So a funny thing happened on my way to the detour....May 25.

Team Zero left Monday at 5:45am to tackle Mt. Baden Powell. I said
goodbye and turned over in my hotel futon. Who was I kidding? Despite
my most ardent attempts at being lazy and slothful, I am a terrible
hotel sleeper, and even worse at sleeping in. It was a rough night,
but I would be seeing my good friend, Ani, from Pasadena, we would
catch up over lunch and I would get an afternoon start at the
trailhead for a nine-mile day.

All of this sounded acceptable until I realized how good it was to
chat with a longtime friend after many days leapfrogging with
acquaintances on the trail. We blabbed a mile a minute, starting a new
topic before finishing the last. But then again, for 12 years we have
always had a frenetic quality to our conversations. The lead I had on
my own schedule started to matter less, and the idea of taking time
off with friends now sounded more appealing than bumming around a
Motel 6 in Mojave, CA, by myself, waiting for Happy JO until June 10.

It took me about one hour to come around to the idea of a vacation
from the trail in Pasadena. Once I had decided, there was no looking
back:

...accept when we passed the McDonalds at Cajon Pass where I vied for
the calorie-consumption championship. It took me two days to walk from
there. It took us 8 minutes to drive.

...accept when we passed the wind farms on I-10. It didn't look quite
as hot from our air-conditioned minivan, but the drop from Fuller
Ridge looked enormous. Did I really do that?

...accept when I found myself sucked into the vortex of the
neverending desert resort of Palm Springs. It seemed so green and
pleasant on the ground, rather than the sprawl of urban lights and
cell phone reception we could never seem to get past while on the
ridge thousands of feet above.

We picked up the kids from school, ate ice cream, caught up on all the
Armenian gossip in Pasadena, stuffed our faces with hoummus, pita and
lamb kebab, and I had the most luxurious shower on the trail so far. I
think I might even use the bidet before I Ieave.

I realized that facial scrub almost removes my armpit smell, and that
my face is starting to get that wierd nose, jaw, mouth tan like
mountaineers. When you have a huge mirror to stare at yourself, you
begin obsessing about how bad you look after just three weeks on the
trail. My nose is very sensitive to smell, my ears very acutely tuned
to every noise. It appears that SoCal life is filled with many unusual
smells and an almost riotous nonstop racket. Nonetheless, the
Kenderians and Manjekians of Pasadena think I look great and that I am
a superwoman on the trail.

Just as important, Team Zero, now safely on the other side of Baden
Powell have convinced me that I can be a superwoman--The snowy summit
is within my reach.

Tomorrow I will strike out from Inspiration Point and climb Baden
Powell. Not a single type of snow traction footwear (crampons,
microspikes or yak trax) exist in SoCal, so I bought a cheap pair of
hiking shoes to give me some tread. Once I get off the snow, I'll
ditch the hiking shoes at the road for the next trail sucker, put my
sneakers back on, and cruise the remaining 60 miles to Agua Dulce,
arriving just on schedule.

I had a wonderful time visiting friends, my stomach is full, my head
overwhelmed with new thoughts, and I'm ready for the rush of hiking
once again!

A quote from Jack London: "the proper function of man is to live, not
to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them."

More word from the other side.