TRT Mile 158 to 170.5

Around 3:00am I hear scurrying around my tent. I assume it is a nocturnal rodent, but find my headlamp to rule out racoons or bears. I see nothing, but take the opportunity to pee, before climbing back under my quilt. The noise returns, and I repeat the headlamp scan. Nothing. Later, I hear the noise right next to my head. This time I can see something next to the mesh above my bathtub floor lining. I push through the sidewall and flick the intruder, who turns out to be a very large toad. I am pretty sure I have never been woken up by a toad, and am glad to have that now crossed off my list.

Reflecting lake?

I wake for good before 5:00am and begin packing up in the dawning light. Daniel appears, and we heat water for coffee and oatmeal. Well Daniel has oatmeal. I instead gnaw on a massive sugar grease bomb know as a honey bun.

We are on the trail close to 6:30am. The vortex of a city is sucking us in. Like gravity, the closer we get the harder it pulls. Our elevation profile has some up, but mostly down. The fire haze obstructs our view, but not our forward progress.

TRT/PCT split

We have seen several boy scout troops wearing Philmont shirts. After inquiry, we are told the classic scout adventure land has been closed due to their own fires and threats of fire. It seems a Tahoe Rim Trail permit is the fall back strategy for quite a few Philmont bound troops.

In one encounter with a troop going the opposite direction, we are warned of a bridge construction re-route. The last few miles to town are growing by another and we are frankly not too happy about it. On the way we pass a camp for tree climbers and zip liners, where children scream at pitches upsetting to dogs, and reminiscent of what our burning calves are telling us.

Later we reach the Truckee River in time to be tormented by splashing rafters and tubers, who seem to be enjoying this moment more than we. I do find sick humor in a tiny toddler on the shore, who keeps pushing his face into the river and drinking like a dog. I gently point out to Mom that even trail trash like us filter before drinking. Mom smiles, shrugs, and says, “I don’t know how to make him stop.”

The draw of milkshakes pulls us into town, where we indulge with no more grace than the river drinking boy. Next we stoll to the crowded shore of Lake Tahoe. Dropping our packs, and kicking off our shoes, we stroll fully clothed into the baptismal water. We are born again.

We find and check into the divey Tahoe City Inn, where we shower and start the laundry process. When you need to wash everything you own, it does not leave much to wear to the laundromat. Daniel and I walk through town, dragging a giant plastic bag of hazardous clothing materials, in our long underwear and rain jackets. It is surprising how many people make brief eye contact and say nothing.

For dinner we head to a Mexican restaurant overlooking the lake. The smoke gives a slight reprieve, and we can actually see the mountains on the other side. Knowing we have to climb them on the second half decreases our pleasure just slightly.

We fall asleep early. Tomorrow we will sort gear, buy resupplies, and rest.