Wayne's Adventure (In Motion)

Out here, you see NOBODY.  You can literally go weeks without seeing a single human being.

 Just before I reached Silver City, as I stood pondering a particularly treacherous crossing, another OBVIOUSLY thru-hiker ran up to me, put his hand on my chest and said: “Dude, are you real?  Don’t shit me man, I haven’t seen anyone in weeks and I have been talking to cows.”  He never mentioned if they talked back.  Given his panicky voice and general instability, I think they might have. (Shout out to Beaver.  Keep rolling dude, no matter what the cows say….)

Anyhoo, being a massive introvert and unintentional reluctant loner, I always felt I was less susceptible to the effects of rampant isolation than the average person or especially extroverts.  Still, I does get to me more than I want to admit.  No people, cell coverage, internet, nothing but the occasional night lights of a passing plane to reassure you the zombie apocalypse hasn’t occurred quite yet.  But you never know what’s flying those planes.

The seemingly endless silence does give the Old Gods carte blanche to run rampant inside your head and you find yourself arguing with them and yourself regularly.  Aloud.  With gestures.  Rehashing mistakes you make yesterday and 40 years ago.  Justifying your life to the ether.

Tom Hanks arguing with a Wilson Volleyball has nothing on the average CDT thru-hiker.

So Memorial Day offered a unique opportunity.  I just happened to be crossing a remote but popular camp ground during a 3 day holiday weekend.  The opportunity to YOGI (i.e. get free food, beverages, beer from tourists:  i.e.e. Yogi Bear, BooBoo and access to Picknick Baskets is a thru-hiker tradition on ALL major hiking trails.).

The key to a successful YOGI (if you are not and cannot impersonate a cute girl hiker) is to look equal parts interesting and pathetic.  I had no problem with the latter.

So you sit at a picnic table by yourself (only chair or table I had within the last 400 miles), pull out your meager ration bag.  Sigh.  Place the crushed, moldy and otherwise inedible offerings on the table.  Sigh again.  Check surreptitiously to see if any of the million dollar F350 pickups pulling a McMansion trailer behind them notice….rinse and repeat.  Hoping eventually that someone will see your CDT badge and approach to ask you one of the 32 standard CDT hiker questions and give you the opportunity to display you meager rations and offer you a meal or a drink or a beer in exchange for entertaining them with tales of your adventure (the more horrifying your story, the better the reward….trust me I know).

So after the park began filling up with trailers and families and working the tourists for a little while, I managed to attract a small, deeply disturbed crowd (my people).

It will still early in the day and the barbeques had not yet come out, so food was not happening and since I did want to do another 10 miles before dark, I satisfied myself with going (by request) from campsite to campsite and having a beer or two with various mansion trailer dwellers in exchange for being the touring entertainment and park Jester.    Met everyone from a special forces vet who go out of the service in February to the Dean of Students at The University of New Mexico.  Beer was offered and accepted.  Repeatedly.

Now, since I have lost an average of 8 lbs. a week since beginning this little adventure (Yes, down 42 lbs in 5ish weeks….entirely another story) and I am not a big drinker anymore, let’s just say my tolerance for alcohol is “diminished”.  At about 4 p.m., I realized I had long since sailed right past “nice warm buzz” and “tipsy” and “feeling pretty good”, into “I can’t feel my face”.  So, rather than embarrass myself, I thanked everyone (or slurred something inappropriate, not really sure), grabbed my pack and staggered off in the general direction of Canada, weaving like a loom.

I made it to the gate of the park, was just turning to head cross-country into the great beyond, when the first guy I met (who was drunker than me if possible) almost ran me over driving a Kawasaki Mule Off roader,.  He dismounted… rather he fell completely out of the ATV face first, fought to his feet with all the dignity he didn’t posses…staggered up to me and said “You ROCK dude.  Take some for the road. “ And jammed three extra beers into my pack.  Retuned to his vehicle.  Attempted to get into the wrong side, fell out of that side, crawled to the correct side and fired it up.

Discretion being the better part of valor, I didn’t wait to see if he made it.  I figured if I was within a 100 yards of him in any direction, including above,  being run over was a distinct possibility.  So I tried to casually jog/run down a steep,  grassy slope before he got moving again. In my condition, not my brightest idea.   Ended up doing the Steve Austin Six Million Dollar man opening crash sequence…rolling end over end down the hill… but didn’t injure myself or the spare beers.

I only made in 8 miles to Snow Lake before I kinda camped/passed out.  When I woke , I found myself sleeping on top on my tent rather than inside it, still holding the tent stakes in my left hand…But I call it a win.  Thanks everyone for the calories and 6 hours of being pain-free for the first time in weeks.