OK, so it's not really even a yak.

Spring Break: I went to Napa Valley for the first time with a couple of high school buddies, got free tastings with somebody else's fancy-pants membership card, and hiked around Bothe-Napa Valley state park. Thursday night I rode the train to Portland. I woke up at 7:00 Friday morning with Mt. Shasta and Black Butte right out the window. Ideally I would've woken up a few minutes earlier and seen Castle Crags in the first light of day, but oh well. I had a great weekend at the PCTA's TrailFest. I enjoyed it a lot more than last year's in Sacto because a whole bunch of hikers live in or close to Portland, so I did Portland-y things like dumpster diving and riding with the North Freak bicycle gang (I was impressed with a triple-decker tall-bike with a barbecue grill welded to it.) I had a great time hanging out with Lint, Chigger, Werewolf, Remy, Anish, L-Rod, Squatch, and a talking yak.
Who's the awesomest person ever? Ramsey says you are.


Iris near the top of Coyote Peak.

Lint & Chigger after the Trailfest Shenanigans Hoedown

The talking yak that grants you eternal life if you can answer its riddle

The only problem with hiker gatherings like Trailfest is that it forces me into vivid confrontation with my grad-school hatred. Is the hiker-trash lifestyle as dreamy as I imagine it to be? Or is a constant overbearing feeling of depression, work following you home every single minute of every day, and constant guilt about not working hard enough a good price to pay for health insurance and technically really only having to show up for work Tuesdays and Thursdays from 12-2 for eight months of the year? Regardless, four weeks till ADZPCTKO.

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