Nehaveigur

Interstate 80 crosses the Sierra Nevada at Donner Pass. One semi-trailer truck follows the next in a near-continuous train, connecting the mighty economy of California with those of the states further East.

I was travelling on a different kind of road. The Pacific Crest Trail is a long distance hiking trail that connect Mexico and Canada, crossing forests, deserts and mountain ranges without touching any major towns.

The PCT and I-80 intersect at a rest area that smells of urine despite offering restrooms. It also has vending machines, which were a welcome surprise to me, having last encountered an opportunity to buy food many miles and several days further south on the PCT. A few minutes after arriving at the rest area, I was sitting at a picnic table, eating a meal consisting of chips, ice cream and soda. After a few minutes, a truck driver asked if he could join me at the table. I was happy to have company and we started talking. I told him about my backpacking trip, and he immediately was worried about me. Is it true that the woods are full of darkness, he asked.

It is a sentiment I sometimes encounter when mentioning that I like to camp outdoors. Why would I expose myself to the elements and wild animals? He was a charming man, curious and funny and with a giant brass Eagle as belt buckle that he proudly displayed on his rotund belly.

I had a lot of questions for him too. What is it like to sleep and live in the back of a truck night after night? How far do his journeys take him? Is it always the same route or does he get to travel to New places each time? How much does he see of his family? What kind of foods does he transport? Meat? Does the freezer in the back ever fail, and what happens if it does?

Before I leave for those dark woods, I tend to think that I’m looking for solitude, but of the memories I come home with, it is often those that involve others that I cherish the most.

Happiness only real when shared

Final words in Christopher McCandless’ diary