Kearsarge was NOT a breeze. Boys are weary, mama's weary. We spent the night at Charlotte Lake and headed out from the JMT off trail, toward Kearsarge Pass and Onion Valley. We vowed never to curse switchbacks again, after climbing a sandy/pebbly path cutting straight up the side of an 11,000+ ft mountain. Kearsarge was not a breeze. On the way up we met two hikers who had introduced themselves to us back at the suspension bridge. They told us of a hotel and a diner in Independence, and cheered the guys on with their old hiking stories. They are called Treehugger and Petunia, and gave us trail names: Mama Goat, Float and Little Goat.
We finished the pass and ate lunch surrounded by our mountain painting. It was five miles to the trailhead parking lot, which would mean a ten mile day for us (not likely). So we planned on trucking as far as we could, and crashing a few miles shy of Onion; breakfast at Independence in the morn.
I am not sure if it was the downhill, or the food incentive, but we made it to the lot by 5:30p! We could see the cars from the mountain, and looked over the city as if in a plane. Such a great concrete way for the boys to grasp just how nutty high we have been reaching (we climbed down at least three miles before seeing the tiny cars and roads).
Ok, so now we are in the parking lot, where the rangers told us we would find a safe ride, just sitting on our bags looking dirty and tired. Two campers strolled by an loved the guys (tough to beat two small boys with humongous backpacks, looking for help). They decided to advocate for us, snagging us a ride with a kind, Prius-driving couple (both were hikers, teachers, parents and good smiling people). They drove us into Independence, dropped us a half mi from a campsite, and outside a restaurant. The only restaurant, it seemed. Suddenly out of place, we announce our big-bagged selves to this quaint bistro, and slump down to a tableclothed four top.
"Danielle?"
Someone calling me?
No one knows me.
I've never been to Independence.
I am near unrecognizable with my cowboy face and orphan Oliver Twistish children.
I am delusional. But again it comes,
"Danielle?"
It was Judy. From the mountain! Let me be more specific; Judy with the GORP gift atop Pinchot Pass; all showered and looking civilized, with shining smile eyes. Judy was eating with a friend (with the same, great, kind eyes) and waving us over. I am not sure how it all happened, but before we knew it, we were invited to stay at Judy's friend Mary's home. Judy is a physician in Palo Alto, but has a home on the other side of Inyo County. Mary was the town's Court Recorder, and a well-known, well-loved, upstanding citizen of Independence. Going with the gut, and looking at the quickly falling night sky, we accepted.