One Tiny Dancer and The Whole Goateo

Day 7
Milage 0
Good job on getting yourself clean…ish. Aidan said.
Thanks. I said.
He’d come to Watson Lake to give me a resupply yesterday. Joshua came and took Sophie home to shower and do chores and sleep in a real bed.
Aidan and I camped and ate hot dogs and listened to other campers get drunk and loud, and when it was dark, I cleaned myself with one of those no rinse bath wipes. The ones that are super thick that you’re supposed to put in the microwave, but obviously that didn’t happen. It had enough cleaning power to do the right stuff, but not enough to clean up the old feet to a respectable level.
The drunkards camped next door with their sons were backpacking for father’s day. They woke me up five times before I got up and interrupted their fun.
Hi guys. I said.
OMG we’re sorry. Said one of them.
Your voices carry really well and it’s 11:30, I said.
We’re really, really sorry. Said the other one.
Okay. I said. And I went to bed.
And so did they.
But in the morning, the wives showed up to celebrate before the backpackers headed back out, and they got really into talking shit about goat packers, goats in general, and us in particular. I rolled my eyes a lot in my mind.
Are you listening to this? I asked Aidan.
They’re so loud about it, all of Truckee is listening to this. He said.
He told me he was so, so proud and then he kissed me and left and I took a nap in my hammock until I heard people saying GOATS and I got up to visit but they went away without chatting.
A guy named Vic Hutchison came by to visit for a long time. He gave me some sap from a special tree in the area to chew on. I chewed on it for a long time. It was earthy and nice and got stuck in my teeth, so I tasted it long after the chewiness of it went away. He gave me a big stick of it to bring on trail. I enjoyed his company and he was definitely a kindred spirit. He is a trail angel for PCT hikers and gave me his number in case we need any help while we’re out here. I thought that was super duper nice.
Sophie and Joshua came back while I was on a walk around the little lake with the boys. She looked all clean and smelled like dryer sheets and her hair went the way it was supposed to go while mine was all plastered back like I’d used a gallon of Dapper Dan.
We cleaned up the dirty hay that the boys had peed and pooped on, put it in trash bags and put it in the back of Sophie’s Honda Fit.
See, the Honda Fit can Fit Anything. She said.
We raked the camp of hay remnants so as not to leave a mess, and Joshua made yummy steaks for dinner with a side of cherries and cantaloupe.
And then we were alone again. Me and Sophie. And our boys.
And Sharkey became a tightrope walker once again, balancing his front feet on the highline. Then leaped over it and balanced his back feet on the highline. Then jumped down and looked at me. All satisfied.
Our Tiny Dancer.
One Tiny Dancer and The Whole Goateo.