Mile 248 to 266

I wake at 2:00 am. freezing. The forecast was in the high 20s, and I am feeling it. A backpacker’s stomach is like a furnace, you need to stoke it with calories to keep it warm. I reach instinctively under my head for a Snickers log, only to realize the Ursack is tied to a tree. Damn that bear!

I lie there knowing exactly what I have to do, but dreading all that is involved. I need to find a flashlight. I cannot untie the knot without one. I will have to take off my gloves for the same reason. I need to find my shoes. I need to get out of the sleeping bag. If I get up I am going to pee, because I am not getting up again. I order each step in my head. I then execute my military operation with maximum efficiency, minus the normal downed Apache aircraft. Once I have the Ursack open, I even manage to gnaw a huge chunk of parmesan cheese. In the starlit night, I must have looked like Smeagol from Lord of the Rings cooing over his precious. Back in my bag I load the furnace and sleep until 5:30 am, my normal wakeup time.

While making coffee at 6:00 am, I notice a hiker walking down the trail with his wet sleeping bag draped over his shoulder. It is either a strange religious ceremony, or a futile attempt at drying. I pack up my own soaking wet bag, not knowing he is the last person I will see until I meet my sister at the highway 18 trailhead.

The day of walking is a blur, interrupted occasionally by trail magic caches, which offer empty boxes where soda cans once were. Torture. Speaking of torture, I pass by animal cages for retired Hollywood stars from Predators in Action. I push on to Highway 18.

Hold out your hands. Go ahead, do it. If you are like most of us you will find 10 fingers. Now wiggle one of them. That’s how much of the trail I have behind me. When the trail is 2,650 miles, 266 miles is 10%. It is amazing how much and how absolutely little 10% can seem.

At highway 18 I am greeted by my sister and a glorious Arby’s roast beef sandwich. She takes me shopping for resupplies, then whisks me to my parent’s cabin. I shower, do laundry, sort food and eat, and eat, and eat. Can you say pork tenderloin sandwich? Ice cream with sticky hot fudge? How about warm soft bed? Goodnight.

Mile 229 to 248

Today seems like a magic 18 day. It is day 18 of my trip and I am trying to make it to Highway 18. This requires that I average 18 miles a day. While hiking, my wife sends a text which simply says: “Yikes, 18% grade!” She occasionally tracks my location from my Spot, and calculates the elevation profile from her favorite application RidewithGPS. I am so glad she sends the text. How else would I know how much pain I am in? I look down and think my waistline is nearing 18, and I am pretty sure 18 is my new IQ. If only my legs felt 18.

As I approach my target campsite, I begin to notice fresh bear scat. Up to this point, I have been sleeping with my head on my Ursack food bag. Probably not a good idea in bear country. Tonight I find a tree and tie off my bear proof bag. Even if the bear cannot open the Ursack, I cannot really afford for him to carry it off. He probably doesn’t want my crummy food, but he could get $60 for the sack on EBay. I fall asleep knowing I have outsmarted a greedy bear.

Mile 210 to 229

I get up before the sun and start to make instant coffee in the dark. When you are unsure if you have shaken in enough, and hear yourself saying too much is probably better than too little, stop! Or like me, you will end up putting in an entire weeks worth. Trust me, this coffee concentrate will NOT end up as a happy chapter in the book Mistakes That Worked. Ziggy turns on the patio lights and announces she has made coffee and poured orange juice for us. The day is looking up already.

My sister Susan and I play cell phone tag, trying to arrange a little Trail Angel “pick-me-up” at Highway 18. I think she is competing with her husband Mike, who took care of us in Anza. If it works out, I will end up seeing my parents who have a cabin in nearby Running Springs.

Today I get to test my legs on the uphill. My resupply is Big Bear, so in 56 miles I need to go from the desert floor at around 2000 feet, to the San Bernardino Mountains around 9000 feet. There is also a storm threatening in a few days and I prefer to be in a warm bed in Running Springs when it arrives.

It turns out this section has gotten extremely more difficult than in 2013, at least according to the failing memory of the young guy at Ziggy’s who told me it was a “piece of cake”. Even the snakes seem to be struggling up the trail.

I encounter my first significant water at Whitewater River. Although not enough to run a kayak down, it is enough to soak my feet in and filter to drink, but preferably not in that order.

