The trail will always provide . . . again.

Texas Walker Ranger and Dozer had both been taking a nap by the trail side and were startled when I rounded the corner. To be honest, I had forgotten Dozer's name which is no reflection on him, just a reflection on my failing memory. Walker I didn't recognise as he was horizontal and his beard had sprouted alarmingly since we last saw each other at Kennedy Meadows.
"Hey Fozzie, it's Dozer". I think he saw my screwed up face trying to recall his trail name, as he stood up to shake my hand.
"Good to see you again" I said, "Sorry, not good with names".
"Fozzie, it's Walker!"
"Oh shit! I'm sorry mate, I didn't recognise you." I said apologetically as I offered my hand. He refused it which immediately made me think I had done something wrong, before he offered an explanation.
"Dude, I think I got Giardia", he said with a resigned look on his face suggesting it was bound to happen at some point. The refusal to accept my hand was to prevent infection spread, which I realised immediately as I drew my palm back quicker than England's exit from the World Cup.

Giardiasis is an infection of the small intestine caused by a microscopic organism (protozoa), Giardia lamblia. It really is the one thing a hiker dreads. Although not particularly serious, it requires treatment as soon as possible and can lay someone out for a week. I can't even type the symptoms without holding my stomach and wincing but they mainly consist of abnormal amounts of gas, both from the rectum and the mouth. Fatigue, nauseousness and the ability to relinquish large amounts of fluid from both ends of the body are also included. It is contracted by drinking from an infected water source. If you do not treat your water then you are at risk. Walker readily admitted he had consumed water from creeks high in the Sierra because he thought they would be ok.

We all walked together for maybe 10 minutes before Walker stopped, opened his mouth and emptied most of his stomach contents. I have not seen as much sick since Margaret Holloway threw up on the school canteen table when I was 5 years old.
"Dude, I think I just purged a demon" he said.
Dozer and I could not hold our laughs back and tried, unconvincingly, not to smile.
"No, I'm serious," he continued. "I just performed an exorcism." He smiled as he wiped his beard and tried to clear his nose as well.
"If you got a sense of humour Walker, you're half way through it." I offered.
We camped together and somehow he managed some sleep. I left them in the morning to walk the one mile or so back to the road to get a ride to Lake Tahoe and medical attention.I carried on walking the 24 miles or so to the same destination where we had all agreed to share a motel room.

The morning was cold, I pulled up the zip around my neck, shivered and walked quicker to try and warm up. The meagre 400 feet ascent over a ridge known as the Nipple soon had me sweating. I usually time my sections during the day so I can see progress and more importantly keep tabs on my position but I let things go. I knew it would be a long day to get to Highway 50 and hopefully a ride into town and I didn't want to be reminded of it. The days pass quicker when you don't know where you are.

I stopped for a break mid morning and realised I had only a snack bar. I then realised I couldn't even cook up some rice as my fuel had run out the previous evening. A walker travelling south, on hearing this, tried to reassure me that I may at least get some water from the Carson Pass Visitor Centre at the next road crossing.
"They don't have any food though.' He added with a resigned look and outstretched palms.

I practiced my best hungry and thirsty look as I entered the parking area hoping that maybe someone would hand me a cold coke or something, but there were only cars, no people. I dejectedly slumped on a chair outside the centre and started to rummage through my pack in the hope of finding some long forgotten morsel of peppered jerky cowering in the bottom. It was not to be.

"PCT Hiker?"
I looked up to see a kind face belonging, I was to learn later, to a lady called Peggy Geelhaar, a volunteer at the centre.
"I am, yes" I said, smiling.
"You want a soda, maybe something to eat?"
Before I could answer, or perhaps my wide open eyes coupled with my tongue hanging out and a look on my face akin to someone waving a burger in front of my nose had already provided her with confirmation, she disappeared and came back with grapes and 2 apples. She told me to help myself to a soda from the cool box and then gave me some cheese. Her compatriot, Dan Quayle, sauntered down to the car and came pack with a bear sized pack of crisps, apologising because the bag was swollen with the altitude difference from where he had purchased it down the pass. As if I needed an apology.

"Don't forget to sign the visitor's book" she said.

"The trail will always provide" - Stumbling Norwegian (and a few others).