Sunday, September 30, 2012

Hobo of Last Resort

September 24

I believe I can't fly.  I believe I can't touch the sky.  Stands to reason I was left with but one option to reach the Tahoe shore, the usual.  Although less efficient than wings my feet were able to deliver me there promptly, an hour to the highway, then another to King's Beach.
My first act was to raid the Safeway.  My food sack went from beggarly to bulging in minutes.  Having starved myself the last couple of days I was in need of a calorie bomb to renew the engine.  Not quite hardcore enough to follow Master Grylls' advice and down a stick of butter, I instead opted for a entire package of cheese.  O cow, how flavorful art thou udder's innards.
I continued my circle of Lake Tahoe from beach level, passing into and beyond Tahoe Vista, Carnelian Bay, and Dollar Point.  A sign informed me there is so much water here everyone on Earth could use seventy five gallons a day for five years before the well would go dry.  Count on extra, I'm not taking my share of showers.

I also had a humorous run-in with an ignorant local.  Late in the morning I walked past a woman and her two dogs.  They sat next to a shopping cart full of either her possessions or valuables she was selling.  I waved hello and thought no more of her. 
One hundred yards beyond her a silver-haired patrician stopped in his car and asked me, "Are those your bags?"  Since I was only carrying one I wittily asked him to clarify by mumbling, "Huh?"  He queried further, providing the necessary transparency to his thought process, "Isn't that your friend over there?" pointing at the woman with the shopping cart.  I closed our dialogue with another long-winded response, "No." 
The man thought me a drifter.  I wish I was still pushing B.J., that would have blown his small mind like a "Hobo With a Shotgun."
The hike concluded in Tahoe City, where I picked up my next set of maps, after some trouble with the post office.  Apparently they were unable to decipher Colin's award-winning handwriting and recorded my name as McCarty.
Mom had also kindly helped me by purchasing a room for me at the Mother Nature's Inn.  Luckily, the reservation wasn't under Alabaster Candlesticks.  I'd had enough of mistaken identity for one day. 

14 miles/3811 total miles


Scott said...

I am going to call you "Alabaster" from on out. Well, at least once per siting. No need to overdo it.

Anonymous said...

I remember in high school when you used to eat an entire block of cheese in one sitting. Good times!
And sorry about the poor penmanship, I need to stop writing with my teeth I guess.