A hundred hikers in a motel room, a hundred empty cans of coors, a hundred stinky hiker feet, a hundred grocery bags of resupply, towels and bedclothes everywhere, the smell of stale balogna that follows exploded packs, like little kid lunch boxes that never come clean. Hikers coming and going, wandering around town in the warm clear sun. The gear store! I buy a bandanna with a topo map of yosemite valley. Guthrie and Twinkle buy the shortest running shorts they can find, which makes me immensely happy. Big beard short shorts, that’s what I always say. We’re all lookin bangin these days, massive calves and overly tan, like real thru hikers. We eat sprawling breakfast, I eat candy for lunch. I take a nap, wake up sweaty and confused, don’t know where I am. Everyone is at the bar for happy hour, taking shots. Hanging out while sleepy and confused makes me feel less sober. Best. Zero. Ever.
Photos on instagram.