long weekend Cali coast kids piled into the parking lot. It was going to be a hot busy day. After a few hours of voyeurism in the blazing sun, we packed out things and drove top side to the sads. As we finished our warm up the winds started to really pick up. After a select of classics and a few sand blasts to the face we found ourselves confined to a large (but not large enough) cave. There with everyone else in the busy parking lot, willing to brave the winds, there may even have been a few loud annoying people.

Later in Starbucks we discovered that not only did sand find its way into our eyes, but through toques and hair into ears.

Wave Lengths

Cool temps Tuesday, not quite. Warm in fact (enough to walk around comfortably wearing nothing), they called for blizzard winds and snow at elevation. We bivied in the Happy's dirt pull out. Dreamed of slipping some climbing in before the calling storm, and slept to the sounds of wind gusts over the unprotected fields. I roused to calling cows - cow tipping anyone- and the sprinkling rain. After a morning tinkle the clouds bayed away through the day. Running a circuit of classics found me at The Hulk, which is an amazing climb, but some time during it I managed to strain my neck, adding to my stiff back. Sadly Bishop is dry on tree, making self medicating hard, perhaps some rest days on the coast are calling, but that won't happen till late April. After a crash pad nap, two advil, then a tailgate dinner, I collected my change and computer for an evening of comfort in Lounge O'Starbucks. After ditching my garbage in the dumpster and checking for "free groceries", an older dude with his life strapped burdensome to his back asked for change, hoping for a coffee. Slapped my pockets. Dug around my pants. Glanced at the dash. Looked for an answer. He said not to worry. Told him I was living cheep. He said he was with me, "dude". Surely I wasn't much less dirty than him. Asked if I was going to Mammoth. Told him I was climbing. Rock Climbing, I'm with you "dude" he said. We parted ways with words of good travel. When I drove off he was untying my garbage bags, hopefully he could get some change, from my seven six packs I had collected, for his coffee. Come to think of it he sounded drunk, maybe we both have an addiction.

Blown Over, Blown Away

So last night (Monday) John drove me out of town up to the Buttermilks. Had a lot to carry in the dark to camp, needed my sunglasses on to protect against the blowing sand. I opened the truck door threw my dear in and got blown over. It was time to go back to town, I decided. I began to pack everything I needed for the night and next days. Five minutes later and I saw John retreat down the road. Grabbed my Stove off my tupperware, into the truck, turned back and the lid was gone into the night. Couldn't find it, kept packing. Put everything I didn't need, including the lidless tupperware, in my tent. Coasted back down to town and into Starbucks. Slept in the Happies parking lot.

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Today (Thursday), a rest day, I went back up to the Buttermilks to check my things and watch Michelle send her project.
My tent has been distroyed. The Fly was raped from the tent and the tent was thrown 20 feet over bushes and rocks (yes with the things in it, tupperware (full and 15 gallons) and bags. the poles are bent some parts by ninety degrees. I searched sever acres of land, no lid, it's gone.

Thanks to my parent who came and visited I have my bivy.

Addicted With You

Conversations fly through an endless wind like a bird, roaming through topics as vast as time. One topic that got blown past, came up from the routes of ignorance based on a sheltered life. Dev told us about a coked up cook who hadn't left his part of town in nearly four years. To Adams story about a lazy turned fat collage student who never left his dorm room. To Walkers Friend who discovered rock climbing, quit his job, left his wife, sold his New York apartment, bought a van and moved west. "At least he's happy now". There are a lot of addicting substances about western culture, glad this one isn't harming me or anyone else less we die, but that's nature unlike the strip mall. To rest days in a row, I'm shaking and itching at myself, lets go climbing, uh my back is sore.

To Quote Butters - SP -S14 - E2 "Kill the phoneys"
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Bad weather is coming in this week 75mph winds tomorrow and snow at 3500 feet Wednesday, its going to be a happy/sads week.