South Lake Tahoe

Just before dawn a brief hard rain fell, loudly pelting the tent. There was little reason to get up at five as usual, since I had such a short distance to hike. I thought, no, I’ll let the tent dry out some first. Then it rained again, long and hard enough to give form to a small subterranean flow along the underside of the tent (luckily just along the left side instead of across the middle). Better let that dry out too. A third burst soon followed.

But by seven the sky seemed to have cleared, so I rose and packed my gear, put it away wet for the first time on the trip.

The first mile was a steep descent in tight switchbacks, down through big trees and big boulders, down to a creek crossing. I met a group of four older men coming up, each with a decades-old backpack; the first man, who was quite heavy, said, “Tell them I’m an hour ahead.” The next man was only a couple minutes behind, and I tried to pass on the message, but he snorted and said, “I saw him, I know where he is.”

It was just three and half miles down to U.S. 50, a fast and busy two-lane road. Usually when I cross roads I hang back in the woods and try to cross when no one will see me. That was not possible here…. On the other side, I climbed up through thick woods, passing a number of vacation cabins, and after a last mile and a half descended to Echo Lake and the small log-cabin store beside a boat launch. That was it for me and the PCT; I would walk no farther north.

Tracks, the young guy I met a couple days ago, was at the store, as were two other thru-hikers. The post office portion of the operation doesn’t officially open till eleven, and it was ten, but inside the store someone said they’d go ahead and get my box for me. I opened the box, transferred some of the stuff to my bear canister, I’m not sure why, then mailed the rest back to myself, spending fifteen dollars to mail what probably amounts to stuff worth less than that amount. I just didn’t want to carry it, and I couldn’t bring myself to toss it out. The other hikers had re-supplied too and didn’t need any more (one of them tried to give me half a bottle of olive oil).

A note on food: when I arrived at Echo Lake my bear canister held three energy bars, a few tea bags, my own half bottle of olive oil, and a largish bag of trash. I had not rationed food, but ate pretty much the same amount each day, including the last morning. So, right on the mark, apparently, which gave me no little satisfaction.

Another rain storm passed by while I was messing about, and they would repeat throughout the day. It would have been a wet day on the trail…. Back in the store I ordered a vanilla milkshake, and while six dollars seemed like a lot, it tasted pretty fabulous.

Tracks had spent the previous day in South Lake Tahoe. He had waited around the store parking lot, asking visitors for a ride (it’s a busy place), but it took some time before he was successful. I did not like the idea of buttonholing strangers as they got in their vehicles, and then having to deal with their lame excuses…. So after just an hour at Echo Lake, I walked a couple miles out the entrance road, back to U.S. 50 to try my hand at hitchhiking the traditional way.

I crossed the busy road, walked down to the start of a pull-out, put out my thumb, and the first vehicle pulled over.

It was a VW camper van, one older (an 82’) and more rickety than mine, driven by a man named Brian. South Lake Tahoe, my destination was only a dozen miles, but the ride took an hour, in part because of the heavy traffic on 50 through the long town. Also, we stopped by a friend of Brian’s house, so Brian could pick up his BMX bike. He had left it there after a July 4^th party. “I was too wasted to ride it home,” he said.

Brian was probably in his early thirties, with black hair and a black goatee flecked with the first of the gray to come. He wore a ball cap and was listening to a Grateful Dead cd. He was coming from Santa Cruz, where he has a job as a bartender and manager at a restaurant on the beach. But during the week he has another bartending job in Tahoe, at one of the smaller casinos. “I’ve been going back and forth for about six months now,” he told me, “but pretty soon it’s just going to be Santa Cruz. Time for a change.”

He had been in Tahoe for most of his adult life. He had recently divorced after ten years of marriage, and his house in Tahoe would be officially foreclosed on just four days hence. “I’m thinking of camping out there one night this week, you know, just to say good-bye” he said. “My ex wants to do the same, and I think she wants to do it on the same night. But I’d prefer separate nights.”

