Big Bear, California

Big Bear, CA, May 2017

(Mile 266, elevation 6752 feet)

“Ewww.” I pressed the tip of the blade against the bubble, coughing against the pain.

C’mon, Juli, you debride wounds worse than this every day. Its three millimeters of dead skin, tops.

I shoved.

“Ow!” Clear fluid poured onto the bandana.

Atta girl, out the other side.

The blade poked through; the blister on my left pinkie toe collapsed. After eleven days on the trail, the blister I’d lanced had formed on top of another blister. The right foot was only marginally better.

Wiping my pocket knife with hand sanitizer, I maneuvered the blade into the underlying chamber. A second flood soaked the skin.

Right on! Ibuprofen and bandage, and you’re good to go.

Taking my toes for a test drive, they cheered.

The trail wound under firs and pines, and over rolling hills dotted with oaks. A meadow bowl of sun lay ahead, framed by leafy boughs. I stopped to snap a picture, awed by the glorious scenery. But Walter had remarked on the absence of people in my photos on social media. Although we weren’t a couple anymore, he followed my progress.

I frowned. Walter was right. I sort of hated that.

Seven hours later, red farmhouses signaled that town must be close. For hours, I’d meditated on eating pie at Black Bear Diner, and a soft bed.

As I reached a dirt lot, a crow landed heavily in a cottonwood. Cars roared past, and gas fumes stung my nostrils. Under a handmade sign nailed to a tree, Vintage Inn, a cooler sat. I held my breath. Please, oh please, ice.

Three bottles of water bobbed in tepid water. I called the number anyway.

“Dave here.”

“Hi, I um, I’m a PCT hiker. Can I get a ride to the Vintage Inn?”

“OK, yeah, we’ve got rooms, I’ll be out there about five. I can give you a ride then.”

I checked my watch. It was two.

Nah, not with both pie and ice on my mind.

“Oh, hmm. I’ll just hitch in. When I get to town I’ll -”

“I’ll be there in under an hour,” he replied. “Will you wait?”

“Sure,” flew out of my mouth before I thought better of it. As I hung up, I wondered how hard up the hotel was. Maybe I should call another trail angel, but, ghosting him didn’t feel right. Settling in, I drank a floater.

Within the hour, a pickup that’d seen better days crunched into the clearing.

“You waited!” A tall man in a plaid shirt and baggy Levis lumbered out of the truck. “How’s the cooler?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll have to restock then.” He took off his cap to scratch his head, smoothing his dark ponytail streaked with grays.

“Thanks for coming out early.”

“No problem, I had things to pick up at the store anyway. Name’s Dave.”

“Juli,” I murmured, sinkingheavily into the vinyl after heaving my backpack into the bed. All of sudden, I felt woozy.

“It’s a ways down the hill,” he announced. “So, what are you looking for out here, Juli?”

I frowned. That was quite personal. Reluctantly, I dragged open my eyelids to take in the road, which looked like a mirage. To prod myself awake, I pretended I’d just had an espresso.

Mmmm, espresso.

“Umm, what do you mean?”

Hurry, Juli. Think!

“The people who are out here, they’re looking for something.” He pulled the bandanna knotted around his head free, and rubbed the back of his neck with it. I smiled as I caught a glimpse of Jerry Garcia in tie-die colors, also wearing a headband, beaming from Dave’s headband. He’d let it fall onto the seat between us.

As I looked into Jerry’s smiling eyes, I thought, Honestly? I want all my memories back, especially that one night that cut me off from my inner power source for good.

I looked out the window. My toes throbbed.

I’d gotten an education, married, and tried to build a life that had it all: veterinary friends scattered across the globe, a happy marriage, and a respected place in my community. Instead, I had two exes, a distant son, and ‘friends’ I held at arms length.

“Inner peace,” I stammered, “I, I’m looking for inner peace.”

Spiritual, plausible, and a heck of a lot easier than admitting I wanted real relationships but had no idea how to do that. If I’d spilled out the litany of my life’s disappointments, what then? Awkward silence?

Dave nodded and pursed his lips.

“Found it yet?”

I sighed.

“Not yet. You?”

“Aww, it’s pretty peaceful out here in Big Bear.” He kept his eyes on the road.

At the hotel, the sticky door opened onto an eighties pastel bedspread matching faded floral curtains. I wrinkled my nose. The Vintage Inn smelled of mildew and soap. I’d rather be outside, but, rest. The stink of algae and pine resin flowed through the window.

Peeling off my clothes in the bathtub, dirt and pine needles showered down. Empty of me, both pants and shirt retained my shape: the invisible trail woman. Ha! Sinking into the soft mattress, sleep dragged me under for a nap before dinner.

Boom, boom, boom throbbed behind my eyes. What was in my mouth?

