Day 8/9: Laundry Day (mile 60.8 to 66.6/211)

I dreamed I was in some American city and trying to host some kind of gathering. Many mugs were broken. And then I had to go to work but it was cold and I stopped at a roadside stall to buy a shawl to stay warm. And there was my Mum, smiling, pressing notes into the vendor’s hand before I could.

I cried in the dream and I probably cried in my bright red sleeping bag and purple-grey pyramid tent, within earshot of the outdoorsy American dudes I’d offered to help fighting bears if needed. And when I woke up I’d unexpectedly started my period, but that was just another thing to deal with. I’m hoping to do some work in really austere environments in the coming year, so I have to be able to handle these things on a JMT leisure hike. Without whining.

I got out and hiking on the peaceful sandy trail. Made the first 8 miles in around 3 hours. It got hot and the Devil’s Postpile was a glorious geological mess, seen from above and across the valley.

I had trouble FINDING Red’s Meadow, a little oasis of general store and shower block and laundry tokens and electrical sockets. I charged my dead phone and had cell signal and 1 million emails.

I took an incredible shower (all the more welcome for the hygiene deprivation of the week) and ordered a veggie burger and chatted to real people. I used a nail brush in the shower to get through my hair, so matted I had to pull bits out. It dried long and straight, brushing my shoulders. 

I slept cold in the campsite, tarp zipped closed against The Wild. In the morning a gent told me it was the peak of Pleaides last night.  But I guess I chose privacy.

I stayed an extra 24 hours to do a Zoom interview for some work I want, unmade up and verbose in the bright morning sun. I climbed up and out of the meadow valley, choosing to camp close to others. That morning, I’d met an 84 year old hiker who’d first hiked the JMT 50 years ago. He said “you can do it; my 8 year old did it; I’m doing it”.