Eventually I drop not far from a campsite set up by a trail maintenance crew. All I have managed to do is walk and I am totally exhausted. They, however, after slaving all day with picks and shovels in the sun, are laughing and playing Frisbee. I curse their youth and fall asleep.

Mile 188 to 210

It is not unusual for week-long backpackers to believe thru-hikers are trading off miles for smiles.  I ought to know, I was one of them. When thought of as a completely different sport, however, I see this as a false dichotomy. I personally plan on doing both. Just not today. Today I am missing Brian. Today I have to settle for miles only.

With nothing holding me back and facing a ton of downhill, I am determined to test my legs. Highway 10 is 21 miles away. Ziggy and the Bears 22. I set my sights on the highway. I quickly run into a hiker going south, who stops to tell me his silver Mercedes is parked at the campground. He says if I have any trash, I can leave it on his car and he will take it out. I am confused. The campground l am thinking of is 14 miles ahead and it is too early for him to have come that far. I start to think he just knows where his ex wife’s car is parked, but it turns out he has driven to a campground much closer than I thought.

I continue to descend.

Whenever I visit the Vietnam Memorial in Washington DC, I have the same emotional reaction. As I first enter the memorial, the lists of names are short. As I descend, the lists grow. The further I descend the more overwhelming the lists become. It is as if I am figuratively and physically over my head with emotion. After a respectful amount of time feeling like I am drowning, I pass to the other side and begin to ascend. The lists begin to shorten. Slowly at first, then faster. Feeling like a free diver short on breath, I race for the emotional surface.

In the same sense that Russell Brand is a bit like Ghandi, I feel my descent towards highway 10 is a bit like the Vietnam Memorial. Every step down I take, feels like a step away from Brian. Why couldn’t it work? I come upon three deer traveling together. Great. Why can they do it? Perhaps they are not headed to Canada. I allow myself to descend into a pathetic emotional abyss, but promise that the ascent to Big Bear tomorrow will be my break for the emotional surface. After all, he is doing what he wants, and I need to move on.

I hit 21 miles and my feet are burning with hot spots. As I enter the tunnel under Highway 10, I encounter a crazy cracker who says something that sounds to me a lot like “I am going to stab you.” Another mile to Ziggy and the Bear’s suddenly seems doable.

Ziggy and the Bear are trail angels who open their home to PCT thru-hikers. They are so dedicated to their cause that when the trail was re-routed away from their home in Anza, they sold and bought a new house not far from where the trail crosses Highway 10. I am offered drinks, fruit, a shower, laundry, charging station, WIFI and a place to sleep on a carpeted backyard. It is amazing. After cooking a quick meal, Ziggy asks if we would like some ice cream. I ask her if she has flown here straight from heaven. She smiles and hands me an ice cream sandwich.

I fall asleep in my sleeping bag, on a soft patio couch.

Idylwild to mile 188

Hike Your Own Hike (HYOH) is a common thru-hiker philosophy. It simply means do what is right for your hike, without judging the decisions others make for theirs. It is a great philosophy for solo hikers, but makes painfully obvious the challenges of hiking as a group. This is especially true if the skill levels and goals are significantly different.

After a nero and a full zero, Bri is not able to hike more than about one mile per hour. Clearly she has done more in the past, but right now while we are needing to ramp up the miles, she is struggling. It is frustrating to everyone, especially Bri. The more days it takes between resupplies, the more food and water we have to carry. The extra weight makes everything more difficult.

Brian sends me to wait at the next water, which is 1.7 miles ahead. This gives them time to rest and discuss strategies. When they finally catch up to me, they tell me they have made a decision. If we keep pushing for the miles it takes to get to Canada, Bri will quit. Brian clearly does not want that. They have decided then to go slow, enjoy their time on the trail together and not focus on completing. If they get stronger and get to the end great, but it is no longer a priority.

Our goals are now incompatible. Although I respect their decision, I am determined to get to Canada. After a hug and a hard goodbye, I press on northward.  As daylight fades, I find a place to camp. For the first time on the trail, I am completely alone.

Zero Miles

Today we are taking a full zero, which means we are enjoying Idyllwild rather than the trail. We hope the break will give Bri the energy to push on towards Big Bear City. In the mean time I thought I would describe a typical day on the trail, with the hope I can avoid repeating these tidbits everyday. By now we are seeing a pattern. It goes something like this.

