Theodore Roosevelt once slept in Room 6. Allegedly. Allegedly, but I have no reason to doubt Marilyn, the manager on duty.
When I got here, I kid you not, the power was out. As I would find out hours later at the only bar in town, “the power hasn’t been out more than an hour ’bout 3 or 4 times in 10 years.” This wouldn’t be the first time this summer I counted my luck…
Arriving at the Hotel Packwood in an early ’90s Subaru after a 20 mile hitch/near death experience, I was instantly engaged by a couple on the front porch.
Frank and Vanda were the rudest couple I’ve ever met, ever.
Just kidding.
I hope Frank survived that line.
Frank asserted I was on an adventure. He was correct.
Before I could get through the short version of my story the couple paid for my room. And before I could finish Frank’s cigar they covered dinner and a beer!
The night moved quickly on the front porch of this hotel, all of us drinking boxed wine. At one point I exposed, “the only reason I came down to the town was to charge my literal batteries!” It was true. But before long the power was back on and all was well.
An hour later Theresa would join us on the front porch. In town for work on a nearby highway, she instantly added a new dynamic to the conversation.
By this point I was wearing an oversized t-shirt bearing the logo of the South American nation Brasil.
Marilyn was doing my laundry.
And I thought to myself, in the company of three strangers old enough to be my parents, “we all die young.”
PCT Mile 2,292.4
