Wrightwood: a Henpecked Husband, a Very Bad Dog, and !A Vuela!

May 2, 2024; 5 miles

I arrived at Inspiration Point at the same time as a guy hiking north.  We agreed to try to find a hitch together, but an SUV stopped across the road at the same time.  The other guy was faster, and I was trailing behind asking, “Can you take me too?”

The driver had room for both of us, so we were on the road to Wrightwood.  I can’t remember where the driver dropped off the other hiker, but he took me to the hardware store, which is the central hub of town, and where binders of names and phone numbers of trail angels and accommodations are available to hikers.

I called one lady who supposedly allowed camping, but she said that she was closed to hikers because something was broken.  I never really understood what was broken, but I did not ask any questions, just said thank you and good bye.

I called the next lady on the list who allowed sleeping on her patio, and she said that Diego would pick me up soon.  Sure enough, Diego showed up in the car she described.  He was her husband; she was out of town, and he called her “The Boss.”

He drove me most of the way up the hill to where the Acorn Trail comes into town from the PCT.  Their house and yard were small, and they had three dogs – two that were young and friendly, and one fat old white mutt.  Diego warned me about the white mutt.  “He ate up one hiker’s sandwich, so keep any food items on a high table where he can’t reach.”

I got to work setting up a sleeping space, doing laundry, and showering.  By the time I was finished, Diego was ready to go back to town to do some job, so he took me to a place called Mile High Pizza.  They had excellent salads, and I ordered a specialty pizza.

My bill was over $38, which conflicted with a FarOut message from some guy saying that he fed his family of 4 with two pizzas, drinks, and a salad for under $40.  I asked a couple of 20-something guys about prices, and they said that $20 for a pizza is perfectly normal.  Then I saw that the family of 4 message was from 2019, before the recent inflation.  These 20-somethings have no concept of pre-inflation prices, and I have not yet come to terms with them.

Anyway, the salad was so big that I was only able to eat half the pizza.  I asked for a styrofoam box, and I stuffed in the remaining pizza to eat the next day – so I planned.  After a trip to the grocery, Diego called me and said that he was heading back to the house, so soon he picked me up with another hiker in his car, and off we went.

Diego had built two “cabins” that are essentially small houses with the same siding as the main house.  Each has a big bed, a bathroom, and a kitchenette with lots of amenities for $75 per night.  They were both previously reserved, so my only option was the patio for $20 per night.  I was the only patio sleeper that first night.

The evening was peaceful, and I slept well until nature called in the wee hours, both #1 and #2.  I turned the door handle to enter the house, but the house was all locked up!  This was a bit of a problem.  Sure, I could do #1 in the place reserved for the dogs, but #2 – I don’t think so.  Either I bang on the door, cause a big commotion, and wake up Diego – or I grab my trowel and Wet Wipes and head up the Acorn Trail.  So I made it a regular woods bathroom stop even though I was technically in town.  Believe me, I was happy to get that all done and get back to sleep.

May 3, 2024; 0 miles

When I awoke in the morning, the door was unlocked and Diego was on the phone “getting orders from The Boss,” as he put it.  I was the only guest for breakfast aside from the dogs that Diego fed in their individual bowls.  Diego provided me a bit of fruit, a few pieces of toast, and yerba mate.  He said that he was from Argentina, and sherba mate was Argentine tea.  I asked why “sherba” when it was clearly spelled “yerba.”  He said that in Argentina “y” is pronounced “sh.”  I told him that I was in Argentina 30 years ago for the total solar eclipse of November 1994, and I never realized that.  I should have asked him how he pronounces San Ysidro, but it didn’t occur to me at the time.

I did tell him that lots of Americans were big fans of the Argentine president Javier Milei during last year’s campaign.  He  carried big chain saws to political rallies because he was going to cut away at the bloated, overpaid government bureaucracy of a country that has 300% annual inflation.  (300% inflation means that today’s $20 pizza would cost $80 next year, so even the 20-somethings in Argentina are acutely aware that their country has dire problems.  Maybe it also explains why Diego allows himself to be bullied by The Boss as opposed to remaining in Argentina.)

I told Diego about a video popular the US where Milei stands in front of  a white board with magnetic stickers bearing the names of Argentine federal departments on them.  Milei grabs each sticker in turn and tosses it aside yelling, “!A vuela!”

In other words he was going to drain the  Argentine swamp.  Unfortunately, he has run across the First Law of Bureaucracy.  “Make sure you get paid.”  All government agencies work together 24/7 against any executive who wants to pare them down.  And Milei unwisely cut fuel subsidies, so with winter coming no one can afford fuel and people are rioting in the streets.  I told Diego that I think Milei might be “a vuela” real soon.

Anyway, I also mentioned that Milei has 3 dogs named after libertarian economists, and Diego suddenly said, “Where’s the white dog?  You better check your stuff!”

I rushed over to the patio, but it was too late.  When I was cleaning up my area, I absentmindedly moved my leftover pizza to a lower table, and the white dog had eaten all but a couple of thin tomato slices.  I shouted, “Perro malo!” to the white dog, but he seemed all happy and content that he could stuff his already bloated belly even more.

Anyway, the rest of the day I wrote in this blog, although I did manage to stumble across another one of those ballot stuff boxes hidden to the side of the municipal building.  I was still of the mind that I could get caught up with blog writing during town visits, but it turns out that even the towns do not have great cell coverage – at least not for me.  In Wrightwood I needed to be near the town center in order to be able to upload pictures and to have constant cell coverage.

One of the prime rules of the PCT is not to waste time in southern California.  This means that I would have to choose between the blog or the trail.  Obviously, I choose the trail, so at this point I will write and upload if I have cell coverage, which is rare, but I will no longer take unnecessary zero days just for writing.