High Points of the PCT

I couldn't believe it when Safety First told me she wasn't going to spend the day in Mazama Village but was going to hike on instead.  "But, but, don't you want to see Crater Lake?" She told me that the PCT afforded very nice views of the lake. She had just recently told me how while hiking drunk earlier in the trip, she walked over a ten foot cliff. Any advice I got from her would clearly be suspect, so I was pretty smug in my decision to really see the lake.

After being slightly chided by a park employee for trying to hitchhike in the park (no way was I going to walk seven miles, that's far), I walked around a curve in the bend out of sight of the chider, and immediately got picked up by a different park employee. That only got me half way there. After walking on a very windy, almost non-shouldered road for a mile, I got a second ride to get me the rest of the way. It was an ordeal, but I made it.

To get back, I took the free shuttle that dropped me right back to the village I was staying at. Oops. I was feeling a bit less smug after that snafu, but still, I got to see one heck of a shade of blue.

The next day I started out by spending a couple of hours climbing up a steep hill only to end up in the parking lot at Crater Lake, in just the spot I was at the day before. Oops, again.

My smugness had all but faded until I consoled myself by saying that the prior day's blue was way prettier. And besides, I got to go to a ranger talk that taught me some interesting facts about the creation of the lake. For example, scientists are equally divided between thinking the lake was formed either by an asteroid or an alien spaceship. I swear, I am not making this up. But truth be told, I wasn't listening all that carefully.

After thoroughly examining the parking lot, I followed the trail along the rim of the lake for a couple of hours. This more than made up for the last hundred miles of forested walking. It was a high point of the trail.

Another high point of the trail came a day layer when I walked past a sign claiming I was standing at the highest point of the trail (as long as I ignore California). How sad, I thought, that this pimple off a hill in the Cascades needing something to be proud of, something to hold over its taller neighbors that aren't on the PCT, or smaller otherwise equally unnoteworthy hills.

I noted that Forrester Pass in the Sierras feels no need to brag. Perhaps it is too busy admiring its views. I also felt a bit sad for the poor Washington point that could claim its rightful position as tallest in its state (so long as you restrict yourself to a certain 500 mile by two foot swath of dirt), because Oregon has decided that it should be included in Washington's race to the sky.

Let's move on to other worthless statistics, shall we?  I'm often asked how many miles I hike in an average day. The last time I was asked, I had hiked zero miles that day (and wasn't planning on hiking any more), had hiked 39 the day before, and 24 the day before that. To say that I averaged 21 miles per day doesn't tell you much about my trip.

There are, after all, no average days on the PCT. Yesterday, for example, I had for breakfast a peanut butter PopTart (completely inedible). Today, in contrast, I had an Oreo-like PopTart (almost inedible, but I was starving). What does this tell you? It's like my momma used to say, "life is like a hiker box of PopTarts. If it's free, smashed, and given away already, it's probably best worth staying away from."

What was I talking about now? Oh yes, averages. Just to nail home this point, there is an old statistics joke that the on average, humans have one breast and one testicle (can I say "testicle" on the Internet?). This should tell you something about averages. Without additional information, the mean is meaningless. This should also tell you something about statisticians. If this is their idea of humor, you best be staying away from their parties.

One last high point of the trip. This one may be tough to beat. My Kickstarter project has just been successfully funded. Thank you so much to everyone who pledged. It means the world to me.  Not the cryptics, though I am very excited about that, but the support. I am very touched.

- I ordered grog to be mixed (5, 6)

Greetings from Crater Lake

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. But they don't know how poor a photographer I am. Surely fifty words will do for mine. Since I have neither the time nor the inclination to upload photos (after the trip, I promise), my descriptions will have to suffice.  Imagine a long windy brown patch of dirt. That's the trail. Now imagine that everywhere you look are pine trees. But I'd you look closely, you might be able to make out some blue. That would be the sky. OK, that's it. Now you know exactly what hiking the last hundred miles was like.

This led me to think of anything to get my mind off the trail. And that usually means thinking about town. What should I do when I get to town? Since I was feeling a bit jealous that Mark was going to run 50 miles (congrats, Mark), while I was only going to hike 39, I decided that as soon as I got into town, I would go for an 11 mile run.

Then I remembered about the trail crew I had just met who told me about a 20 pound pizza challenge (four people, one hour), and thought, you know, instead of running 11 miles, I'll just get me one of those.

I liked that idea much better. But unable and/or unwilling to get a ride to Klamath Falls. I settled on the measly four pound pizza from crater lake. It did make me feel a bit better that the menu called it a "family size" pie.

