PCT Day 10 – Mike’s Place

Mike’s Place (mile 127) to mile 136

(Note: all images are taken with the consent of those in them)

At 8am people are already smoking and drinking, pulled into the vortex that surrounds Mike’s Place. From where I’m standing in the back, I can see the trail across the valley. A thin line, like the mark left by a folded piece of paper, a seam moving up and away towards a notch in the hill and then, gone. As I brush my teeth and spit into the dust I eaves drop on the conversations happening around me. One of the caretakers at Mike’s – a thin man with a nervous disposition and the distinct persona of someone who hasn’t matured since the early 90’s – is complaining about his name being brought up online by women who have called this place creepy. He rounds a building and his voice is lost to me, but not before he drops the gem “I only slept with like one trail chick, man…” Charming. Later, I’ll hear the N-word thrown out in a raucaus conversation in the garage. Butcher shows me a military-grade shell he finds while taking a piss. Before 9am the music starts, equal helpings Frank Sinatra and Green Day.

Cheers greet each new set of hikers coming and going throughout the morning. For those arriving the first stop on the tour is the beer cooler, $3/can if you have wrangle it. Then a meandering loop around the two weather-aged buildings, out to the flat patch of a desert backyard where hikers pitch their tents.

The morning slips away, bongs, beer, and painted toenails. More hikers ebb and flow through the yard. I’m snagged by a discussion about the troubles with capitalism which, is clearly an uncomfortable topic for some folks. Bookworm and I discuss gender equality and the influence of powerful mothers on the people we’ve become. As the talk slides into justice, colonialism and white privilege I can feel the side eye from several “I’m on the trail to avoid politics” men who are playing horseshoes nearby. I don’t keep my voice down for these men, their comfort is not my responsibility. The talk moves on to scars, trails hiked, and reasons for departing on the PCT and more folks drift into the hiker circle. There is a sense of ease between these strangers, but not a complete one. The phrase “only kidding” makes a frequent appearance at the end of poorly landed jokes, the mood perpetually light.

The fun feels harmless, but with an edge that suggests it could become something less inocuous as the drinks and pot multiply in volume towards the afternoon and more rambunctious hikers drift in. The promise of pizza drifts around and I’m glad our bags are packed, ensuring that we’ll leave tonight. I cannot fully explain my desire to not spend another night here, but neither do I feel the need to justify my instincts. It’s easy to see how a type of person could get sucked into this Mad Maxian summer camp for disfunctional adults, but we’re bound for Canada and even half a day whiled away has me itching to go.