Wake to the morning sun, in a cold and slightly damp sleeping bag. It is time to get up, but it is so cold. It really is time to get up. Get up! Isn’t it amazing that being in bed for well over 10 hours is not enough.

Fire up the tiny stove to make instant Via coffee, which tastes surprisingly good with Pop-Tart crumbs. Pick five random snacks to enjoy on the trail: Cliff bar, Peanut M&Ms, Kind bar, peanuts, cheese crackers, corn nuts, or if you are lucky a Snickers bar.

Pack everything you possess in your pack. Yes it will fit, you had it in there yesterday. How is this stuff expanding? It must be the dirt. Check your maps and PCT apps for the next potential water. Okay, now start walking. Every few hours stop for a quick break and a snack. Will it be the Snickers? No, save that one for later. Now get back up and keep walking. Where should we camp? Can we get in a few more miles? No? I guess this is it then.

Once you stop, rip open your pack and put on all your warm clothes. This really just means all your clothes. Put out your Tyvek tarp and inflate your insulation pad with the awesome Instaflator you found on the internet for pool toys.

Quick make dinner, which may be Pasta Sides, instant mash potatoes, Indian curry and instant rice, instant stuffing with instant gravy, or maybe just globs of sun butter spread on flour tortillas. The sky is the limit. Well that plus what you still have left in your bag. Now clean up. This actually means put more water in your dirty pans, slosh it around and drink it. I like to think of this as my final course of the day, very weak mystery soup.

Now settle down, make notes on the day and sleep. Then, as it says on the shampoo bottle: rinse and repeat. Oh, except in the desert, you are gonna have to skip the rinse.

Mile 149 To Idylwild

After a quick breakfast of coffee and Poptarts, we attack the trail to Paradise. We make excellent time, then road walk to the cafe where we order more food than we should. Although it is only around 9 am, Brian gets his burger patty with eggs and hash.

Even better than the food is word that my brother in-law, Mike Hein, is on his way to carry us on his wings to a shower and laundry. His father Woody has a place in Anza, which for us is now a hiker heaven. We even take a quick spin on the ATV, just to remember what speed feels like.

We then race shopping carts up and down the aisles of a market in Idyllwild, creating ridiculous meals from the limited selection available. Mike all the time mumbling, this is what you are eating? We take another meal at a local Pizza joint, and Mike drops us off at the trailhead to Devils Slide, bypassing the fire-closed portion of the PCT. Angel Mike takes a few pictures, waves and flies off as mysteriously as he arrived… in his 4-cylinder Camry. We attempt a climb back up to the PCT, but Bri is not up for it. We retreat back to the trail head while there is still time to hitch back to a campground in Idyllwild, a town apparently not quite done with us.

Mile 134 to 149

On Tuesday Paradise Cafe closes by three. There is no way we can make it. Trail rumor has it the burgers are to die for, so we set our sights on a campsite three miles short. Our hunger attack on Paradise will commence on Wednesday. Yes, we will try to have burgers, even if for breakfast.

Our first objective is Tule Springs. We arrive and filter water for the long up. In a few miles we reach Gussler, a sketchy cistern, with a sign stating there are dead animals in the water. Thirst can make you pretty desperate, but to avoid the guilt of someone having to post a sign that there are dead thru-hikers in the water, we pass. On the way I notice garter snakes in the top of a bush, attempting to mate. It seems way too hot for that to me.

We eventually arrive at a real cache, with racks of bottled water, dedicated to the PCT Class of 2015. Brian also finds powdered protein, which he drinks against my normally sound advice. A rattlesnake drops onto the trail in front of me, making a great opportunity for video. He even displays his coil and rattling skills.

Bri bonks again, so we stop and rest at another cache with picnic tables, hiker box, shade and a library of books in a glass case. The library makes me nervous about how long we will be there. After all, I am a pretty slow reader. But with rest and some electrolytes, Bri storms up the hill to our campsite, where we crash with Florida and others waiting to pounce on Paradise.

Mile 119 to 134

Today’s start is rough. Bri is bonking and struggling to find energy. She is eating and drinking water, but the 2 mile/hr pace is getting close to 1.  I ask if she has had any electrolytes. Brian makes her some Propel and she becomes superwoman, making up lost ground.

