CDT Day 34 (6/21/23)

Miles 764.4 (Brown line 19.7)- 771.5 (Brown line 27.1) (7.4 miles)

Verbatim

I slept horribly last night. I camped on grass, first mistake, on a slope, second mistake, and in a valley, third mistake. A cold frigid wind blew down on me all night long, freezing my water and my body. I was so cold I woke up at 2:30am and didn’t really fall back asleep until 5am. I didn’t start walking until 8:30, once the sun had warmed up my frosted gear. I made the quick 8 miles into Creede and had a really hard time settling into town. I was so exhausted. I ate three burgers and a pint of Monkey Chunky (which is a great calorie per plastic deal) and felt like throwing up. I also saw the older couple I met briefly yesterday outside the grocery store. The pizza place was closed. So I ate burgers instead and felt like throwing up (huh. I was so tired while writing this I wrote it twice). It was horrible for a time.

I met Missing Person and he told me to come to John Lawley’s Hostel. It’s good here. I showered and have been hanging with Forgettable and Missing Person. They’re fun. I also popped by big toe blister and that’s good. A tough morning has turned into a good day. I’m excited to be walking again tomorrow.

I also talked with Ann, John’s mom. She baked some cookies and was very kind. I got dinner at Kip’s pub with Missing Person and Forgettable and it was a bit of an obnoxious dinner, but that’s ok. I ended up splitting the meal three ways which meant paying for way more than I bought. It’s alright though. I enjoyed the company.

I came back to the hostel and washed my plastic. It seems like a pretty impactful ritual to clean one’s own plastic waste. It felt like I was doing the dishes back home, and I sort of liked that feeling. I wonder what sort of practice it would be to clean one’s own trash as a home ritual. Even when the intention is to throw the plastic away, you have to wash and soap it first. The amount of time and effort that would take would surely begin to limit one’s desire, willingness, and capacity to use plastic. There could even be a monastic order centered around that practice. haha

I didn't sleep very well, but am thankful for the friends and low mileage and showers and opportunity to get my plastic cleaned and experience a sort of hard reset. It should be an easier section coming up.

I do have to tie a pair of shoes to my pack now, and buy a new filter. Which both really suck. The plastic is amounting and starting to add up. I also have a fork and couple tablespoon sized plastic cups from the grill. It’s so annoying when people give me plastic!

Post Note

I really enjoyed how chill and relaxed Forgettable was. At one point after first meeting him, because I’m terrible with names, I had to ask him his name. I didn’t forget again. When I was washing my plastic in the hostel’s kitchen sink he came over to investigate. A hiker’s time at the sink washing things shouldn’t take more than two minutes. Enough to brush one’s teeth or pot. You’re more likely to find a hiker washing things in a shower than in a sink. Hiker’s wash their bodies in showers, their socks and other clothes in showers, their backpack in the shower, and what the heck you might as well wash your pot in the shower while you’re at it. There's no need for sinks. So anyways, Forgettable comes over and sees me washing my plastic and says, “huh. What are you doing?”. I tell him, “I’m washing my plastic because I don’t want to get mauled by a Grizzly when it smells rotting cheese wrappers in my bag at night. I’m carrying all the plastic I use the whole trip”.

I told a lot of people I wanted to write a book about packing plastic. Pro tip; never tell people about your dreams because then it sets an expectation you have to back track from once you’ve realized you’re not going to make it happen. Remember, you’re getting this blog and not a book. But isn’t that a great title? Packing Plastic: Walking My Waste Along the Continental Divide Trail. I love alliteration in book titles. All the books I’ve ever written in my mind have alliteration in the titles. I think I get that from my mom. But then I realized a few things. One, this story is much less about the weight of plastic and more about the weight of failed relationships. And I wouldn’t call my relationship with L a waste. I loved life with her! Until I guess I couldn’t anymore. And second, I realized that I enjoyed the potentially transformational moment of talking with individuals organically much more than I would ever enjoy the process of writing a book in anticipation of the transformation that a reader might experience on the other side of the page. There’s no feedback. I want to be rewarded for my efforts. I want to see you go, “Haystack. I think you’re stupid” and then walk away with something in your brain more substantive than the socials you looked at all evening on a zero day.

Forgettable didn’t think I was stupid. I think he was just impressed and then let it be silent. I liked that. Despite the verbosity of this blog I actually do think we need more silence. The packing of the plastic can do the talking and then you and I can both come away with what to think about it. I don’t need to explain anything. There’s just plastic in my bag.