Hikertown is an oasis, not a paradise. We were grateful for a shaded place to nap and the cold beer kept in the garage. As would a gas station in a long stretch of empty road, it served a purpose. The real excitement of Hikertown is not the ramshackle collection of huts, trailers and rusted out vehicles, it’s knowing what’s to come.

Shakespeare and 300, together with our friends Antman, Frog, Morel, Falcon, Admin and Thomas (aka Paps), left Hikertown at dusk and walked into the night across the LA aqueduct. I felt the thrill of living, it was probably the weed.

We woke next morning surrounded by turbines. In one of the windiest valleys in California, I learned the meaning of the term wind farm. It was space age agriculture and my only task for the day was to hide in the shade under a service road and rest before the nights march. Well, that and ward off the ground squirrels by carefully aimed rocks.