The waitress seemed to be very impressed when I finished the whole enchilada. Why she served me an enchilada instead of the pizza I ordered, I'll never know. I did have a passing thought that it was a shame I am happily married, as I'm sure many successful relationships begin by the age old courting ritual of gorging oneself ("if he needs to eat that much, just imagine how much food he can provide to my offspring. I'll just have to remember to keep the little ones away from his piehole during mealtimes. *swoon*.")

As she was clearing the crumbs (just kidding, there were no crumbs left), still in a bit of shock, she jokingly asked if I could be possibly thinking about dessert. Quite possibly I was.

Perhaps I should have been embarrassed when I ordered a coffee milkshake, but the trail strips you raw enough that you don't become embarrassed about anything. So I ordered what may have been the best milkshake ever, prepared by the same waitress. I had another passing thought that it was a shame I am happily married, as that milkshake might have gotten a proposal out of me. I am certain that many successful relationships start out that way ("You know, if I had a wife like that I could have a milkshake every day *burp*").

You know something is true when it's been made into an aphorism. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." And "the way to a woman's heart is through a display of  intense gluttony."

Caroline just emailed me something so fascinating that I feel the need to share.  Apparently, we are attracted to people with complementary immune systems. You can smell it in their pheromones. And now they have discovered you can taste it in their saliva. They say that is perhaps why French kissing originated. I say that makes sense, as the French invented perfume to avoid having to take showers, thus masking their odors and foiling a vital part of the mating ritual.

This helps in answering the unanswerable question people ask of why am I hiking the trail. Now I can answer them with "if you don't know that you are married to your spouse because you enjoy the taste of your their saliva, why do you think I know why I'm hiking the trail?" Until now, my stock response was "How else am I going to find some decent maple syrup?"

Let's hope the next section of trail provides some interesting happenings. Because if I'm left alone to simply walk, I have nothing but my own musings to "entertain" you. Just be thankful that you have a delete button on your e-mail, and can turn me off whenever you like. I've got to listen to this yammering all day long.

I'd like to leave you with one final thought. This section has me missing Caroline more than ever. I know I don't say this often enough, and never in public, but sweetie, I love your immune system.

-Roger Dodger

Goodbye, California

Finally, after almost three long months, I left California behind and entered into the great state of... Jefferson. To those of you who don't know, the people of northern California refuse to accept that they are not a recognized state.

In Saeid Valley, Jefferson, there exists a post office, general store, restaurant, RV park, and nothing else. The first three exist in one building. The RV park is next door.

Happy (trail name off a very happy hiker) was smart, and left Saeid Valley at 3 in the morning to avoid the heat (105 in the valley) while hiking up the four thousand foot exposed climb.  I was smarter and waited for the restaurant to open at 7a, where I had an excellent omelet, and followed that with an even more excellent milkshake.

After another two days, I finally left the great state of Jefferson, and into the more greater state of Oregon. I didn't realize just how good (I could use some help on my adjectives...) that it would feel (..and my emotional awareness).

I've been in Oregon for about a day now, and it's been absolutely (oh no, another adjective) awesome so far. Just when my spirit was flagging I ran into a cooler full of soda. That definitely helped put PEPS In my steps. In the cooler was a phone number for a trail angel that might (fingers crossed) take me from the trail into town.

I called Mark as soon as I got cell reception, and asked if there was any chance he'd want to give me a ride. He politely said that he wasn't planning on coming back up to the trail, but for some reason changed his mind over the next 30 seconds, and ended up driving an hour round trip with Arlene to pick me up after 9p, give me a quick tour of Ashland, and deliver me to a hostel he had called to make sure there was room at.

And if that weren't enough, he invited me for a beer the next evening, and cooked me an unbelievable salmon dinner.

And if that weren't enough, he is driving me back to the trail tomorrow.

I kept trying to repay him for his generosity (gas money? Pay for the beer?), but he very stubbornly refused.

Maybe you all could help me out by wishing him good luck on his 50 mile ultra this weekend. His email address is melowmark_1959@yahoo.com.  Apparently he is mellow enough not to need the second L.

And one last welcome to Oregon story. My eighteen(?) month niece called me Uncle Roger for the first time. Or, more precisely, Uncle Woger.

Can the rest of Oregon be anything but a letdown from here?  We'll just have to find out.

-Uncle Woger

I Believe I Can Fly

Just checking in from mile 1600 at Etna, CA.

