Charlie's Story

My latest Pacific Crest Trail section  hike brought me into the little known place called Seiad Valley. There is a reason this place is little known. The people there are forgotten, separated (some by choice others by circumstance) from the outside world. The beautifully engraved sign by the local restaurant advertises that it is the “Home of the Pancake Challange.” Either the spelling is indicative of “I don’ give a fuck attitude”, or is evidence of illiteracy or even a general hate for “the educational system” that produces “drones of society.” Maybe it is both of those things, or maybe there is a general lack of quality proof readers in that little valley. At any rate, this place, Seiad Valley, is tucked away in the wilderness with the Klamath River gloriously winding its way through its contours. 

    It was my task to find the RV park, as my maps indicated that I could get a coveted shower and wash my sweat soaked hiking clothes. As I walked in early in the morning, all was quiet save the confederate flag flapping in the breeze and the greasy, grey haired woman with kind but far off eyes staring into some unknown existence. I only had to sit on the bench outside the office for two minutes, and a wiry man in his sixties strutted out of his trailer and addressed the woman aforementioned, in a voluminous voice,  “Starin’ at it  ain't gonna make it grow any!” He walked over and said some inaudible words to the woman  until the woman said, “That little lady over there is waiting for you to open the office.” 

    Upon brief conversation with this man, I discovered his name: Charlie. Closer observation revealed that Charlie had once been a good looking man with shining blue eyes now slightly watery and curly hair that I am assuming used to be blond, but now was a light grey color.  Charlie was very cordial and made sure my hiking needs were attended to. After my shower, Charlie found me in the hiker room texting and using the internet that I knew would not be available after I left Seiad Valley. “You texting your boyfriend?” He didn’t give me time to answer and went into a long description of the next section of the trail that I was planning on hiking later that day. It was ridden with poison oak, there was still flame retardant on the ground from recent fires, there was no water, and it was approaching the hot part of the day, not to mention it was a ridiculously steep climb for about nine miles. His knowledge was made credible by the fact that he used to be a firefighter. “We sometimes give ATV rides up to the top of the mountain,” he said after his spiel about the inhospitable conditions. It did not take much to convince me; I relished the idea of getting ahead on miles, especially since I had gotten behind on my miles a couple days past (which is a whole other story). The only hitch was that I would have to wait until evening to get a ride. I consented and figured that since I was going to have to wait for so long, I might as well take the opportunity to converse and immerse myself in the local color. It was evident to me Charlie was very anxious to talk to me. In my attempts to relax in the hiker area, Charlie had come around multiple times to “check on” me. On one of these “check-ins”, I employed my conversational skills which I have found mostly consists of listening. 

“You look like you keep yourself pretty busy around here,” I said.

“Yeah, I make it look that way anyway,” he chortled. “That is the trick, making people think you do a lot. I have it pretty good here. I get free rent, and I just help out. I came here about ten years ago. It was a deal I couldn’t pass up. I had been moving from place to place and those situations were wearin’ out. Things always seem to work out for me.”

“That is pretty cool,” I responded. My shallow retort that is typical of small talk was enough to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, just recently I found my brother. It is a cool thing. I was going through life thinking I was alone, and then all the sudden there is somebody there. He looks just like me. He is tall, blonde, blue eyed, handsome as can be. He has a wild spirit like me too. He knows how to live like I do, but I still want to teach him some things. I have calmed down a lot. I have always been the place that people came to have fun, but I draw the line sometimes. One time my buddy came knockin’ on my door in the middle of the night. He had a gal with him, and it was not his wife. I welcomed him in because I am polite, but then he asked me if he could use my bed for an hour or so. I don’t care if people want to come over and party, but fuckin’ in my bed is not allowed.” As he said those last words, his eyes sparkled and he gave me a wink. 

Once he had established his solid moral backbone, he proceeded to tell me what a powerful man he was. “United Airlines fucked me over.” I don’t exactly recall the transition into this anecdote, but Charlie had a way of continuously talking that transitions were inconsequential anyway. I did try to interject this time because I have had my own fair share of negative experiences with airlines. “Yeah, they…” 

    “I flew my friend out to visit me for a few days. When she had to fly back out, those fuckers wanted me to pay some crazy price to check her baggage. I looked at that gal on the other side of the counter and yelled and made a fuss. I knew it was out of her hands, and she even said ‘There isn’t anything I can do about it,’ so I asked her who do I yell at. There I was, a hillbilly in the Medford airport making a scene, throwing my arms in the air, and cussing up a storm. I bet you they got that shit on Youtube. In the end, those fuckers ripped me off for two hundred dollars.” He told this story with pride emanating in his voice. There wasn’t anyone who was going to mess with Charlie. Charlie’s next story was a testament to just how fun and playful he is. At this point, I was fairly attuned to the fact that he was showcasing his best qualities for me, and his consistent  winks only solidified that assumption in my mind.

    “Once I was at a gas station with a buddy, and this car pulled up with a black gentleman. I charged on up to his door and opened it and got in his face,” Charlie chuckled. “You should’ve seen the fear in his eyes. Somebody said something to me about being inappropriate, and I responded ‘I’m just havin’ fun. Is havin’ a good time wrong?”

I had no response to this story except a pressing desire to remove myself from Charlie’s presence. I did find a way to exit the conversation, as I saw a fellow hiker walking toward us. Charlie naturally went about his day, and whenever he would come in to “check on” me or we happened to pass, he would give me a wink. 

When it was eventually time to get my ride up the mountain, Charlie came out and said bye, “Thanks for hangin’ out, Tammy. You are a very beautiful woman. It has been a real pleasure talkin’ to you.”

I thanked Charlie for his hospitality and said, “You have a good life.” I meant it as an imperative statement, an instruction to live his life well. He interpreted it as a declarative statement. 

“Yes, I do. It isn’t too bad at all,” he responded. “Yours doesn’t seem too bad either.” And that was it. 

I was grateful to get back on the trail, to the simple but hard work of getting places. I was grateful to be in a world devoid of social rules and limitations. The forest, the uphills and the down hills are steps I can easily navigate, and when my feet tire, I can pitch my tent, and when I am out of breath, I can pause and move on at my leisure. People are not that simple. I was grateful for my ability to escape the confines of that blazoned constricting X on an orange background. Maybe Charlie’s life was good, but it was his story and not mine.