Zero in Julian, no hiking.
There’s a strange restless energy inside me, flighty birds alight in my chest, skittering lizards are my legs. Never a skilled waiter, five days of walking seems to have obliterated the skill of calmness completely.
All day I stand, sit, give up my chair at the hiker table behind Carmen’s when another person arrives. After breakfast there is a period of socializing back around the table, the only place in Julian where thru hikers can coalesce without attracting the bald stares of tourists. It’s Easter Sunday and Julian Main Street is filled with families driven up from the big cities for a quiet day in a quaint town. When the talk around the table finally turns into fear mongering and misinformation about the trail, I make my break.
Down the street for trail food. To a park to write, email and call family. And when finally finally my absence from the hiker table is noted and texts are sent, I return to the comfortable company and limbo that is the back table at Carmen’s.
Tomorrow we hitch from Julian and hike from Scissors and who knows what the trail will bring us next. My head and heart are a circus, anticipating the newness and novelty of whatever is to come.
Masshole, our ride from Sissors Crossing, and general hiking guru.
Irish Tony, kind and hilarious, like the uncle at the party with all the best jokes.
Marbles, cool as a cucumber and provider of free weed.