 

Were any of curious last week as to how it is so hard for me to keep a schedule?  On July Fourth, for example, I had planned on trying to hike a whopping 37 miles.  I ended up coming up short by about 25 .  Late morning, I found a big sign on the trail telling me about trail angels with laundry, Internet, showers.  They didn't tell me about the bed, shower, shave, soda, ping pong, whiffle ball, 3 meals better than the last, a campfire with s'mores, or the family gathering that I (and Whistler) got to participate in.  It was one of the best times off trail I've had.  This is how you slow down your schedule.

 

On the other hand, there are ways to speed up your schedule.  For example, there was this time (two days ago), where I was crossing a road and met Tish, who handed me a Gatorade, insisting that she wasn't a trail angel.  I on the other hand, insisted that giving me a Gatorade made her an angel. She was being funded by a wealthy CEO to support ZenMaster in an attempt to break the PCT speed record.  Most hikers take between 120-150 days to complete the 2600 mile trail.  An occasional few decide they want a real challenge and try to make it in 90.  And then there are the ones that try to walk into the Hall of Fame for long distance hiking (note: there is no Hall of Fame.  There are no rewards.  There is almost no recognition.), and will attempt to complete the trail faster than anyone else before them.  They aim for about 60 days.  That's roughly 45 miles a day.  Every day.  No rest days.  And that is a lot.

 

About a week prior, ZenMaster met Victuals, a hiker mentally struggling with the trail.  But he got excited about the idea of helping out ZenMaster, and has been hiking with him ever since.  That was interesting enough that I decided that I should stick around to meet them.  An hour later, we left the rest stop together.  I had hiked almost 30 miles already, and was getting ready to call it a night.  An hour of hiking, and I would say good-bye, wish them well, and never see them again.  About 30 hours later and 60 miles later, I was finally able to say that good-bye.

 

Why would anyone in their right mind (that I am in my right mind is a questionable assumption, I agree) stick with them for 30 hours, you might ask?  Only for you, dear readers.  I couldn't think of anything that I would write about when I got to Etna, and hiking with them would surely give me a story.

 

The first night we hiked until just past midnight.  We got about 4 hours of sleep, and hiked to Tish for breakfast.  She was surprised to see me again, but very nicely accepted me into the club.  Twenty miles and six hours later, we met her for lunch.  This time, she was ready, and handed me a frappacinno (or some other highly caloric coffee drink), a veggie burger, a veggie burrito, a bag of chips, a box of Cracker Jacks, a soda, and kept asking if there was anything else I needed.  Twenty miles and six hours later, we repeated the process with Pad Thai and spring rolls. 

 

During the interim hours, we hiked through the Trinity Alps.  They are absolutely spectular.  Or so I hear.  I really wasn't able to look up very often.  Every time I took my eyes off the trail (take in the view, take a photo, etc...) I found myself being left in the dust and had to book it like I've never booked it before just to catch back up with them.  But I enjoyed myself immensely.  And the last mile and a half, Victuals and I started "sprinting" (ok, it was more like "running" (ok, let's say "jogging")) down the trail, as darkness came, jumping around to avoid rocks, and having one heck of a time.

 

There were plenty of times during the day that I wished I had more time to hike with them.  However, those times happened to be short in duration, and very far between.  I got my first blister since day one of the hike.  I started chafing for the first time in over 1000 miles.  Ditto for the "hiker hobble" I woke up this morning with.

 

Overall, I am very glad I did this.  I actually enjoyed myself enough that I have decided next summer that I am going to attempt to do anything except try to break the speed record for the PCT.  Both hikers were staunchly vegan, and thus I was a vegan for the day.  I enjoyed myself with that so much as well that I have decided to become a vegan permanently.  At least in between meals.

 

So I made it the last 87 miles in two days.  Apparently, I can fly if I choose.  Unfortunately, I don't have anything but crash landings to get me back on the ground.  Today is a zero day of sleeping and recovering.

