Beer and Bat Shit

From Castella, we decided to hitch to the town of Mt Shasta where we wanted to experience what we heard to be a hippie's dream come true. The town, sitting at the base of the root chakra of the world, is home to several crystal shops, art galleries, and people who understand the hiker lifestyle. We also intended to visit the Buddhist monastery in order to gain a more cultural understanding of the area. As Golden put his pen to the paper to make a hitch-hiking sign, a woman named Kate did a double take and offered us a ride to Shasta despite having just come from there. She was on a road trip enjoying the scenery and decided to hang out at the trail head because she was determined to give a PCT hiker a lift. We were the lucky recipients! The ride from her was refreshing because, rather than only asking the standard questions about how many miles we do or how long we've been on trail, she was curious about the logistics, gear, and organization required to complete a long distance hike, as well as our opinions, do's and don't's, of how to hike.
Our first night in Shasta was a nice change of pace; we had decided to stay in a hotel room alone for the first time so as to make long-overdue phone calls to home and have a night to ourselves.
To see a summary of our next night in Shasta, see the photos below :D

Homeless or Hiker?

Needless to say, we all rolled over the next morning unanimously agreeing to zero another day. Plans fell into place rapidly. 30 Pack left the room to go buy a DVD player. Steamer called the front desk to reserve another night as then left to go rent movies. Golden went to pick up lunch for himself, Ex, and Rainmaker. We didn't move from bed once the rest of the day. This was made easier because Steamer and Rub-a-dub made the room an ice box by turning down the air conditioning. It was the truest zero we have taken.
Leaving Shasta was one of our most difficult hitches, but we still managed to hike ten miles before night fell. Unfortunately, the views from Shasta to Seiad Valley were obstructed by the smoke from the forest fire that an arsonist had set. We were surprised, however, when we received magic from trail crew members working to repair the eroded section. They fed us fruit salad, greens, and spaghetti and even let us pack out the excess fruit to eat for the following day's breakfast.
As we raced to beat the Seiad Valley Post Office yet again, we met our first southbounders who reassured us that we would love Oregon. With that news, we hiked 22.5 miles into Seiad Valley by 2:30pm.
When we arrived in Seiad Valley, we were shocked to hear that the RV Park was charging $20 to pitch a tent. Nothing irritates us more than having to pay to camp when we could just walk a mile out of town and pitch our tent for free. Under the same mindset, the manager of the general store gave us permission to camp under the nearby bridge that he owned. After socializing into the late hours of the night, we convinced Rustic that our plan to camp under the bridge was brilliant. The three of us climbed down the embankment, headlights casting a blinding beam, and stepped beneath the bridge. Without warning, we were swarmed by HUNDREDS of bats! Circling our heads, we ducked for cover. When finally the last bat flew off into the night, we searched for the flattest spot to camp. Rustic stomped right into a pool of foul sludge. Too proud to abandon our plan and cough up the twenty bucks, we found the most functional spot and made camp for the night.
We didn't sleep well. Throughout the night, we awoke to the bats swooping in and making their squeaky calls. At one point, we could hear the distinct sounds of pellets dropping around us. Golden lay awake at night fearful that some would drop into his open mouth as he slept. When daylight finally broke, we were greeted with a ghastly sight that we were unable to see in the darkness of the night. We were surrounded by bat shit! Due to his unlucky position beneath a support beam, Rustic's sleeping bag was covered in it. Poor Rustic. Of all the people for this to happen to, it is unfortunate that it had to be him because his type A personality requires a high degree of cleanliness. Despite our traumatizing experience, we all climbed up the embankment with a smile on our faces knowing that we had survived that night together and were left with a unique story to share.