High Road

By the time you read this I'll be gone... trying to sleep in some unlikely quiet corner of the Bangkok Airport after twenty-four hours of plane changes, airports and squished knees, awaiting a flight to Kathmandu in another twelve hours. But it wasn't easy. Packing was far more difficult than I had imagined, even though I knew I didn't need things like Italian boots, leather jacket or lipstick. The panic stemmed from not knowing what to anticipate on a trek in a fourth world country, hiking for weeks along narrow yak trails between teahouses at very high altitudes. Unlike hikes through Italy where there was the promise of a hot shower, fabulous food, and succulent wines waiting after a glorious walk through medieval countrysides... and you knew which shoes to bring. Teahouses... the name sounds so civilized. British formal tea with scones and clotted cream. Japanese tea ceremonies. New York's Russian Tea Room.

“You need to bring your own linens,” a friend recommended, “because none of the teahouses have sheets or blankets. And you'll want to pack your own toilet paper too.”

I once guffawed about the story of a woman hiking Everest who took her espresso machine along. At the time it seemed absurd, however, as caffeine is one of my main daily staples it started to look more reasonable after realizing that there wouldn't be good espresso, let alone a plain ol' cup 'o joe until I return in a month or so. Intentionally, I had bought only a small backpack considering the length of time and various climes I would encounter. Certainly not enough room for an espresso pot. In fact, it was looking minuscule as things started accumulating in the corner reserved for the pile of possibilities where any item that came to mind as remotely necessary would get tossed into.

I hadn't been camping in over 30 years. I didn't even own a sleeping bag. After five summers back in the Butte, I was the proud owner of a condo, a cat and a ‘72 VW Bug, three and a half townie bikes, four pairs of skis, five down coats and thirteen pairs of hiking boots... but no sleeping bag. Like Dracula taking the dirt of his homeland along for survival, I felt it was imperative to buy a local bag instead of in Nepal.

“You have to get into the bag itself to see if it feels right,” Ryan at the Alpineer suggested. I wondered, what does a right sleeping bag feel like? I tend to sleep thrashed across an entire queen feather bed with two down quilts and high thread-count sheets so a confined space where I can't move my toes feels claustrophobic. Ryan assured me the bag was specifically designed for a woman's body, which is why they must have manufactured it in dirt sucking pastel blue instead of a disguising dark color. I now finally owned a sleeping bag that would take me to new levels of snore induced nirvana upon the sheetless teahouse beds along the Annapurna trail.

Bogged down with the normal work load crammed into a compressed time frame so I could leave earlier, coupled with my habitual routine of procrastination, time was not on my side and was rudely moving towards the departure date with increasing velocity. I still hadn't ordered half the things I thought I would need as a traveling journalist – light weight cameras, video equipment, solar chargers and a herd of batteries and memory chips.

“So, you're going to Nepal with a sharpei? Those dogs know how to guide you on the trail?” my mother had asked. “Aren't you afraid or worried about being so far away with strangers?”

“No mom,” I chuckled, “I'm going with a sherpa not a sharpei. They're the friendly native guides there.”

It was then that I recognized that I really had everything I needed for this trip – namely, a sense of adventure. A few days before the planned departure, I had pretty much eliminated everything except minor toiletries, underwear, a camera and charger, mini netbook, a handful of buffalo jerky and my new sleeping bag. It's about a new experience seen through the first exposure to a wondrous new environment, untainted by someone else's interpretation. And the certainty of knowing I'll be returning home to one of the most incredible places on earth with the anticipation of another Butte-teous, deep powder season. Wishing you who are on the road wandering a safe journey…