 

-Roger Dodger

I'm Gonna Be (1500 Miles)

I would walk 500 miles And I would walk a thousand more Just to be the man who walked fifteen hundred miles To fall down at Ben Cronin's door. Who is Ben Cronin, you may ask? He is my doppelgänger, apparently. A computer science major graduate of Princeton University who runs ultramarathons, and quit their programming job at a major international software company to end up in the tiny town of Dunsmuir, CA (in one of our cases, only for a weekend)-- a town with a population of about 1600 people and "Home of the best water on earth", if their city slogan is to be believed. Within an hour of meeting him, I asked if I could borrow some clothes. After I changed, he must have felt like he was looking into a mirror. We even use the same belt notch. How crazy is that?!?! To back up a bit, Ben is my brother-in-law's college roommate of ten years ago. At reunions a couple of months ago, they reconnected, Ben had recently moved to a PCT trail town. And I love PCT towns. We have been communicating over e-mail since then to figure out how to get together. The e-mail exchange went something like this: Ben: Looking forward to meeting you, let me know when you will be in town Roger: Same here, I should be there on July 12th. Ben: Great, see you then. ...one week later... Roger: I'm a bit ahead of schedule, I might get there as early as the 10th. Ben: Great, see you then. ...one week later... Roger: Actually, I'm a bit behind schedule now. It looks like I'll be there on the 14th. Ben: Great, see you then. ...one week later... Roger: Hey Ben, I'm in Dunsmuir now at the pizza place. Surprise, I'm here a day early (it was the 13th). Ben: I'll be there in five minutes. After getting some calories into me, we went back to his place. My next order of business was to take a shower, and since I didn't want to get back into my filthy hiking clothes, I asked him for something I could wear. It's been long enough on the trail that I don't even know if this is an inappropriate request or not. Besides being an all-around great guy, Ben also has some wonderful friends, Nathan and Nora, which we hung out with for a couple of days. After dinner, they asked if I wanted to go on a short walk with them, and their 130 pound dog. I figured, sure why not. I only went for a short twenty-two mile walk this morning to get into town. I was very happy when I found out that our definitions of 'short' were decidedly not the same. I was also very happy to find out, as far as trail angels are concerned, I had hit the proverbial mother lode. Nora is aspiring to start an ice cream company. And I love ice cream. She also makes her own waffle cones. I've never used this acronym before, but I think now is the time. OMG. I think I am going to just move into their freezer. I'd talk a bit about the actual trail, but frankly, there isn't much to say for this section. It was almost all forested. The only indication I got that I was making any progress was that every hour or two I would get to peak through the trees to see the 14,000+ foot Mt. Shasta grow little by little until it eventually was looming so large you couldn't notice anything else. I took my first zero day in a while. And I actually got a bit of time to relax, just sitting down by the river bank, picking blackberries, reading, staring off into space. You know, just relaxing. Of course, that means I'm now still up at 2a trying to get all my e-mailing done before getting back on the trail. Aunt Kathie gave me a great idea. Next blog entry will be answering any questions you have. I'll try to answer those questions about quantum physics the best I can, but your safest bet is probably just to stick with asking me about the trail. Let's hear those questions. My next mail stop will be Aug. 17th at Cascade Locks if you'd like to reach me. Roger Wolff c/o General Delivery Cascade Locks, OR 97014 -Roger Dodger

Halfway Home!

I just passed the official halfway point. But since I've done the desert half and the Sierra half, and have transformed from a couch potato into a hiking machine, I would say it is most definitely the easy half. Twenty mile days used to be long and difficult. Now twenty miles are done by lunchtime. Last update I told you of the coincidental meeting of Caroline's uncles. Not nearly as coincidental, but still exciting is meeting up with fellow hikers that I haven't seen for a while, sometimes as long as 700 miles. But it is still fun nonetheless. Finally, I got to meet Chief, a retired fire chief from Santa Barbara. I had heard stories of him about how he helped to rescue Purple from the trail when she suffered from a hike-ending foot injury. And I had been treated to several trail angel treats by his wife from as long as 900 miles ago (apple sauce). He popped into the Red Moose Cafe in Sierra City to drop off a couple of loads of freshly baked goodies from his wife. The next day on my way out to hike, I used my magic thumb to get a lift. Who should it be from but Chief's wife. Finally, I got to thank her for the apple sauce so many miles back. She introduced herself as Maureen, and introduced me to their dog, Bodie. Bodie and I got to know one another in the back seat during the mile and a half ride to the trail. That night I camped early with Chief while waiting to see whether the nearby storm would hit. It didn't, but once we set up our tents, we were there to stay. The next day, who should I see but Bodie, coming at me at a dead sprint, leaping over a downed tree to pull up shy as if to say "Who the heck are you, and where is my Chief?" Not disappointed in the least, I gave Bodie a couple of quick pats, told Maureen that Chief was surely on his way, and continued my hike. A couple of days later (today), as I was trying to hitchhike to Chester, I was thinking about my lucky thumb. I have never had to wait more than five minutes for a ride before. Usually, I don't even need to stick out my thumb. In Wrightwood, I pulled up to a group of eight hikers at the trailhead. Since eight hikers never are hiking together, it was clear to me that at least some of them had been waiting for a long time. And since nine hikers cannot fit into a car no matter how hard they try, it was also clear to me that I would be there for a while. Not three minutes later, one big van, and one pickup truck pulled into the trailhead, and took all of us down to town. Another time, at Big Bear City, as I was stepping off of the trail, a driving was pulling into the parking lot. Before my foot even had time to hit the ground, I was offered a ride. These two are my best stories, but by no means my only ultra-successful ones. So back to today, after I had waited a half hour with lots of passing cars, but none who wanted to pick me up, I figured my luck had finally turned. Not so fast. A camper going the opposite direction pulls into the trailhead and shouts out "Need a ride?" It was none other than Maureen and Bodie. She drove me to the supermarket to resupply, while Chief made it and was waiting at the trailhead. We then grabbed some lunch to go, along with milkshakes, for us and Chief, and drove back to the trailhead. I am now sitting at a campground on their computer after eating an unbelievably good meal of chicken enchiladas, with freshly laundered clothes (and a humbling defeat in horseshoes -- happy Maureen?), and otherwise very satisfied with life. So satisfied that I'm not even lamented the loss of my cell phone. I would think that after Caroline and I had collectively "washed" three phones over the years, I would have learned that swimming with your phone is not a good idea. Okay, it wasn't actually swimming, it was foolishly trying to ford a river that didn't need to be forded. But the net result is the same. Another broken phone, and another jackpot for T-Mobile. I could also tell you about the time I followed a deer for a half-mile down the trail. Or about the best Fourth of July celebration I've ever had with complete strangers. Or about the horse I saw rolling on his back and scratching like a dog. But I've talked long enough. Hope all is well, -Roger Dodger

