The next morning, I drove a rejuvenated John to the trailhead at Walker's Pass and watched him head happily up the trail. I went back up the mountain to Kennedy Meadows and studied my guidebooks for the three states we were visiting this summer for the rest of the day. Had had another episode last night of altitude sickness, but have now acclimated again to the 6,000+ feet campsite. Spent the next couple of days at this beautiful campsite, reading, going to the general store for ice and a hamburger once in awhile, and waiting for John to catch up with me. The trail goes pretty close to this campsite, so all I have to do is wait.
About 4:30 Sunday afternoon, a truck pulls up by the campsite and John slowly and unsteadily gets out, thanks the driver and stumbles to the chair by the fire ring at the campsite. I've never seen him look so bad. This time, it was a combination altitude and knee and inability to eat. He tried to ingest some soda, which usually can settle his stomach, but that didn't even work. He went to bed. He finally thinks this is the end of his long-distance hiking career. I reminded him that if he did permanent damage to his knee, that would crimp his sailing. Think that had an effect on him.
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