The social media intern has returned to the grid. For those of you who worried that my silence this week meant that Michael had gone missing on the trail, that I had failed to find him, or that my Social Media Internship has been outsourced due to the high cost of my labor, fear not. Michael is pushing 800 miles by now; I and Tom the Snack Captain and my partner Rachel and her sister Claire did indeed find him, though it was looking a little worrisome for a moment there; and the social media internship continues.
I will have to write a series of blog posts just about Kennedy Meadows and Tom's Place. In the meantime, due to time, here are a few short updates:
1) Michael has grown a tricolor beard. Blonde mustache, red on his face, black around his neck. Rachel calls it a calico beard. It is beautiful to behold.
2) Yesterday, Michael and his buddies Max and Tom climbed Mt. Whitney (Michael's first fourteener). Report forthcoming.
3) Michael has given me permission to publish all of John Henry's letter to me, which I will do in a coming post. I needed to get his blessings first, though I promise that the letter is Safe for Work.
4) I successfully delivered Dave Coogan's brilliant care package; documentation to follow.
I have been somewhat lax in my social media intern duties. I blame the end of a tough teaching artist residency, a performance last weekend, several big projects at my several jobs, and an enormous puppet Statue of Liberty. Mostly good things. But I still needed some time to work on this blog entry.
Jews for Racial and Economic Justice, the People's Puppets, and Kolot Chayeinu celebrate Mother's Day and May Day (photo by Marjorie Dove)
First, the facts as I understand them. When I talked to Michael last weekend, he was about 560 miles into his little walk. He took an afternoon off to watch The Great Gatsby, playing now in theaters near you, which he recommends highly. He and his buddy John-Henry had a lovely time hiking together before John-Henry had to go back to the World that is Not PCT (wnPCT for short). While on the trail, John-Henry wrote me a delightful letter that reminded me that Whitman College either attracts good people or turns them into good ones (or possibly both).
Here is what John-Henry tells me. Apparently among through-hikers and the communities that love them, donning surnames such as Longlegs or Beef is kind of par for the course. J-H describes the hiking community as a friendly if somewhat liberally-monikered crew:
It's about 1:00 at a picnic table outside the Big Bear Lake Hostel, where we have just passed an exuberant 24ish hours. The hostel is commanded, seriously, by Sarge (not sir), an ex-marine gunnery sergeant [...] with a penchant for Jameson and telling war stories to crustily be-blistered hikers. We piled into town yesterday via Michael and I's first American hitchhike experiences, along with a bunch of new friends from the trail. Since Michael skipped a few days for the kick off, he's had to meet a whole new cadre of hikers. This batch includes Moonshadow and Firedrill (newly nicknamed this morning after his alarm went off 5 separate times in our dorm room waking everybody but himself), a pair of cousins hiking to raise money for mental illness; Yazzi, who is videotaping everything and appears to be a veteran of no small number if LSD trips; Argentina, a self described weirdo, with a striking bowl cut, on his 8th PCT trip; Astrid and Ister, two quite beautiful British girls (at first I liked the blonde one and Michael liked the one with the black hair, but we have since switched) who we have spent quite a lot if time talking to without actually managing to understand very much; "the Ashland boys," who in my experience are either drunk and happy, or sober and not at all happy; and Sky Eyes [...]
John-Henry goes on to describe his experience of hiking with Michael on the PCT. I decided there was really only one way to do his narrative justice. (See brilliant artwork below.) A caveat first, for John-Henry: J-H (with one h, if abbreviated thusly), as you know, I am pretty sure we have never met. I could not find you on my Facebook mobile app. So I googled "John-henry whitman college," and this was my first hit:
If that's not you but is instead some other Whitman College John-Henry, I do apologize. You will have to imagine that claymation J-H (still only one h) looks more like you.
Love
Megan
Ps. Next weekend I am going to go find Michael on the trail as part of a vacation to Yosemite! Will I recognize him under all his body hair? Will he be at the general store at the appointed hour? Tune in next week to find out.
Please forgive the social media intern's silence. I have had a busy few weeks. BUT I am back with news from the PCT!
Michael passed through Agua Dulce, CA this weekend, about 50 miles north of Los Angeles. By my calculations, that means that he's about 1/6 of the way to Canada. He took a zero day to rest, but I did not manage to catch up with him by phone. I was busy performing and planning all sorts of interesting, secretive things with the Yes Lab (check us out), but I still felt bad to miss his call.
Luckily, I still have many interesting updates.
1) First, here's an excerpt of a beautiful letter that I received from Michael last week:
Yesterday I climbed up and over a 9,000 foot ridge and then traversed a snowy hillside. I walked 18 miles down switchbacks to lose 6,000 hard earned vertical feet. I reached a water source and curled up in the shade to wait for the cooler evening to cross the last 5 miles of desert floor. As I get up to walk my final push, the wind kicks up to about 40 mph out of the Northwest and I plod my way at about a 30 degree slant [here he sketches a picture of a stick figure falling forwards] when all of the sudden I just found myself laughing as hard as I could. The situation was so ridiculous. My feet hurt, my knee ached, I was tired, dead tired, and here this crazy wind was trying to blow me back. I naturally proceeded to narrate my life as if I was in a movie trailer, put out my arms like I was an airplane, and composed ever so slightly ridiculous poems about my adventure. A giant smile spread across my face and the last few miles flew by. With love, Michael
2) I thought this episode was very theatrical, so I decided to make a movie about it. At first I thought I could use a hair dryer to play The Big Wind, but it kept knocking my Michael over. So I decided to cut the hair dryer and replace it with a sexier, though no less dangerous, adversary. That's Hollywood, kids.
First of all, from both my trail-bound brother and myself, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR MOTHER!
Happy birthday, Mom!
There are plenty of updates from the PCT, but I'll keep it brief for now. Last weekend Erin and Michael went to the PCT kick-off, which is, according to Michael, a chance for the old-timers to give advice to the new-timers, such as, "Do not die from dehydration." Sound council for us all, really. Erin sends the following photos from the kick-off weekend, along with the heartening news that Michael has been given a PCT nickname (perhaps a gift from Staggering Beef??). He now goes by Daddy Longlegs, or Longlegs for short. I can't for the life of me fathom how he got this nickname.
Picture time!
Longlegs at the trailhead near the Mexico/U.S. border, appropriately decked out in gringo gear, I might add.
Erin sent me this picture so we could all appreciate the biodiversity of Southern California
An action shot: this is what Michael is doing all day, every day, for the next few months
Michael made it to Big Bear, CA this week after being dropped off on the trail following kick-off weekend. More to come soon!