Currently he’s housesitting for a friend in town, a man who is hiking the PCT this summer. Apparently this man is doing thirty and forty mile days. “He’s a fucking animal,” Brian said. “So he’s the head of the ski patrol at Heavenly, you know?  And he’s famous for never wearing gloves. Doesn’t matter the weather, he never wears gloves.” I was put in mind of a story I’d heard years ago, about an old guy mechanic who didn’t use wrenches or sockets: he could remove any bolt with his fingers.

Despite his recent difficulties, Brian seemed optimistic.” I’m just going through some transitions, man…. And I’ll still come back to Tahoe a lot. I love the lake, and I’ll come up to snowboard, and I have a lot of friends here…. But down in Santa Cruz it’s a good job, and I’m going to start surfing more….”

When I told Brian I wanted to go to the Apex Hotel (where Tracks had stayed the night before, for $55), he expressed doubt. “That’s a long way from the lake, man, and that’s the part of town where all the crackheads and shit live.” I didn’t want to disappoint him, but he didn’t offer up in other economical alternative…. Just then my phone buzzed and I reached into my pocket. Earlier I’d texted Alix asking her to look up cheap motels. Her message said the Horizon. I passed on the suggestion to Brian, and he sat up in his seat, excited and said, “Perfect, man, that’s the one.”

The Horizon is just across the border in Nevada, and part of a complex of four huge casino/hotels standing in a cluster (Harrah’s, Harvey’s, and the Montbleu are the others). It’s near the lake shore and apparently far from the crackheads. “It’s the cheapest one,” Brian said, “because they lost their gaming tables license. It only has slots.” But one can walk across the street to one of the other casinos for blackjack and craps and roulette and poker. “It used to be called the Sahara,” Brian said, “back in the day. Elvis played there, the Rat Pack did too, all those dudes, and for long engagements.” The sign out front of the Montbleu promised performances from Sublime and Cypress Hill later in the week, Toby Keith in early August.

Brian dropped me at the lobby entrance and inside I paid $55 for a room with a king-sized bed on the 12^th floor. I took off my shoes and sat on the edge of the bed for a time, trying to adjust to the sudden change in my circumstances. My tent in the woods in the morning, walking down the trail…. And by noon, four hours later, I’d come through busy Tahoe, among thousands of other visitors, and landed in a casino hotel room high up in the air….

After a while I spread my wet gear out around the room, then took a long shower, one of the very best of my life.

Later I went out and walked a mile or so to get out of the most touristy stuff and had a burrito at a taqueria in a little strip mall and read the newspaper and felt happily tired and quiet. It rained again on me on the walk back…. I explored all four casinos, where the lights and sounds of the slot machines flashed and banged, and people smoked and drank at the gaming tables.

Back at my room I finally turned on the television. I put on a baseball game.

For dinner, I tried Harrah’s buffet, supposedly the best, but there was a line so I settled for the Montbleu, $13.95 plus tax. I ate a ridiculous combination of foods, none of it particularly memorable. On my first plate, a slice of cheese pizza, a piece of rosemary chicken, a piece of fried chicken, some salad, and three California rolls. The second plate, sweet and sour chicken, a dab of low mein, a slice of beef brisket….Next cake and ice cream. I took along with me when I left an orange and a muffin and a piece of chicken….

Afterwards I wandered into the sports book and watched the Yankees game (picked out among a bank of a dozen screens), to see Ichiro in his first game for New York.

Back in the room I flipped through the tv channels without much success, and eventually turned off everything and lay in the dark wondering at all that had happened in my long and strange and stimulating day….

I thought of the trail too. At Echo Lake, I’d said good-bye to Tracks when he set off, north back on the trail. The next section crosses through the rocky and barren Desolation Wilderness, and as I watched him go I felt a little wistful and wondered if maybe I should be going on too. But no, I’d had a good day, and I was ready for something different for a time.