John Muir Trail

	Bob and Janet in Lyell Canyon

Sunday would be harder: 34 miles to Reds Meadows near Devils Postpile. We (two Bobs, Erik, and Janet now) started down Lyell Canyon with some occasional jogging between bits of fast striding, and soon popped over Donahue Pass. On descent, Erik started complaining of outer-knee issues, which we later more-or-less diagnosed as IT-Band Syndrome; he short-cutted out to Agnew Meadows, while the other three of us continued up the up-and-down bit east of the Minarets. It got dark with about a mile to go, which led to confusion as (1) There is a ridiculous maze of trails in the greater Devils Postpile area, (2) Both of us Bobs were kind of exhausted at that point, and (3) There was a considerable misunderstanding about whether we were supposed to meet our crew and each other at Reds Meadows Resort or Reds Meadows Campground (it didn't help that most people only knew that one or the other of the two existed).

So, that last mile took many hours, including the part of finding each other in various dark corners along the Devils Postpile road and its various turn-offs. We returned to Tuolumne Meadows at 1AM, totally worn out. Monday would be a badly needed rest day, during which we would shuttle cars southward, and relocate our base camp to the Mammoth Motel 6.

	Janet rises above Evolution Valley

Time for another roll call: Bob C. went home per his original plan, and Erik decided that he wasn't up for the next stretch of the JMT (a five-day backpack trek from Reds Meadows to Onion Valley), leaving me and Janet. In the other orbit, Fred, Sandy, Cathy, new addition Aia, and ex-JMT transfer Erik, now planned to do a shorter backpack trip, going in Piute Pass, and either hanging out there or doing the classic loop through Evolution to Bishop Pass (meeting us JMTers at Muir Trail Ranch on the third morning of each backpack trip).

Seemed like a good improvisation until my shin (which had been bugging me a few weeks before the trip, and then again some on the second day between Tuolumne Meadows and Reds Meadow) started to really deteriorate badly, towards the end of the first day of backpacking. Jeez, I figured that non-running would be mellow on the ol' joints and tendons and stuff, but I guess I hadn't counted on how still considerable mileage (that day was 24 miles of hiking) would stress an already-weakened shin. Anyway, by nightfall at Silver Pass Lake, I was in a world of pain, averaging 1 mph on downhills, and generally suffering a bleak outlook for the rest of the trip.

Which was rather hard to break to Janet, who was rather new to backpacking. What we worked out, after a lot of evaluation of options, was that she would proceed without me, hopefully to meet Erik and Cathy at the end of one long day, and that I would go alone to the nearest trailhead.

On Wednesday morning, Janet started without me. She had 27 miles to do that day in order to reach where Erik and Cathy were most likely planning to meet us, quite a chunk considering that she started late (we took some time in the morning to discuss options). She lamented how she would no longer have her tour guide, me, along; I said that she was on her own adventure now, and next time she'd be the one with stories to tell.

	Fred, Erik, Sandy, Aia, and Cathy thank Bob for the stashed Odwalla bars

As it turned out, she did have an adventure. Her contact lenses weren't working well due to her forgetting to bring cleaning supplies, she fell into a creek, and at the end of the day, decided to camp solo about 4 miles short of the meeting spot. But she did meet up with Erik the next day, the two of them got to the MT-Ranch resupply spot where they restocked their food (and got to pick from the best of my food supply as well), and tried to catch up with Cathy, Fred, Sandy, and Aia (who, having not gone back to the ranch, were now ahead of them on the Piute-Evolution-Bishop loop). Except that they all thought that they were somehow behind, so they raced ahead to Helen Lake and never saw Erik and Janet until the next morning. Erik and Janet only got to Muir Pass, where they camped in the stone hut, and dealt with the resident mice there until morning. Eventually, all five would find each other, share the news about my having dropped out days earlier, and proceed to finish a fine backpack trip. Janet, over 50 yet relatively new to backpacking, had just done 60% of the Muir Trail in about 6 days, partly on her own; not bad at all!

Meanwhile, I had started to limp out westward. It was a mere 7 miles from the Tuesday night camp to the Vermillion Valley Resort, whatever that was, at Lake Edison. Once there, I would have three days to find my way around from the west side to the east side of the Sierra, 20 to 40 miles as the crow flies, probably 400 miles by car. And I didn't have a car on the west side of the Sierra. That seemed really stupid, and I thought of what else I could do. Instead of 7 miles west, I could go 19 miles (I had roughly 3 days of food, even though Janet had taken the cooking supplies and the tarptent, so why not), which would take me to the Rock Creek trailhead on the east side.

After starting out on the trail to Mono Pass and Rock Creek, I changed my mind within a half-mile. My shin now really hurt, with every step. This was abuse, even if the only alternative was a ridiculous multi-stage hitchhike clear around one of the biggest roadless regions in the country. So I limped westward once again, by now using two big sticks as crutches, arriving at the ferry stop at Lake Edison around 3PM.

	Janet at the Muir Pass hut

I felt pathetic. Something I'd been planning for many months had fallen apart, I was now stranded on the wrong side of the Sierra, I'd left alone someone who was kind of depending on me, my fiancee was, at this moment (or perhaps the next morning), expecting to meet me completely somewhere else, ... And I hurt, bad. How long would it take for this mess to heal? I'd have to cancel out of the Wasatch race, and probably other things as well.

And so I waited for the ferry boat, me along with about 30 other hikers. We got rides finally (the ferry boat had broken down, but they sent a fleet of motorboats), and I made it to the Vermillion Valley Resort around dark.