Yuck,my tongue. As I stood, embers shot up both legs. Hollow, hot, and sick, I dropped an electrolyte tab into the plastic cup and gulped down two glasses of tap water.

Food, Juli. Pulling on my crunchy clothes, I stopped at reception.

“What’s the best way to get to Safeway?”

“Oh, just get on the bus. It’s very easy, it goes round and round Big Bear Lake. No matter where you get on, you’ll end up back here,” she flapped her hands above her head, her moon-like face restrained by thick black frames.

That sounded too good to be true.

A dark-haired woman, almost a girl, held a bucket and a mop near the desk.

“Can I have a bit of bleach?”

Moon’s mouth dropped open.

“I add bleach to my drinking water. I’m almost out.”

“Well,” she coughed as her hand found her throat, “the water’s safe to drink.”

“I use it on the trail.”

“Oh, ho, ho!” She fanned herself and fluttered her eyelids as if she’d felt a faint coming on. “No, dear. You’ll have to buy your own for hiking.”

Dear? We were the same age.

“But I only need this much.” I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

Turning away, Moon lobbed over one shoulder, “Check the hiker box.”

Hiker box?

“How’s it going, the hiking?” the young woman asked, her brown eyes warm, implying she’d make me a burrito and let me fall asleep on her sofa if I asked nicely.

“It hurts. I’m so tired, but I love it out there.”

“Well, why don’t you rest then?” Moon glided to the counter, reinvested by my revelation. “Take it easy. What’s the hurry? Enjoy yourself!”

Like I was on a wine bus tour.

I stamped my foot. “I only carry enough food to get me to the next town. I can’t just -” I trembled, my face suddenly too hot.

Lowering her eyelids, she stared. “Well, why don’t you go home then? Take some time off?” She drew herself up to a considerable height, reminiscent of a great blue heron.

I fled to the street. Tears? Over three teaspoons of bleach and no understanding of the effort required?

In the brilliant sun, I wiped my face with my bandanna, and tapped on my phone. According to Guthooks, the diner was a few blocks away. I headed for it, feeling filthy, misunderstood, and diminished. Giving up the trail wasn’t an option, though.

Was it?

A bell jingled as I pulled on the diner’s bear-shaped handle.

What’ll it be, hik-ah? Coffee? Pepsi? A stiff drink?” He winked, swirling a rag across the counter as he handed me a menu. His ginger stubble jawline elicited a flutter within.

“A beer,” I scanned the laminated sheet. “And an iced tea, lots of ice. Do you have pie?”

“Do we have pie?” His eyes goggled. “Didn’t you see the case, dahr-lin?” He waved a brawny arm.

I knew they did from the website, but politeness never hurt. Besides, it was nicer than Where’s the pie, toots? I padded to an old-fashioned glass display.

Banana cream! Berry! Rhubarb! Narrowly snatched from the clutches of despair, I instantly decided on banana cream and mixed berry. Tomorrow, strawberry-rhubarb.

As I refueled, the headache receded, but my temples thrummed with an unfamiliar pull. By the time I left, streetlights winked on, and the lake gleamed as

silvered glass. It was too late to food shop or check out the hostel for another night. Despite the mildew smell when the door crackled open, I was grateful for the hot shower and soft bed.

The next morning, I caught the bus. Clumps of grey whiskers haphazardly poked from the driver’s cheeks, forehead and neck, like pine forests draggling across marshmallow terrain. I’d never seen a chiseled and fit bus driver. Although I walked twelve to seventeen miles daily, ‘chiseled and fit’ were still elusive for me, too.

When the bus deposited me on the sidewalk in front of Safeway, I felt dizzy, my thoughts swirling with resupply needs for the next sixty-six miles. What if I forgot something? What if I bought too much and had to dump it again, like the useless quinoa soup?Under the fluorescent lights, pain twisted cruelly behind my eyes, the aisles hazy. Should I buy a half gallon of bleach? I hadn’t found the hiker box in my rush to get away from Moon and Bucket.

Nope, waste of money.

Instant rice or couscous, candy, dried fruit, both? A wave of goose pimples splashed across my chest. Twinkling lights frothed at the edge of my vision, signaling a faint. My grip on the cart handle tightened.

Breathe, Juli, make it go away.

I laid my head on my fists. Two box breaths later, the sparkles abated. Should I just relax with a coffee? Taking a deep breath, I cruised the baking aisle one last time: walnuts, walnuts, walnuts.

Smack, crinkle. A brown object landed in front of the cart.

It was a 32-ounce bag of walnuts. Organic.

I looked around. Scanning the top shelf, I half expected an otherworldly being grinning from ear to pointy ear between the boxes of powdered sugar and cornstarch. Quiet reigned. Even the elevator music receded, falling into the hole that’d opened up in my reality.

“Thank you.”

“God?”