Hello from Sierra "City"

Someone asked me if I had a relaxing time in South Lake Tahoe. My answer was an unequivocal "no". Town stops are hectic as anything. Find lodging. Find food. Find a computer. Find a supermarket. Find a post office. Eat. Shop. Resupply. E-mail. Call. Blog. Sleep. Before you know it, the day is gone and half the things you wanted to do weren't done. Don't get me wrong. Town stops are great. My favorite part of town is getting to talk to Caroline. But it's not relaxing. The trail, on the other hand, is relaxing. You've got all the time in the world to relax. I was wearing a short sleeve shirt as I was relaxing on my hike out of South Lake Tahoe. (Now, that's a segue, Margaret!) I forgot that my long sleeves keep them from getting sunburned. Although the new sunburn was quite painful, luckily I was distracted from it by the swarms of mosquitoes that were attacking my arms. So I decided to make a game out of it. A successful mosquito bite and they scored a point. A dead mosquito and I scored a point. End of the day score: Mosquitoes -- a lot. Roger -- a lot more. Somehow I think I still came out the loser. I wore the short sleeve shirt because my long sleeve shirt didn't have "Roger Dodger" written on the back. That being said, I think I'm going to have to relegate the shirt to town stops for now. But it will make it's hiking reappearance to celebrate when I cross the Canadian border. The day coming into Sierra City was a peculiar one. I passed a couple of sixty-something day hikers on the way up a hill. Most of the time when I pass some hikers we engage in an awkward twelve second conversation. "Hi." "Hello, how are you?" "Fine, and yourself?" "Excellent. Have a nice hike." "You, too." And this conversation was no different. About a mile later I climbed up the hill off the trail a little ways to get out of the sun. The two guys I passed were a bit smarter than me. They climbed a little higher to the ridge top. They were rewarded with broader views, and although I didn't ask, surely less of the vicious black flies that were circling me (if you think mosquito bites are bad, you should try sitting in a swarm of these killers). Anyway, I got fed up being fly bait, and resumed my hike just after the guys above me. When I passed them a second time, I prepped for my next twelve second conversation. One of them was looking through binoculars, so I found my opening. "See any good birds, today?" Somehow twelve seconds turned into forty minutes which entailed exchanging contact information, and ended with a promise to keep in touch and visit next time Caroline and I were in the area, which will be when she joins me for the finale of my hike in Washington. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Somewhere in those forty minutes we discovered that the two guys were Caroline's uncles, who she hadn't seen in almost 25 years. And if that weren't coincidence enough, I also met Margaret and Jon's uncles on the same ridge. This got me to thinking, how many other long lost relatives have I passed on the trail without giving them a second thought. From now on, I think my new twelve second conversations will go something like this: "Hi." "Hello, how are you." "Excellent. By the way, is there any chance that we are related?" My next mail stop, if you are interested will be about July 23rd Roger Wolff c/o General Delivery Ashland, OR 97520 -Roger Dodger

