We had walked for 1100 miles with only a single full day's rest. We had covered a total of 2313 miles over the course of the past four months. And then we came down out of the woods onto the paved shoulder of Route 50 and stuck out our thumbs. We've been off the trail for almost two weeks now, travelled back and forth across the continent. And here we are again back up among the pine trees. The point of departure is somewhere straight ahead, off down the road, along the shoulder of Highway 50, south of Echo Lake.
We're rolling down the Interstate eastbound away from San Francisco, a last leg awaiting. The home stretch. A drop in the bucket. Is it really just a drop in the bucket? Could 350 miles ever compare to such a miniscule thing? Headed back, it all feels so strange. The 350 is a bit daunting to me, as I look out over the fantastically white, boulder strewn cliffsides. Yet, at the same time, we are both, I know, feeling excited, eager, anticipating a positive and relaxing re-immersion into the out-of-doors.
For me, this break has been a good thing. I spent a few days here in CA, visited with some friends, hung out in sunny Davis and sat alone in chilly, dark movie theatres drinking Cokes and feeling a timeless feeling.
There has been a lot of moving and traveling this past week. Cars, planes, trains, buses -- it all happens (they move) so fast. It is amazing that we can move so violently, so swiftly and at such short notice, without so much as a fleeting flinch and it is just the way it is, all in a matter of course. Looking out at the five-laner outside the window right now as we fly by the hazy Sacramento skyline -- so many people all burning gas, all implicitly trusting in one another to play by the rules, play it safe, drive carefully, watch out.
Another September 11th has come and gone. The world is a different word now than it was before that tragic Tuesday in 2001. This year, I was a passenger on two sold-out, Sunday afternoon flights, as was Eliza. Back in NYC, my mother and I reflected on our memories of the events which occurred four years ago -- where we were, how the news came to us, what we did, how we felt etc. We ate lunch in New Paltz with the editor/webmaster of this journal and he commented on the geography of the region saying that he hasn't driven into the City since without considering how the pilots in those planes looked down on the Hudson and used it as a guide down into the City towards their target.
The encroaching forest and the great, unmoving boulders around me now seem to say that such a thing should be an impossibility in this world. Change should never truly occur so quickly.
***
The rest of the day was spent relaxing in South Lake Tahoe. Jan, Eliza's friend from El Cerrito, took us out to lunch and the three of us took out a paddle boat for a quick jaunt out on the deep, clear blue water. Afterwards, we ate ice cream cones and popped over to the Nevada side of town to poke our heads into the casinos and drop a couple quarters in the slots before heading back up to the pass and setting forth once again.
Jan walked with us for 25 minutes or so before bidding us a good, safe journey. The trail was rocky and steep within the hour.
We set camp after two or three miles. Darkness descended suddenly and with it came a brisk new evening chill.
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