Signs on a fence
advertised the Warner Springs community center, but they didn’t prepare me for
what was offered. I stumbled into it
only because it was located right off of the trail rather than up in town. There I found Kobe, and Shannon, and others I
knew from the trail, and a few more that I’d heard of but had not yet met;
namely Delaware Dave and The Professor.
The center had free computers with internet access, eggs and sausage
breakfasts and hamburger lunches sold at cost, a tiny store with only things
that hikers would need, and laundry and showers for a fee. It had an all-volunteer staff, many of whom
seemed to work full time for the season, and all of whom were gracious and
kind.
Coletta drove me into
town to the post office to pick up my mail drop and get some cash. She was originally from Canada, and told me
some of her family history. The thing
that stuck with me the most was that her mother had not expected to have a
family because she was the youngest child in her family, and tradition was to
keep the youngest at home to care for the parents in their old age. I wasn’t clear on whether this was the
youngest child of either gender or simply the youngest girl, but I thought of
the North Caucasus in comparison. There,
the daughters are given away and the sons stay at home. They bring in brides from other families to
live with them in their parents’ homes, and when speaking Russian it’s common
to hear parents speak of their son’s wife as “nasha nevesta,” “our bride.”
Families value sons over daughters because their sons will support them
in their old age and carry on their household, while a daughter will be raised
just to be given away to another family.
She will come as a relative stranger into a new household, and will gain
status there only when she gives birth to sons, who are hers and will remain
with the family.
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| Coletta and I |
I spent two full days
at the community center, mainly using the computers there to write and publish
blog posts and to sort out logistics for attending the kickoff party. It was a funny sort of “inverse weekend” –
two days spent at the computer as a break from being outside. I was so absorbed in getting everything that
I could done that failed to get to know the staff – Jackie cooked me
cheeseburgers, and Barbara made sure that I didn’t leave without having pie and
ice cream, but I didn’t learn their stories or even everyone’s name.
The first night I
walked back a half-mile with Delaware Dave, a quiet kid named Joe who was
hiking a section southbound, and another southbound section hiker.
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| Trading water reports northbound and southbound |
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| Frost on my tent in the morning |
Joe headed south first thing in the morning,
but the rest of us walked into the Community Center for breakfast. I was in the process of sorting through the
hiker box[i] and
organizing my food when the section hiker started talking about how it was
unethical to leave toilet paper on the trail, how it doesn’t biodegrade
quickly, and how it needs to be carried out.
Now, I pack feminine hygiene products out because they have components
that are not biodegradable and I use a bandanna for a peeing rather than using
toilet paper 10 times a day, but it is considered acceptable to leave human
waste and used toilet paper, provided you dig a hole before you do your
business and fill it in afterwards.
“Look,” I said,
interrupting him, “realistically, I’m never going to do that. He continued talking about how he’d seen
paper a year old blowing around on the Appalachian Trail (so far I’ve found the
PCT to be incredibly clean).
“Fine,” I said, “if I’m
realistically going to modify my behavior in any way, I’ll be sure to dig
deeper holes. I should probably do a
better job of that, but carrying shitty toilet paper around is just too gross.” Delaware Dave nodded in agreement, and they
guy countered by attempting to prove to us that it really wasn’t that gross –
he pulled out a clear Ziploc bag of his own shitty toilet paper and held it
up. Right there, in the Warner Springs
Community Center, standing over a table where food is served.
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| Delware Dave's pack Dr. Seuss and my pack The Caboose, named in honor of Gio |
That evening Delaware
Dave and I went home with Warner Springs Monty, a trail angel and generally
famous trail personality. Monty let me
use his computer, gave us space to sleep, let us shower and do laundry, and
cooked dinner and breakfast with an abundance of fresh, crunch vegetables. He was on permanent disability for a number
of reasons that didn’t restrict his movement, and by his doctor’s orders he was
actually encouraged to go hiking. The
only way that any of his conditions manifested themselves in our company was
that he couldn’t tolerate noise too loud or high-pitched. He showed me his signal that he made with his
hand whenever a noise crossed the threshold, the thumb and pointer finger
brought together, and whenever my shrieking laughter or excitedly loud voice
made him cringe he would make the sign and I would speak softly for
awhile.
Monty was dry and went
to AA meetings, but on the way to his house he stopped at the general
store/post office and told me to buy beer if I wanted it.
“You don’t mind it
being in your house?”
“If you drink it, is it
going to get me drunk? If so, that would
be quite a show – we could go on the road!”
We spent the evening
together relaxing – me writing my blog post, Delaware Dave soaking his feet,
and Monty playing the guitar and singing songs he’d written. Most were funny, a few were heartbreaking
love songs, and all were good.
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| Warner Springs Monty and I |
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| Monty playing guitar |
When I finally finished
on the computer and Monty went to sleep in the bedroom, Delaware and I lay in
the living room, me on the futon, he on a fold out pad, a coffee table in
between us. Like little kids trying to
go to sleep when they’re already deliriously tired, we fell into fits of
giggles.
“Dude, he showed us a
bag of his shit!”
“I know!” Dave cackled.
“And what did you do
after that? You friended him on
facebook!” We both shrieked with
laugher.
“I know,” Delaware
said, “I’m too nice!” It was true, I don’t
think that Dave was physically capable of ignoring anyone the way I had ignored
the hiker for the rest of his time there in response to the incident.
“Yeah, you are,” I
laughed, my stomach cramping from laughter.
“I’ll tell you what – I’ve crossed cease fire lines. Hell, I’ve been to Grozny, for chrisstsake,
and I have never had someone show me
their shit!” By now I was crying from
the laughter, and I couldn’t see Delaware behind the coffee table in the dark
but I think he was too.
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| Delaware Dave and I get silly with the self-portraits |
When the Community
Center closed the next day I was still there and Monty invited me back to his
house again, but I’d already been 48 hours in Warner Springs and knew it was
time to move on. He had hooked me up
with Dirty Girl Gaiters to work her booth at the kickoff party so we would see
each other again in a week and agreed to be in touch about transportation. I tried to take pictures with the wonderful
staff of the Community Center but most of them got away from me
un-photographed, and I set off to get some night hiking in and bite off a chunk
of the 42 miles to the Paradise Valley Café.
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| The two Community Center staff I was able to catch for a goodbye photo |
[i] Hiker boxes are found at many
places along the trail. Hikers can leave
food and gear that they don’t want to carry anymore, and other hikers can find
free supplies in them. The food that one
person is sick of eating or a piece of gear that doesn’t provide any value for
one person may be perfect for another, so many hikers sort through the boxes
with enthusiasm.
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