Goodbye Central California

According to the guidebooks, I am just about done with central California (15 more miles). Along the way, I passed the 1000 mile mark. I also passed the 1007 mile mark (some wise guy decided that it was funny to make a 1007 marker -- I agreed). I also passed the 1041 mile mark. But it was oddly at mile 1025. So I fixed it. Back to binary, it was mile 1000000001 which is much more interesting. Not only is it a palindrome (reads the same right to left), but it is also an ambigram (reads the same upside down). Only afterwards did we realize that we probably disappointed boy scout troup number 1041 if they decide to come back the way they came. Want to know what's better than getting cookies in the mail? Getting a t-shirt that says "Roger Dodger" on the back and is signed by your college roommates. Thank you so much, Darren, Will, and Dan. About a week and a half ago, I met up again with Tower, a hiker that I've seen on and off for about 800 miles. He told me about his kid's trail magic (hamburgers and soda) that I missed (by ONE HOUR!) He told me about his upcoming kid's trail magic in 3 days. So I didn't let him out of my sight. When we got to where the trail magic was supposed to be, his son brought a couple of cookies and some soda. I didn't show my disappointment, but I was hoping for some more. And more did I ever get. His son asked if I wanted a ride down to the local restaurant (with a promise of a ride back up to the trail). After Tower and I ate our fill, his son asked if I wanted the sandwich he got for his dad, who didn't need it now that he ate lunch and was going home to a barbecue in a couple of hours. So I ate that, too. But when I was done, he asked if I wanted to come home with them, where he plied me with steak, hot dogs, salads, and blueberry muffins for dessert. After a night of not sleeping much (the bed was too comfortable), he fed me more: bacon, blueberry pancakes, strawberries, an egg scramble. He then gave me a book he wrote about his time as the world's 13th best freestyle skier before his brother took us back to the trail where we tried to make a dent burning off the calories we just ate. A couple of days later we got caught in a storm. We fought very high winds on a ridgetop. I then proceded to get lost. After I descended for an hour, I figured out that I wasn't on the PCT. I knew where I went wrong, but couldn't brave the weather and the hill. So I set up camp, and crawled into my sleeping bag for about 20 hours. When I couldn't take it anymore, I took all my soggy gear up the hill and was back on my way. I'm all dry now. I'm well fed. And I'm ready to get back on the trail tomorrow. If you'd like to get rid of any cookies (or t-shirts), at July 12th, I'll be at Roger Wolff c/o General Delivery Dunsmuir, CA 96025 -Roger Dodger

Mammoth Lakes

Just passed the 900 mile mark. For some reason, people seem to like numbers with lots of zeros at the end, and often arrange rocks, sticks, or pinecones to commemorate those milestones. To that effect, I got my geek on a ways back at mile 512 and made a 1,000,000,000 marker. And if I can remember, I will make the 10,000,000,000 marker at mile 1024. A couple of days ago I was composing this e-mail update in my head, and was going to tell you how absolutely lucky I have been on this trip so far. Pleasant weather in the desert, lots of trail angels, no feet problems, in fact no problems of any kind worth even mentioning. I'm not sure if I should have been thinking so loudly, because the very next day.....I lost my hat. Subsequently, I got sunburnt. I broke my hiking pole. When playing around with it, a scraped my leg up. Nothing major, but the first time I've drawn blood on the trip. When I got to camp, the mosquitoes were horrendous. After giving them way more blood that I lost to the hiking pole, I jumped into the tent and forewent dinner. I took out my journal, thought about the day, and all I could think was that I was walking through one of the most beautiful places on earth, how great of a time I had, and how lucky I was. Suck it, Karma. Perhaps I shouldn't have written so loudly. Two days later, I got caught in a storm for four hours. It rained. It snowed. And it hailed. The hail was big enough to hurt. The sky was all gray, I could hardly see a thing. Throughout those miles, all I could think was that Caroline was coming to Mammoth, and I was going to see her for the first time in six weeks. How lucky was I? Suck it again, Karma. It turns out that Caroline's plane malfunctioned, and had to make an emergency landing, accompanied by ambulances and fire trucks, just in case of an explosion. She missed her connecting flights, and had to stay in Pittsburgh for another day. But she is coming today. I hope. Be nice, Karma, I didn't mean any of that. I said I lost my hat. In fact, it was stolen. I went to sleep one night with it resting on a log, with my sunglasses on top of it. In the morning the glasses were a couple of feet away, but the hat was nowhere to be found. At first, I thought it might be a Sasquatch. That didn't make any sense, the hat would never fit him. Then, I figured it might be a bear. No, they don't actually exist. My leading contender is now a deer. They like the salt from my sweat, and I've seen lots of them in the woods recently. I liked that hat. My siblings-in-law gave it to me. It served me well for 850 miles. For the rest of the trip, I will just have to live with a hat that does not say "What should I have for dinner in town?" If it's any consolation, Margaret and Eric, the hat will be on the PCT for way longer than it would have otherwise. For those of you who haven't funded the most amazing cryptic crosswords project yet, http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1747436254/cryptic-all-stars there is no better day to do it than today. Or tomorrow. Or any of the next 47 days. In fact, they are all pretty much equally good. For those of you that have helped to fund this, thank you so very much. Over a quarter of the way there. -Roger Dodger