I picked it up, hefting its two pounds, fixing to put it back in favor of a 16-ounce bag. My hand stopped.

Best not, Juli, not to offend the Universe.

Taking a deep breath, I finished my spree by piling powdered donuts, string cheese, and cantaloupe chunks into my cart, along with beef jerky and candy.

Out on the sidewalk, engulfed in a cloud of noxious diesel, I climbed aboard the first bus that arrived. Hadn’t Moon said all buses go around the lake?

A passenger, his face tanned almost black, had no front teeth. The woman beside him rocked, her lank gray locks swaying.

I passed them, applied hand sanitizer, and dug into the donettes.

“He -----, and she gave him-,” his voice drifted in and out, “-suckers, owe me… I’m gonna’.. big money…”

“Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh.” Her grunts kept time to the obscene static.

My vision narrowed.

No. Breathe, Juli.

I closed my eyes.

The bus dissolved.

I was back in our kitchen on Capri Street. Dad’s voice roared.

"You -----!"

I reached for a plastic bag and vomited orange liquid onto my groceries. In my mind, my child fingers reached for the glass of milk.

It tipped.

Milk streamed into his lap.

RNRNRN, his chair groaned.

He heaved the kitchen table skyward.

The baking dish exploded.

Warm apricot chicken splashed my cheek.

Glass rained down, tinkling.

On all fours, I gathered meat and glass, trying to clean up the mess.

“Juli, don’t,” my mom’s voice quavered.

“You ----- suckers…” he growled.

I risked a glance at my sister. The plastic tray hung from her highchair at an odd angle. She wailed, her face bright red.

The brakes hissed.

My body jerked. I opened my eyes. The swearing couple came back into focus.

“A word,” the driver leaned toward the pair. “If I hear that language again from you two, you’re off. It upsets the passengers. It’s not right.”

The driver shot me a look in the rear view mirror. I ducked my head. Had he heard me vomit?

The door whooshed shut.

“Where you from?” he asked, catching my eye again.

Oh no.

“San Diego. I’m – carsick, I’m so sorry.”

“Where to?”

“Vintage Inn.”

“Ah, a ways then. I’ll show you around.”

‘A ways’ with a bag of vomit? But under the musical rumble of his gabbing, my guts calmed.

“Here’s your stop!” He winked.

Honestly. This was the height of ignominy, descending from a two hour bus ride with my very own bag of vomit. Maybe I should go home.

“Thank you.” My lashes trembled with tears.

He lifted his Big Gulp in salute.

Back in the room, I emptied the bag, which had not leaked, into the toilet. Taking stock of my reflection, my cheeks looked grey and sunken, my eyelids puffy. My clothes bagged, too. Since yesterday, I’d woken with a migraine, teared up over an ounce of bleach, nearly fainted buying groceries, then vomited on the wrong bus.

That’s it. I picked up the phone, hovering my thumb over Laura’s picture.

But what about the walnuts, and Dave, and the bus driver?

He knew I’d vomited on his bus.

“This is Laura, leave a message,” the message chirped.

I hung up.

Just don’t be weird in public, Juli.

I’d failed that last bit so far.

I pulled the comforter over my head. San Diego was two hours away by car, although it’d taken me eleven days on foot.I could always go home tomorrow.

***

Sliding my credit card back into my trail wallet, I asked Bucket “When’s Dave heading up to the trail this morning?”

She swung around, shooting me a look. “You can catch a ride soon.”

I nodded, and wandered out to the nearly empty parking lot.

“You going up to the trail?” A short man with thinning flaxen hair, which matched his gold polo shirt, unlocked a beige sedan.

“Yeah. Um, I thought -. Where’s Dave?”

“Dave?” He stretched the name out into three syllables, lifting up his sunglasses to squint at me. Gesturing to the front seat, he took my pack and stowed it in the trunk.

An athletic woman in tights and a pony tail sprang into the back.

As he started the car, I said “Dave gave me a ride down from the trail head, a couple days ago. I wanted to -.” My throat clogged, eyes prickly.

He cleared his throat. “Dave was the caretaker, but he’s been gone at least a dozen years now.”

Turning his attention to the rear view mirror, he chirruped “Where you from young lady?”

As the car climbed the hills, we learned she’d enter medical school in Switzerland in the fall. Staring out the window, I wished I could talk to Dave.

When he crunched onto the gravel, the student bounded away, lithe as deer. Numbly, I lifted my pack from the trunk. My toes stung as the pack settled on my hips, old pain springing to life.

I didn’t want to be saved.

If I kept walking, they’d toughen up. Perhaps old wounds would, too.

“Hey, hiker! You forgot this.”

I turned, and walked back. He held out the Jerry Garcia headband.

I nodded, tucked it in a cargo pocket, and strode away.

When I looked over my shoulder, no one was there.