Journey Day 38 | PCT Day 38

The Acton office.

5/24/85

We get up from our spot on flatter ground and walk to Acton, skipping breakfast. Arrive about 8 a.m. and munch stale 25 cent fritters, milk and juice at store. Hang around outside the store until we can get our box.

Bivy at a picnic table. Turns out to be the Acton “office,” the self-proclaimed home for Acton’s party population. As we write letters and prepare boxes for Kennedy Meadows, Mojave and Sandi back in Albuquerque, townies gather and tell us tales.

Characters out of Steinbeck’s “Tortilla Flat,” none with anything apparent to do but laze about the office and drink beer. Amusing, but they divert our attention from many tasks at hand.

The day races away. We barely get our boxes to the post office as it closes. In town always ends up hectic. We’re no longer capable of organized city movements.

We’re packing ultra-lite for the dreaded desert. Tonight we try hiking in the dark. We’ll see…

Dissatisfied with letters here. Apparently my absence is insignificant to some of my friends. Mom, Grama and Chaz come through. Mary especially let me down by not writing. She must not miss me enough.

Besides the Paisans at the office, two characters stood out in Acton. Meryl Adams, a 75-year-old woman who approached outside the local gas station-store. Her twisted body and advancing age did not keep her from working on the history of Acton 1844-1850. Still unfinished after six years of writing and and scores of research, Ms. Adams was still engrossed in the project. She claimed to be the first Girl Scout executive in San Angelo, Texas, and a reporter in her younger days. Keith and I talked most about her ambiguous sexuality. Until after she’d left, I was still convinced she was male, although I noticed breasts and she was effeminate. The other character left nameless. He pulled up as we sat with one local youth at the office picnic table, forcing us to move our gear. An entire side trembled violently as he tried to eat his lunch. The youth gave him directions to Buena Park and he was off. Seemingly unconcerned or unaware of his condition, he shook our hands and took off.