Miles 32-42 (to Mt. Laguna)

Around mile thirty-seven, after doing a slow five morning miles, I came across a thru-hiker named Daydreamer who was in a super sweet, shady, spacious spot--too nice to pass up. It was around 11:30 am and his tent was set up under a huge, beautiful tree. I asked him if he minded me taking a break with him, and he said he'd be honored (no, really). We exchanged the typical first-meet questions about where the other was from and what day we got on trail. He looked to be about my age and in good shape but said that he'd strained a ligament and was having to take some zeros. He'd been in that nice spot for almost a full day. He told me that he typically liked to hike barefoot which I responded to with disbelief. Apparently he'd been doing it for years, and swore that his injury was unrelated.

My planned short break turned into about an hour and a half as other hikers came and went. All day I planned on making it past Mt. Laguna ("That's only ten miles. I have to go further than that."), but when I got to the campground near town that had been open last year, allowing me to use an actual bathroom and charge my phone, it was closed. So I went into town, which ended up being a lot closer than I remembered. Or at least the Pine House Cafe was, and of course that's where I went.

I made the mistake of looking at the menu. Never look at the menu. Burgers. And garlic parmesean fries. And super-gourmet-sounding mac and cheese (gourmet enough to charge $9 for a half order and $12 for a full.) So naturally I ordered all of that. The fries were shared with two other hikers, so that made the bill a bit less. The fries had to be ordered separately from the burger. It was that kind of place. They bank on taking hikers for all they're worth. Later I realized they had one of my favorites wines. But James, another hiker who came and joined our meal halfway through, strongly recommended the double IPA. He said I should order the wine and he'd get the beer, and if I preferred the beer we could switch. The IPA ended up winning. James bought the beer, and somehow the wine didn't show up on the tab. I didn't protest this.

We all went back to the campground later and I put up my tent for the first time by myself. I'd been avoiding doing that since I hadn't practiced and didn't want to look like an idiot around other hikers. It involves tying strings to shrubs and/or trees. That alone makes it too complicated for my limited skill, but I gave it my best effort. I thought I'd done a pretty decent job, but by morning the two back stakes had popped out and my ceiling was considerably lower. And the inside was covered in condensation that would roll off and fall on my head if I chose to rise above ground-level. I crawled out of the tent in the dark of early morning, stealthy and unseen. Or so I told myself.