Kennedy Meadows

Wow, 700 miles really flies by. I just spent the last 150 miles in the Sierra, but it has been way more desertlike than the desert. Go figure. North of Kennedy Meadows is where the "real" Sierra comes though. I've been there a couple of times before, but it's one place that you can never get sick of. I'll be spending the next 200+ miles without running into so much as a jeep road. I've talked a bit about how much trail angels have given to me. This section, I was able to give back. Before leaving HikerTown, I was somehow conned into helping lay down flooring for the owner. After I woke up, he asked if I wanted coffee. Then if I wanted toast. Then if I wanted to see the ranch next door that he bought and was renovating to rent in the off-season, and let hikers use during the summer. Then he said to the guy laying the floor, "and by the way, this guy offered to help." He stopped short of pushing me into the room before running away. My head was still spinning a bit as to how it all happened, but I had fun laying the floor, and felt good to help the trail angel, not to mention the hikers following me that are going to have some nice linoleum to walk on. I got to Tehachapi, and was in Starbucks when an older guy who saw I was a hiker came up and started talking to me. Turns out, he was a trail angel that left much needed water, and much appreciate apples eight miles before town. I asked him if I could buy him lunch. He told me how he has been out of work as a carpenter for 4 months due to kidney stones (unfortunately, I now know A LOT about his kidney stones), and that he hasn't been able to afford to go out and eat at his favorite Thai restaurant since then. He couldn't seem to believe his fortune that someone would treat him to lunch. And he even had some leftovers to give to his grandkid. Last e-mail I tried to tell you a bit about what the PCT looks like. This time I'll try to tell you what it sounds like. Imagine New York City during rush hour. It's entirely unlike that. You walk along and hear the clicking of your trekking poles, and crunching under your feet. You stop walking, and all that's left is that godforsaken whistling. You realize you've been whistling again and cut that out. Now there is nothing left but your breathing. And the occasional gust of wind. Or the hoot of an owl. Or the scampering of a lizard. And then you look around you and realize that the only sign of civilization apart from you is the trail in front of you, and the trail behind you. And you become humbled. And then you hear the grumbling. So you tell your stomach to keep quiet, and book it 3 more hours to Kennedy Meadows where someone sees the glazed look in your eyes saying "my whole life for the past 5 days has been mostly walking alone on the trail (I finally got to spend 24 hours without seeing another person), and now there are people, a store, a restaurant and showers, I'm not sure what I am supposed to do," and does the only thing they can -- offer you a beer. Life is good on the PCT. My next mail stop will be at June 24th. I can be reached at the following address: Roger Wolff c/o General Delivery South Lake Tahoe, CA 96150 While I'm not hiking, I have been busy pressing a green "Launch" button on a Kickstarter project of mine. Please check it out. http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1747436254/cryptic-all-stars Make sure to watch the video, and then send Ahing (ahinghuang@gmail.com) an e-mail saying something along the lines of "Holy cow! That was the best cryptic crossword related video I've ever seen!" Please don't feel obligated, but I would love it if you pledged.