We arrive at Mikes, a trail angel who provides water, shelter and all kinds of hiker amenities.  We filter water from his huge tank, then make our way down to enjoy the shade by his house. It has everything you imagine at a hiker haven: chairs, hammocks, outdoor cooking set up and a hiker box that is actually a room full of pay it forward supplies, gear and food.

Mike is not there and it is early in the season, making it a little like a hippie ghost town. We chat with some German hikers and eventually push on in the heat.

Mile 104 to 119

We wake with bags soaking with dew. Some mornings, sleeping out under the stars, there is a price to pay. We hike mostly down hill towards Warner Springs. Brian texts Dave we are running a little late. We stop at the iconic Eagle Rock, for the obligatory goofy pictures. The lighting is quite favorable.

We press on to the Warner Springs community resource center, which now looks like a MASH encampment for PCT hikers. There are chairs, showers, toilets, trash cans, cooked hot meals, computers and a hiker box. I claim a half empty ISO-propane canister, just enough to tide us over to Idyllwild.  The center is associated with the school, and we are told the WIFI password is stayinschool. I tell them it is a great message, but a lousy password, as it does not work for any of us. We burst open packs and spread everything out to dry. Dave arrives with our mailed resupply boxes and breakfast sandwich treats from Starbucks. After sorting food, getting fire permits, and using all the facilities, we press on.

On the trail we encounter a large group from the Northern County chapter of the Sierra Club. When they realize we are thru-hikers, they form a tunnel with their hiking poles, and cheer as we go through, as if we are 5 year old soccer players. It was fun, but I would have preferred the normal juice boxes and orange slices. As we continue on, Brian starts laughing and says, “What just happened?”

It is hot as we try to take the hill. We find a creek, make an early dinner, then hike when it is cooler. Wearing headlamps, we finally make our miles, and collapse in the dark.

Mile 89 to 104

We rise early to avoid some of the heat. We are determined to put in a full day’s miles. We leap frog a variety of thru-hikers. Day Dreamer has run out of water. Thumbs Up keeps calling me Dave. Grenade tells us his name came from the way his pack looks every time he opens it to find something. Based on what we have seen, we agree. We pass each other multiple times, pausing in various forms of shade. Many seem to be slowing to our speed because they will be trapped at Warner Springs. They have re-supply packages waiting, but the Post Office will not open until Monday, and it is now Saturday. Lucky for us, we shipped ours to Bri’s step dad, who will meet us Sunday morning.

Today we crossed the 100 mile mark, the furthest Brian has backpacked in one trip. At Barrel springs we filter water, relax, and prepare an early dinner of rice and bean burritos, which Brian declares his best meal yet on the trip. That should give a clear indication how low the bar has sunk.

We press on a few more miles, then drop to sleep in the trees at the edge of a pasture, coyotes singing in the not too distance.

Mile 78 to 89

Although in the comfort of our hotel room, we wake on backpacker time – 6:00 am, a full hour and a half before breakfast is served. We fill the time engaged in a hair dryer battle against our determined to remain soaking wet clothes. Breakfast is fair to middling by any standard other than our own, which places it somewhere near spectacular. Orange Juice! Cereal with real milk! Fruit! We stuff our belly’s until we fear our pack hip belts will require extensions. We waddle back to continue the battle with our clothes, until we are thrown out of the hotel at noon.

We return to the road to hitch our way back to the wilderness. We stand across from the high school, where there is plenty of traffic, but no offers of a ride. There is a exciting road bike race (although most participants ride mountain bikes) with far more cyclists than residents in poor little Julian. A very nice local architect, Terry, shows mercy and drives us back to the trail. His daughter works at Mom’s pie shop, and he apparently picks up thru-hikers almost every day. We slip back under highway 78 for some shade, only to discover that the huge water cache from the day before is completely gone. Only a small wet spot remains, where yesterday were piles of 1 gallon plastic jugs. Luckily we have enough water, but it makes clear you cannot count on a cache.

After staring at the never ending shadeless switchbacks, we abandon our troll like hiding place at 2:00 pm, and walk into the heat. We struggle up for 10 miles. The only real sign of life is a desert tarantula, who seems much less excited to see us then we him. Near 8:00 pm, we dropped into a tiny dirt patch on the trail, and call it home for the night. We make instant mash potatoes, enjoy a star show, and fall asleep hoping not to be stepped on by any night hikers.

