Her name was Frankie. At least I think that’s what it was. She was the counterpart to our mountain climbing guide when we climbed Mt Shasta. Frankie had a smile a mile wide and was skilled enough to stop an entire capsized chain of grown humans from plummeting to their death, but Frankie smelled very bad. Frankie did not seem to care at all about it either.
I know that I’m not a real pilgrim or mountaineer, but moving from place to place and walking long distances in gear that makes me sweat and not having access to the vast number of clothes I use in a regular day at home has made me think about how Frankie may have been on to something. If you love mountains and are a professional guide, you’re not really using scent as a way to measure your own happiness.
This little walkabout has taught me that I’m not the chill, hippie chick I sometimes like to try to convince myself I am. I love to wear patchouli, or as more than one of my coworkers has accidentally called it “chipotle.” But putting some Orchard Nutrition elixir on after a nice hot shower isn’t the same.
In a couple days we’ll do a proper laundry. But then, those clothes will get similar abuse as my current filthy hiking pants are getting.
2 weeks is a long time to carry a backpack around. It needed to be light as possible. Sink laundry and hanging things to dry is very popular on this adventure. It’s even common to carry some still-drying clothes outside your pack. After all, you’re walking around for over nine hours. May as well be a walking clothes line.
This has worked mostly well. Sure, I wasn’t super proud to see my Costco Puma chonies hanging off the Kuiu backpack next to my reusable, antimicrobal cloth that says “piss off”; but at least my butt will have a “clean” pair of chonies later in the week.
If this was a mountain or primitive hike, or if everyone did it the same way, perhaps I would think less about it. However, today chonie pack and I sat on the same restaurant patio as real Spaniards. And though I know it’s not proper to generalize a country’s inhabitants, the Spanish seem to take looking good seriously. Add to that that a lot of pilgrims are staying in fancy rooms, and are having their luggage transported for them from one walk point to the next. This means that whilst I’m just hoping I don’t smell like Frankie, I’ll pass someone whose laundry smells fresh enough to make anyone question their ability to be clean.
I’m not fretting though. These folks won’t likely see me (or smell me) again. So far the closest person we’ve encountered was good ol’ Jim and Renee and they are from all the way in Florida.
Today was over 18 miles. It stayed similar in that there were a lot of people of all varieties in the morning, then the afternoon was less than 10. We procured a hostel for the night and will learn how well sleep is going to go and also will learn how their chocolate bread stacks up.
Bifocals and Barbells 