Sojourning At A Hiker Biker Campground

Sittin' here resting my bones
And this loneliness won't leave me alone
It's two thousand miles I roamed
Just to make this dock my home

Five Miles North Of Trindad
June 1 ’80

Today I’m not feeling too good. The rain didn’t stop until early
afternoon. Maybe this coffee I’m about to have will cheer me up some.
Am I turning you into a diary? I hope not, but that’s the way I
feel. Sometimes I wonder if getting older goes through an irreversible
mental process just like the physical aging process. The water ought
to be boiling by now.

Yesterday, when I got on my bike, my knee was really sore. I rode about
a hundred yards and then turned around and headed back to Trinidad. I
asked at a gas station how far the next hiker-biker campground was and
the lady behind the counter said, “About five miles.” I figured I could walk
that far so I headed out feeling good that I at least had something to do. In the
the beginning it wasn’t that bad. At the top of every hill I would hop on my
bike and coast to the bottom. By the time I reached the campground, however,
I couldn’t even walk. I used my bike for a crutch.

I’m writing now, after my second day of rest, but my knee is still in
sad shape, swollen and sore. I’m not sure where to go from here.
Tomorrow, Chuck, the young ranger, is going to drive me into Trinidad.
I guess I’m going to catch a bus to Eureka and look for employment. My
biking days, for now at least, are finished. If I can find employment
and share rent with somebody, maybe I can endure for however long it
takes to get healthy. My one comforting thought is that athletes
tear, sprain, strain, mutilate, and break their bodies and within a
week they’re right back out on the playing field. Why not me?

Since I’ve got the time, here are a few extra words, but be forewarned,
I’m not in a good mood. Yesterday, I met Dave, Jeff, and Christopher.
Dave hitchhiked into this park (a really nice park, a mile across and few people), but
I don’t know how Jeff and Christopher got here. All three invited me over for dinner.
Even though I didn’t want to go, I figured any company would be better than my own.
I was wrong. It’s not worth describing the negative vibes I got from those guys.
It’s hard to believe that I once wanted to be like them.

Oh what’s the use, I don’t feel like writing anyway. After I finish
this coffee, I’ll go for some firewood, and start my tonight’s spaghetti dinner.

P.S. So far my tent is working, but I haven’t had a really good
rainstorm to test it yet. Well, at least that’s something to look
forward to—and that’s realistic!