Day 62: Treesmackers and Firebirds

PCT mile 1272.3, 21.8 miles, 6-23-17
 As we were starting to pack up, Thirsty came to our tent to borrow some wet wipes on Joyce’s behalf. The day before she had fallen while climbing a downed log and her tricep had become slightly impaled on a sharp tree branch. She had said their was “stuff” hanging down from the wound. I wasn’t quite sure if she was exaggerating or if she was just very nonchalant about it. She had offered to show us the puncture at dinner but we had declined. We walked up a large hill and then slowly came down the other side. Five hours later, we were on the highway that led to the small mountain town of bucks lake. We felt very lucky as we saw several UC Davis vans approaching. Surely these were the non risk averse sort of coeds that would give us a ride. They did not and we cursed them briefly then set our sites on other hitching opportunities. Before long, a car that had passed us circled back to pick us up. They were a thirty something couple with three dogs, one of which was an adorable puppy. “Do you mind the dogs” they asked. We did not. After they dropped us off we chatted a little then decided to attempt a Bucks Lake pub crawl. This consists of eating nachos and drinking beer in one establishment then walking a short distance to the only other restaurant in town and eat some pizza. I am happy to say the venture was a success. One small hiccup occurred on the way to pizza however. And, for me, it cast a dark shadow over the whole affair. A Pontiac firebird approached as we were walking up the road. The driver lifted his hand, I assumed to wave at the hikers. I began to wave in reply when I realized he was actually flipping us off and at the same time sticking his tounge out, like a petulant child might. Being confronted by such behavior from people I have begun to call “townies”, confused and enraged me a little. In our time on this trip we have become insulated from assholes. There are none on the trail. They simply wouldn’t survive. It was sad to be reminded that these wastes of carbon awaited us upon our return to the real world. There they would be hiding among the decent people flipping off what they think are homeless people. I immediately daydreamed that as soon as he left our sight he lost control of the wheel, jumped a ditch and rolled the car over ten or twelve times. This made me feel better. At second dinner I briefly considered having the town drink: a mixture of rum, schnapps, some mixers and pineapple juice called The Treesmacker. If the drawing on the chalkboard above the bar was any indication, it was so named because it would cause you to drive drunk and crash your pickup into a pine. It seemed like an odd thing to celebrate. After eating, we took a swim in the lake. It was recreation and bathing at the same time. I wish we could have stayed, but we had miles to make to get to our next resupply and what we hoped would be a relaxing afternoon the next day in Belden. We camped that evening on a ridge surrounded by manzanita bushes. 

Bucks lake

Photographic evidence on Sarah’s log hogging


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