Day 21: Going into Big Bear

I got from the Highway 18 junction into Big Bear Lake thanks to a ride from Bill Treadwell. Bill and Carol Threadwell are in-laws of Sarah, a new-ish person at our church (who I first met when we were cleaning up Kathy's basement) (and who has done the Long Trail in Vermont, which is straight up chops), who had mentioned she had relatives in Big Bear. And, in a rare instance of me following Ghost's advice ("Don't be bashful"), I had asked if they could help me out. And they did: Bill gave me a ride from the trailhead all the way to the hostel on the far side of the Village where I was staying. Bill's a quieter guy, but warms up to folks. He'd worked on document management systems for IBM back in the day--it's interesting how much tech you bump into on the trail--but mostly we talked about Big Bear itself. Bill has a wry sense of humor: at one point, as we were stopped at a red light on Big Bear Boulevard, he pointed to the left. That way goes to the ski slopes, he said, and I glanced out at the wide, empty road. Then he pointed to the right. And that way goes straight to the hospital. He also has a softer side: he told the story of how, many many years ago, he and Carol had come up for a simple visit, staying in a little cabin just down the road from the hostel where I was staying. He had made her spaghetti, and they had just fallen in love with the place. So they moved out here. Plus Carol was tired of the city and wanted a yard: now look at all this, Bill would say, motioning to the mountains and woods and lakes. Suffice to say Bill knew the area well, and as we drove through the Village (the main drag of Big Bear Lake) he even introduced a bunch of good restaurants--which I entirely failed to remember, but that's on me.

He dropped me off at the ITH Big Bear Hostel, which had come recommended both by Carol and by Guthooks. It instantly reminded me of college life: there are shared rooms with bunk-beds (although I got a private room), and shared bathrooms, and a noisy common room (where the TV was) and a quiet common room (where people could work). And hikers everywhere--I bumped into lots of folks I'd met on trail, from Rooster, to Colin and Helena, to more recent folks like Cookie (who I'd met back at Mission Camp). When I got there I was immediately busy: after stashing my stuff in my room, I immediately headed out to the post office to get my packages before it closed, then came back and threw my clothes in the quarter-operated washer. There was a queue for the latter--the staff uses the washer until 5pm, when it becomes available to us--and, in true college fashion, people would pool their clothes together so you'd have two or three hikers in a single load. I did so and thus it was that I found myself, dressed only in my rain pants and puffy jacket with nothing underneath (hey, everything else was in the wash!)--heading out to dinner.

There was a gaggle of 6 of us--myself and Cookie and Resupply and Candy Corn and Bear Slayer and Kevin--heading out to dinner, and we ended up going to the  Himalayan Restaurant in the Village. Dinner was mostly hiker talk--Kevin had a great story about being stalked by a mountain lion all night while at Point Reyes up in the Bay Area (well, "great" in the telling, maybe not so much in the situation)--and we finished up pretty late, and to a pretty indulgent waiter who allowed us to get individual checks for everyone at the table. As we were heading out, someone mentioned they could go for ice cream, and there *was* a Ben & Jerry's just a couple doors down the street, and it *was* open until 9pm, and it *was* 8:57pm. And, by luck, we were able to get in, again thanks to two very indulgent girls who looked at us like, well, at least this'll be a good story, let us walk across the just-mopped floors, and took our orders.

The amazing bit, though, came as we were mulling around outside afterward, enjoying creamy confectionaries in cones and cups. There was a lady--Jacklyn--out walking the dog with her son, and she got to talking with us. Are you all PCT hikers?, she asked. Yes, we answered, and she was quite excited. She watched PCT hikers on YouTube, enjoyed that, and after a lot of questions and answers, wanted to help. Long story short, she ended up offering us a ride back to the trailhead--we just had to call and coordinate--and even offered to mail us packages after we left in case we found we needed something on trail (anything up to, say, $100). Which is a Big Thing: the ride, sure, but also emergency supplies if needed? All offered to 6 complete strangers you meet outside a Ben & Jerry's some random night? She said her son thought her crazy--standing there, he didn't deny it (but he's also a teenager who looks at his shoes a lot, so even if he did deny it, would I have heard it?)--but she liked doing this sort of thing. Candy Corn got her number and info, and I'm pretty sure this group'll be taking her up on the ride at least, come the day after tomorrow. (For me, I already had a ride: when Bill dropped me off he asked, will you be needing a ride back to the trailhead? Yes, I said, in the morning. Ok, he had said, just let us know.) 

Lots of people will say that the PCT restores their faith in humanity. When you see what folks like Bill and Carol, or folks like Jacklyn, will do for perfect strangers, distinguished by nothing more than this crazy desire to walk from Mexico to Canada, when you see that, how can you disagree?

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Some notes:

-- Kevin tells the story better, but he was doing some night-hiking in Point Reyes, trying to get to a campsite, when he saw eyes in the dark. What color?, I asked, knowing that mountain lion eyes are typically green. I didn't check, he replied, eyes. Fair enough. Because when the eyes  moved, he was able to see the shape they were attached to, and it was distinctly that of a large cat. He backed off, and then decided to head back to where he came from, his head now on a swivel, checking behind him. Only as he came up to a ridge on his way back, he looked up to see a shape atop the ridge and, indeed, it was the mountain lion. He wasn't sure if it was a different lion or the same, but suffice to say he turned around and resumed his trek to his destination, only to encounter the eyes *again* up ahead. This went on for a bit, back and forth, him hiking this little section forward and backward, always stopped by eyes and the shape of a large cat, always turning around. He was exhausted by now, when he saw new eyes which, when he shone his headlamp on them, turned out to be a skunk. Overjoyed at no longer being alone out there, he followed behind the skunk for a good bit, the skunk just waddling along, until the skunk finally jumped off the trail and Kevin made a beeline for his original destination--so close now--and surely being an established campsite there would be people and tents and fires and noise and no mountain lions. Only when he finally got to the campsite, it was empty, completely empty, not a person around, except for those eyes, which he saw again, now stalking the campground. Well that was it: he ran to the campground pit toilet--which was a little enclosure with the door--slammed the door, locked it, and spent the rest of the night there. [Incidentally, starting the PCT was the first time he'd been out camping on his own since.]