Pacific Crest #04


PCT4

Date:​Aug 3, 1979Time:​11:00 am

Alt.:​ 8,730 ft.

Temp.:​78°

Barom.:​steady

Place:​Ebbetts Pass

 

I’m hitchhiking down the east side into the county seat of Alpine County. It’s still a very small town with one street and no stop signs. I traveled the morning with Rob and his wonderful horse and found them both delightful company. At the pass we said our goodbyes and well wishes, Rob assured me that he would tell any interesting hiker heading south to watch for me. It was harder to say goodbye than I expected. I spent the next hour ranging up and down the approaches and descents of Ebbetts Pass. It wasn’t the most popular of the passes but it did have quite a bit of use.

 

While I was standing there with my thumb out, waiting to get a ride down the mountain, Eric and Sue came out of the woods. I told them to take the first ride, because it would be more difficult for a couple. They accepted and asked me to dinner in Markleeville, should I ever get off this mountain.  

 

 

 

Date:​Aug 3, 1979

Time:​4:00 pm

Alt.:​5,531 ft.

Temp.:​80°

Barom.:​rising slowly

Place:​Markleeville

 

I’ve been in town thirty-five minutes and I’ve spent thirty-five dollars. This is an interesting economic theory, not exactly “The Wealth of Nations” material, but interesting. Well, new socks should help my feet, and the eight dollar shrimp meal was a real non-re-hydrated treat. Eric and Sue were waiting for their re-supplying food box, but the post office had nothing. I had my major supply at Echo Lake, general delivery. At least, I hoped that it was at Echo Lake. I bought their dinner as they weren’t sure how long they would have to wait before heading back on the trail.

 

My ride into the town was with a couple and their ten-year old daughter. I talked about the emigrant trail, they took me ten miles out of their way so that I could catch more ride opportunities. Hitchhiking again brought back old memories from twelve years earlier, 1968 and my summer on the road. I really felt that I had developed some significant skills in traveling the highways of middle America. I knew where to stand, what expression to wear, what conversation to engage in, and how to refuse a chancy ride. My last ride into Markleeville was with an insurance salesman, he gave me his card. Mr. Landers. I didn’t have my cards with me.