What am I supposed to expect of a backwoods upper-foothills "resort" along the banks of big reservoir? Would it be a redneck outpost, involving pickup trucks, horses, and guns; or would it be a more upscale joint, SUVs, horses, and $100+ per night? Either way, I knew one thing for sure: Backpackers such as myself would be regarded as oddities. Well, at least I had a credit card and cash, so in that respect I'd be welcome.

I limped up to what looked like the office, to find engraved over the front porch: "Hikers: Please Loiter". Well that's interesting. I walked in. The young woman at the counter greeted me, "Hi, you look like a backpacker!" I confessed that, yes, I had just spent the past several days on the John Muir Trail, coming from Yosemite. "Well then why don't you go grab yourself your favorite beer out that case; for hikers, the first beer's on us!" Do you have any rooms available? Well no, they didn't, but "there's a tent-cabin for hikers, with bunk-beds, and your first night's free!" That turned out to be full, but I was then free to "just go ahead and camp anywhere you want."

What a cool place. Very very funky, a loud generator, seemingly stray dogs walking in and out of the little restaurant, half of the "rooms" are beat-up trailers, but they had friendliness spilling over the top, which is just what I needed. I ate dinner, hung out at the campfire circle, and finally carried my sleeping bag and pad into the woods for a quiet night's sleep.

I spent Thursday loitering on the porch, chatting with other hikers, chatting with quasi-employees, chatting with people who don't hike or work but hang out at VVR anyway, that's pretty much all I did. I weighed my options and decided that hitching the southern route, starting with a ride with some guys from Vegas, was preferable to going north through Yosemite (the crux of that route being either an unlikely hitch out of Fresno, or a long painful walk to wherever I'd need to catch a bus).

	Cathy and Babse on the Whitney Trail

The Vegas guys were all bigtime construction businessmen, all around 60. One guy specialized in car dealerships, another does contract with Walgreens. One of them used to own a casino but now is a land developer. He had a big comfortable SUV, and was just about the nicest guy I'd want to meet; he even treated me to breakfast.

They left me in Mojave, California, where I hitched for a couple hours in the mid-day heat, unsuccessfully. Fortunately, Lucia at VVR had given me all the info about the (sporadic) bus service in these parts, so I made some calls and decided take the 6PM bus to Ridgecrest. The bus ride was cool, the old fellow driving had the oldies station playing loud, "Bad Bad Leroy Brown" playing through tinny speakers as we rolled through the blank desert near sunset. I was originally hoping to not have to take this bus though, as Ridgecrest is several miles off to the east of the LA-to-395 corridor. So now, as daylight started to fade in Ridgecrest, I realized that hitching wasn't going to work; my only hope was to just get a motel room and call Hans the next morning to pick me up.

And yet, as I slowly limped through suburbia, I half-heartedly kept my "Lone Pine" sign displayed. Then, as I approached the Best Western, some kid in a Pontiac yelled at me "Where are you going?" I walked over to them, two high school kids, a couple, in a very fast looking car. "I was going to Lone Pine, where are you headed?" "Oh, we're just hanging out." Now, Lone Pine was about 60 miles away (and my true destination, Onion Valley where my car was parked, was most of an hour past that); nobody was going to drive me to either place just for the hell of it. "What would it be worth for you to give me a ride up there?" "No prob, we'll just take you, get in!"

I climbed into the back, and he peeled away. I had huge speakers to either side of me, and a big subwoofer booming from below. Incredibly loud rap music shaked my body more than my ears. Hey, it's a ride. "Looks like you need some gas", I yelled. I filled the tank, got some Big Gulps for them and a 1.5-liter Crystal Geyser for me (I seriously wanted a beer, or at this point, several, but figured that alcohol and minors would not mix well with loud rap and high speeds), and soon we were off cruisin', bigtime.

	Aia, Cathy, Erik, Jocelyn, and Babse on the summit of Mt. Whitney

The fast driving, loud music, and the continuous affectionate hand-body contact going on between him & her in the front seats, well, it was all kind of charming, sort of brought me back to my youth. Fortunately, Dave seemed entirely competent as a driver, and that car of his felt like it was on rails even at 100 mph (briefly). We stopped for some bags of chips around Olancha. Eventually, they took me all the way to the Onion Valley trailhead, a vertical mile above the Owens Valley town of Independence. I couldn't believe it, and slipped him a few extra bucks as I climbed out of the back seat. Told them to be mellow on the descent, though my guess is that they probably took a little rest stop at one of the scenic overlooks before heading down.

In Onion Valley, it took me a few minutes to find Hans's car, and then the tent where he was camped. Surprised to see me so soon, he invited me in. I slept soundly.

Janet arrived the next morning, in Cathy's car. She'd jammed out from Muir Pass to South Lake trailhead in one day, wanting a motel room (and contact lens products) bad after that night in the rodent hut. Everyone else came out at South Lake later in the afternoon, having done a final camp in Dusy Basin. I cooked a feast for eight in Janet's motel room, and then most of us went back to camp at Onion Valley. Janet and Hans went home, while Sunday, we went to the Bristlecones, and then did some tubing on the Owens River. And Monday, Cathy, Erik, Aia, Barbara, and Jocelyn woke up early and summitted Whitney.

I'm doing OK. My accupuncturist did some electro-stim the following week, and my podiatrist fit me in on Thursday (he perscribed new "motion control" running shoes). We'll all be back on the JMT one of these days.

-Bob Akka, 8/15/03