Lately I’ve been trying to cut back a bit on my weeknight alcohol consumption (mostly for the sake of calories), which means occasionally I end up with an opened bottle of red wine or two, especially after having friends over. So as to not let good wine go to waste, I’ve been using the excess in an adapted version of Alton Brown’s recipe for Coq au Vin—literally “rooster with wine” in French. Generally I’ve broken the recipe up over two or three (or four or five) days, depending on our dinnertime schedule. On the surface, it sounds like a significant time investment, but it’s really all about the convenience of doing a little bit each day to bring the dish to completion. Often on the first day, I’ll cook two dinners in parallel, starting with something easy, like a quiche, and then once it’s in the oven, I do all the initial prep for the coq au vin.
It’s hard to believe it’s finally over, but today at 11:50am, my dad reached mile 2660 of the Pacific Crest Trail (aka the PCT, the Crest Trail, or just, “The Trail”) after 144 days. He was projecting it would take him about 150 days, or 5 months to complete, at an average pace of about 17.75 miles/day. At 144 days, his average pace was just under 18.5 miles/day. Of course that includes a number of zero and “nero” days, necessary in order to resupply somewhere off-trail. When he was really moving, usually hiking from about 6am to 5pm every day, his normal daily mileage was more like 20-21 miles/day.
A few days ago, my sister flew to Vancouver and then drove to Manning Park so she could meet him at Monument 78—the official end of the PCT. That entailed an 8 mile hike to the US-Canada border, and since they were not planning on camping, they hiked the same 8 miles together, back to Manning Park. The first time I hiked 16 miles in a single day was earlier this year, with dad on the PCT, so this was no small feat for Katie. Way to go!
Here’s is a photo he took of himself at the end:
The last earthquake we experienced was just like this most recent one: it struck in the middle of the night, the shaking was sustained but gentle, and I probably would have slept right through it, were it not for the startling thwomp I received from Stephanie’s arm. I fell back asleep almost immediately. This time, however, we had video of the action to look back on. It’s not the most riveting vantage point, but the sound of our suspended wine glasses clicking together in the kitchen is kind of neat.
Heard some unfamiliar sounds outside tonight, so I went to check it out and discovered a drone buzzing up and down our little street. Is this how the future is going to sound?
Dad was nervous. My plan to hike 19 miles a day together was based on his swift progress through Southern California—but what neither of us had anticipated was how difficult the Pacific Crest Trail would become in the Sierras. He told stories of constant stream crossings, some waist deep, treacherous snow fields that cut across the trail on steep mountainsides, and, since he’d entered Yosemite, innumerable switchbacks, “paved” with infernal cobblestones. I’m not exactly sure what I expected the trail to be like, but I certainly hadn’t counted on getting wet. Now I was nervous.