A Bridge Over Troubled Water. July 12. Day 16. Part 1.

Dear Trail Friends

We've had such fun, you and I, on these beautiful trails. And every time my luck has pulled me through, so much so that I was, I suspect, beginning to take it for granted, like the color of my eyes and the rhythm of my steps. 

What is it the Greeks said about hubris? S/he who walks too tall, the gods will strike down. 

So, alright. I seek meaning in experiences that might otherwise break my spirit. Last night i discovered I was missing my wallet. I searched my tent, my backpack, the ground under my tent. I went back to the registration booth to see if I left it there or someone had found it. I retraced every step I took, first at night in the dark with my headlamp, then again and again (and again) in the morning. I checked the hospitality center to see if anyone had turned it in there. It was gone. My money. My credit and debit cards. My drivers license. My insurance cards. The two four leaf clovers I found. 

Last night I thought it might abort my hike. Without money and an ID I could not even go home, much less continue the hike.  But as I wrestled with it I realized I had another credit card and a passport - Chris could mail those to Sakre, my Quaker trail angel in Florence (we met Sakre when she was writing a book about Quakers/Friends in areas that do not have a Quaker meeting: "isolated Friends.")

All I needed was enough cash to pay for my next two hiker/biker campgrounds ($6 per night). The one man I had struck up an acquaintance with said he had no cash, and a woman at the hiker/biker camp said the same (though she said she was going to the same campground and could pay for me there by credit card. That didn't feel very secure to me.)

So I approached two young men. "Excuse me, this is embarrassing, but I'm basically begging. I've lost my wallet. My partner is sending my passport and a credit card, but I need $20 cash for the next two campgrounds. My partner can mail you a check. Could either of you help me?" One of the young men (Benjamin, I would later learn) pulled out a $20 bill and handed it to me. The other, Nathan, immediately handed a $10 bill to Benjamin. I asked for Benjamin's address but he waved his hand and said "People have helped me."  I was suddenly in the glow of human kindness. 

In the conversation that followed I learned that Nathan and Benjamin are the only two majors in Humanities and Outdoor Education at Sierra Nevada College in Tahoe. (Incidentally, it has gotten dark as I write and the music/roar of the waves seems louder and fiercer in the dark. I am camped very close to the beach, though trees and other greenery block the view, it is only steps away. ). I also learned that Benjamin is ex-military and has struggled with a brain injury from head impact that involved memory loss but that has been treated effectively by a physician in LA (a physician who himself had a head impact brain injury and chose to specialize in neuroendocrinology and focus on such injuries.). I have long suspected that my mid-life memory loss might be due at least in part to two car-related accidents (one when I was 5, one when I was 12 or so) that involved banging my head - the first time against a boxed crib in the car, the second time against the front windshield. Both times my forehead (or frontal lobes) banged against something hard with significant impact. It was amazing to talk with this articulate young man about the experience of memory loss. It was the first time I ever felt someone understood my experience from the inside. And it was amazing to learn that he had regained memories and gotten to the point that he could function well in college because of the treatment program. 

Nathan is a young man who was born in the US and lived a large part of his childhood in Honduras so truly bilingual and bicultural. 

Photo 1 shows Nathan and Benjamin. You will just have to imagine River, euphoric on kindness and hope (maybe I too could get some memory back...) in the company of these two beautiful young men. 

 

So I began my hike in high spirits despite the loss of my wallet. 

Photo 2 is the first glimpse of ocean - another rare, blue-sky morning - as I began my 15-16 mile hike at 9am. (I had waited until 8 to mske sure my wallet had not been turned in at the hospitality center - then I took the time to call to cancel my credit and debit cards). As I crested the sand dunes near the campground and saw the beautiful blue - and the sea is such a beautiful blue on these clear sunlit days - I felt even more euphoric. 

 

Photo 3 shows the beach as I headed south. For the first time, I saw other thru hikers on the beach - a mother (who I would later learn is named Carol, and her son Reece and daughter Haley). Carol is the woman from the hiker biker camp who had no cash but offered to pay for my campsite. You can see the tiny figures with backpacks in the distance - well, at least one of them. I loved following in their footsteps, and felt more secure about finding the trail. Sometimes I passed them, sometimes they passed me. 

 

Oddly enough they had vanished when I actually had to find the trail off the beach. I had been told to look for a trickle of water over rock and a faint trail up the cliff. I wondered if this was it and if so if it was still passable (left photo in collage, photo 4). The right photo "shows" my sigh of relief as I climbed the stairs and glanced back at the beautiful beach. 

 

The first roadwalk was a detour around Seal Rocks. Photo 5 is a collage of the gorgeous rocky coast that made a sandy beach hike impossible. I ate my lunch at a viewpoint overlooking this area. 

 

To be continued in: A Bridge Over Troubled Water. July 12. Day 16. Part 2.