Goodbye SoCal

I am now in Tehachapi, and officially done with southern California. In a couple of hours, I will be headed out into the southernmost of the Sierras. I want to apologize for my lack of detail in providing information about when I will get to town to receive any packages. Mom and aunt Kathie both sent me cookies to Agua Dulce which arrived after I already left. Just so you know, they were not wasted. The trail angels and other hikers thoroughly enjoyed them. It was my own fault that I didn't. My next mail stop will be mammoth lakes, where I will be spending a couple of days with Caroline.I can't wait. If you'd like to send me anything, please make sure that it will arrive by June 14th at the latest. You can send it to Roger Wolff c/o general delivery Mammoth lakes, CA 93546 Now for what I've been up to. I cooked dinner for the first time in a week. Trail angels have been too nice. I get to partially repay their generosity by taking a guy I met in Starbucks out to lunch. He introduced himself as the guy who leaves water and apples for the hikers about 10 miles south of town. A couple of nights ago, eighteen of us set off after dark wearing glowsticks. Someone organized this as a tribute to Glow in the Dark, a hiker undergoing chemo for breast cancer hiking the trail in pieces when she can. My mother asked for a description of the scenery, as I am not attaching any pictures in these updates. I'll try. Imagine if you will, "Lawrence of Arabia", walking through the sun-drenched desert with nothing but sand for as far as the eye can see. Well, the southern California desert is nothing like that. mountains full of green, save for the hillsides of colorful flowers, filled with animals. It has been beautiful. Unfortunately, neither words nor photos could do it justice. If you would like to know what it looks like, you will just have to come out and experience it yourself. -Roger Dodger

Hello from Agua Dulce

After 450 miles, I made it to "Hiker Heaven." And heaven it is. After some slight miscalculation, I ended up hiking 65 miles over 2 days through the heat and trails overgrown with poodle-dog bush (related to poison oak, but worse) to make it to this makeshift hostel in the middle of nowhere. About 15 years ago, the owners picked up a hiker from the local pizza place and offered them a place to stay. Today, they have rented tents filled with cots, a rented 15 person van to shuttle people to REI, or anyplace else they need to go. They have a small team of volunteers to do everyone's laundry, and let hikers use their bicycles to ride to town (who wants to walk the off-trail mile?) Now that I'm showered and fed, I'm spending the day just relaxing while I wait to reuinte with my college roommate. Just happenstance I received an e-mail from another roommate asking if I would be going to our 15th college reunion. After I got a response from a second roommate with a signature from Southern California, I thought "Hey, I'm in Southern California!" Anyway, should be a lot of fun reminiscing tonight. And this is on the heels of reconnecting with my best friend from high school just a week before the trip. This sentence is an example of a terrible segue. I'm not sure why, but hikers assume trail names. My best guess is that a long-distance hike is so removed from "normal life", that to make the transformation complete, we adopt new names. Usually they come from an attribute of that person ("Hiking Pole" is a Polish hiker) or some quirky thing they did ("Sour Cream" ate sour cream on his granola because he thought it was (funny-tasting) yogurt). I have been happy to help name a couple of fellow hikers. A girl who told me she cries whenever someone is nice to her is now known as "Tears for Beers." And a Japanese hiker who carries a big DSLR camera is now "Shashingka" (Japanese for photographer). I've done a pretty good job of avoiding a trail name like "The Plague". I've been pretty good at avoiding the more innocuous ones as well ("Speedy Gonzolez", "Mr. Rogers", "The Clapper" (or "The Clap" for short), and "Pathfinder". Because of this, I have been christened "Roger Dodger," which I humbly accept. Until I don't any, at which point I may be named "Roger Dodger Dodger." I should be arriving at Kennedy Meadows by June 1, so if you'd like to send me some hiker love, please send it to the following address (and let me know to expect it). ROGER WOLFF c/o KENNEDY MEADOWS GENERAL STORE 96740 BEACH MEADOW RD INYOKERN CA 93527 Hope all is well -Roger Dodger

Hello from Warner Springs

First week, first 100 miles, first town stop. I'm in Warner Springs, CA, and everything is going very well. I started off the trip by getting picked up by a couple of "trail angels." They had previously hiked the PCT, and now open their San Diego home to aspiring PCTers. About 20 people stayed with them (and me), as well as a couple of other trail angels that flew down from Portland, OR just to help them out. After a home-cooked dinner (and then breakfast), they drove me down to the Mexican border. Twenty miles later, I arrived at ADZPCTKO (Annual Day Zero Pacific Crest Trail Kick-Off) where I met (or got reacquainted with) 700 fellow past/present/future PCTers, trail angels, and hangers on, all who wanted to wish us bon voyage. Even though it's just walking, eating, and sleeping, so many things happen every day. Just one highlight, before I run across the community center to where they are grilling hamburgers....I had a couple of very interesting "conversations" with a Japanese hiker who hardly speaks any English. We communicated in one or two word sentences, hand gestures, and a couple of his electronic translation devices. Hope all is well with you, too.