Mile 72 to 78

It’s decided. We are going to crawl down to Scissors, check out water options, then hitch to Jillian, for free pie and new found strength for Bri. We have lots of up hill miles ahead, and she is going to need it. We make it to the desert floor, and walk in the hot flat sand, playing rhyming games to pass the time.

As a child, you are told never to take a ride from a stranger. You might get picked up by a crazy murderer. As a teenager, you are told to never pick up a hitch hiker. You might pick up a crazy murderer. There seems to be a higher than expected number of crazy murderers on and near our highways. I stand at the side of the road, holding a sign “Not A Murderer.” After several cars with plenty of space for us fly by, I begin to wonder if the “Not” is as legible as the rest of the sign. We switch to the more traditional hiker “To Town” sign, with the same results. Even Bri’s smiling face and wave does not slow even a single car.

Eventually a red van with Texas plates whips in, and a white bearded man in his sixties says for 5 bucks a piece he can be our shuttle. We quickly agree and pile in. On the 12-mile Mr Toad’s wild ride, he proceeds to tell us his life story, including his DUI and how he avoids having to register his car or hold a valid California drivers license. He announces that his air bags do not work, and the non-working seat belts should be draped over our shoulders, so as not to draw attention. He tells us that the Library has free WiFi, but they block all the stuff he likes to see. Why does the wilderness suddenly seem so tame, and civilization so wild?

We claim our free apple pie, ice cream, and drink at Mom’s. If you are ever in Julian support them. They are awesome to PCT thru-hikers. We decide to share a room at Julian Lodge, where we set their plumbing back five years with our bathtub stew of hiker clothes. Tomorrow we plan to hitch back to the trail, to try late afternoon and night hiking. One way or another, we are getting up that hill towards Warner Springs.

Mile 61 to 72

The early morning is cold, with crazy blowing winds. It rained a couple of times in the night, and Brian’s tent collapsed multiple times, driving his hiking pole through the tent top and mesh. No time for repairs now, we need to move. Six miles ahead is a potential water source, a leaking tank at Rodriquez Road. After that, there is no reliable water for 32 miles. We are extremely thankful to find the water tank full. The thought of going 39 miles without a water source, is more than we can face. We set up a day camp and begin drying gear, patching gear, and filtering water. It is strange how important liquid is, yet we do not like it falling from the sky in 50 mile per hour wind, nor building up in Bri’s blisters, yet we get both. We drink bottle after bottle of Chia water, until our eyes are floating, and we tire of peeing.

We prepare an early dinner near the water. My tyvek tarp now has a large burn hole, exactly the same size as Brian’s stove. I am not accusing, just saying. We press on towards what truly appears to be our first desert floor. Bri is losing steam. We probably need to take our first zero. Scissors crossing may have water, and we can hitch to Julian if we need more food.

Mile 45 to 61

We again wake to howling wind and frost, but the weather forecast for snow keeps us focused. I don’t even make coffee. We need to move. Bri tends to her blisters, which are getting worse. We wrestle our tents into our packs. They are wet, and so are our bags. We hike through fog, towards what we hope will be water. The views of the desert are awesome, but we do not slow to enjoy. At Pioneer Park we find a water cache, which we gladly deplete. We push on. Even with Bri’s blisters, we are making this a 16 mile day.

We stop briefly to pop some of her blisters. We find another water cache near Sunrise Trail head, with a note that it needs to be filtered, which we do. We hunker down in a totally windy area, hoping the forecast for rain is wrong. Other thru-hikers pass by, clearly exhausted, but not willing to settle for this clearly unsafe and windy location. Turns out, they are right.

Mile 36 to 45

It was freezing cold and windy all night. Bri needs to tend to her blisters, so we get a relatively late start. We have five miles to make it to our resupply, at the Mount Laguna Post Office. Our food bags still seem loaded before we arrive. As we approach, we encounter our first real trees, which Brian joyfully embraces. Tree hugging is the first step toward hippiedom.

We arrive by 11, only to be told the Post Office does not open until 12. We try to eat as much as we can, but are resigned to making major donations to the hiker box. I am sure a month from now we will not be able to imagine too much food, but these new to thru-hiking hoarders are over flowing with stupidity. Brian spots a minor ginger, but we are off trail, so it does not count. We stuff our packs with as much as they will hold, and check the weather report. High winds and snow coming by Tuesday.

