Day 6 - Matt

Warner Springs to Mike Herrera's

We slept in the parking lot of the Warner Springs community center. There's a fire station across the street that announces every call on the loudspeaker facing the community center. 24 year old mothers cheered on their towhead baseball players until the sun went down. Ants roamed our patch of grass like those static balls in your eyes when you stand up to fast or when your blood sugar's low. It was our best night of sleep yet and when I woke up at 6:30 I was ready to walk to the post office. It opened at 8 and closed at 4. I got there at 7:58 but the postal officer, he was a man, didn't let me in intil 8:10. Waiting was fine with me. I found the hiker box which afforded me a chocolate chip cookie and fruit roll up breakfastizer (breakfast appetizer). A man named Monty came in after me. He was a local and talked to the post officer man as such. He asked me if I was married to the tall woman. I told him I didn't know. He said, "the tall woman at the community center. She said her husband would need a ride back." I confirmed I was married to the tall woman and accepted his ride back. I carried two resupply boxes on my lap and stared at a plastic cup taped to Monty's dashboard with dollar bills stuffed in it. Monty was a greying and jovial man who whispered when he spoke and twitched when he didn't. He mailed 4 important looking envelopes but told me he did nothing but hike the PCT for a living.  He spoke into his Bluetooth for the rest of the drive. 

Jenn had ordered me breakfast and the German lady who volunteers for the breakfast shift brought it to me as I walked in. Other hikers had arrived while I was away at the post office and the coffee pot was empty. My pancakes were delicious. We had an unknown amount of miles in front of us. The sausage was delicious too. It would be our latest start of the hike. From the go we went up. We'd catch and then lose Lucky, and the Israelis. The trail went from white to red to slate to brown and throughout was decorated with shining rocks like broken glass on a gravel road. It was humid out and the sky was thick with a muted blue. We could see the pass where we suspected Mike Herrera's to be but it was at least 3 more miles. We climbed into some boulders, warming up to their cool sides and finding shade spots. Thunder cracked above and then lightening. Cameron began talking about the effects of a lightening stike on the human body. I wasn't concerned. We pressed on at a faster pace keeping the pass ahead in sight. All we know of Mike Herrera's is that it's "sketchy". A bald man from Washington who spoke with a southern drawl told us two years ago he felt frightened there. We reached a tri-color sign that said Mike Herrera's was 100 yard up. We climbed a goat trail through manzanita to a dirt driveway. I looked around and didn't see any other signs of civilization. Down the driveway we went. The house was a simple brown box. Sounds of laughter and poor guitar met us at the doorstep. An older hiker showed us the ropes. He said it was donation only and then pointed out pavers along the property line. They were stone grinding tools imprinted with triangle shapes. I thought they looked familiar. The old hiker explained that Mike Herrera's family owned a tortilla making facility that also provided the tortilla chips for most of the brands we all know. Mile Herrera was not home. He left his house to Kushe, who made us lasagna. I drank 3 beers and a soda. No water. We slept in the middle of a tent city that had erected on the side yard. There were 20 hikers spread around. At least 5 snored like animals.