We press on a few miles, then tuck in to a slight wind break. By break I mean 30 miles, rather than 50. It is getting cold fast.

Mile 22 to 36

We wake to the distant sounds of church hymns, belting out a sunrise service.  Oh yeah, it is Easter. I lay shivering in my frost covered bag, thinking about my Uncle Bob. Today will be his memorial service, and I will celebrate his life right here, where I think he would want me to be. Not that he didn’t like having me around, but rather because he was always supportive.

After a quick breakfast we get on the trail, pick up some water at a horse campground, and head up the hill. Part way up, we drop next to the trail exhausted. Coming southbound, out of nowhere, appears our first naked hiker. Here we sit, like children on the curb at the Macy’s parade, when the strangest, most inappropriate balloon animal floats by our face. In my mind I make several observations, all beginning and ending with “What the frig?!” But in reality I say “Hi” as if nothing is out of the ordinary. After he passes, I turn to Bri and say, “Perhaps he is showing off his Easter eggs.” Bri responds, “On Easter, he should do a better job of hiding them.” Brian, forever playing the scavenger game, exclaims “Damn, he’s wearing shoes!” Here we are needing to find a barefoot hiker, instead we meet his inverse.

Later in the day, Brian finds an actual Easter egg, hidden on the trail that says “Happy Easter Hiker.”

Mile 10 to 22

Brian wakes at five, hoping to see the advertised blood moon. By five the moon has set behind the hill, so the red mooning is a complete bust. Those who know Brian, know he likes to play games, especially ones with ridiculous rules. Today he declares we are playing PCT scavenger hunt, and must create a list of random things to look for. They must be found on the trail, and cannot involve us. As an example he offers up a ginger (redhead) minor. I counter with someone wearing non-matching Dirty Girl gaiters. Others we agree on: a thru-hiker walking barefoot, someone carrying a child, a completely burnt and peeling thru-hiker, and a hiker taking a dump in full view of the trail. I offer someone quitting in front of us, but Brian and Bri nix it as not funny. Apparently puking on the trail is funny, but quitting is not.

As we hike, we encounter horned toad lizards mating on the trail, which had not made the list. After quick showers at Lake Morena campground, we press on for a total of 12 miles. We set up at a patch of dirt by the trail, and are joined by a soon-to-be hippie. Later she tells us she is quitting the trail at Tehachapi, not because of exhaustion or lack of confidence, but because of future financial limitations. Brian does not allow me to count her in the scavenger hunt.

Mile 0 to 10

You’d like to think, as you start a major hike, you will have something inspirational to say, or at least something slightly pithy. But it turns out, sometimes you just take a couple of pictures at the PCT post, and start walking.

Within a couple hundred feet, we see large snakes crossing the trail, so we know we are in the wilderness. But so far, we see no rattlers. Brian had been told he would see one a day. When we reach our first days goal of 10 miles, he is disappointed. I reassure him by pointing out we need to average 20 miles a day, so he actually has 10 more miles to find one.

Some things you see on the trail surely have stories, but they are not always revealed.  Early in the day we come upon an abandoned backpack, with a plastic bag on top. In the bag is a Book of Mormon. In what state of mind does a traveling Mormon leave behind a backpack and scriptures in the middle of the desert? Later we find what I can only describe as a cowboy outfit: pointed boots, shirt, pants, and unmentionables. Being so near the border, it is possible these involve an illegal crossing and disguise change. I however, prefer to imagine a Mormon cowboy realizing he needs to go back for his lost pack and book. Surely it makes good sense to ditch the outfit and travel as light as possible. After all, everyone we meet is struggling with the exact same thoughts, minus the pointed boots and book of course.

We camp in a break in the bushes.

Mile 0

In the summer of 1981, my wife and I traveled through Europe. Being the lazy sort, I decided to stop shaving, and I haven’t started since.  I got married, had three boys, and watched them go off to college, none of them ever seeing my face. I was like the phantom of the opera, but without singing talent. The thought of hiking five months without my normal weed whacking trimmer had me worried. I was pretty sure without a clean start, I was going to look like I was in ZZ Top, or more likely the crazy old guy in Life of Brian, who breaks his vow of silence defending his juniper bushes.
So in the hotel, with my wife holding a jerky video camera as she laughs at my new found face, I begin anew. I figure at the very least, I can keep my son Brian and his girlfriend Bri moving, if only from fear as my face marches behind them.