First, Larry let me down. I called him on my way to San Francisco to meet my friend, Christina from Texas, for a kayaking trip. I have never-ever gotten lost following Larry directions. But there I was in San Rafael, while the Quik Mart clerk and a guy getting gas for his tricked-out car discussed traffic flow on various Bay area bridges and poured over maps on my behalf. Finally, fancy-rims-fellow called his cousin who "really knows the short cuts." I carefully wrote down cousin's directions. And got to Christina's hotel near the airport about an hour and 45 minutes later.

The next morning Christina and I were heading from San Francisco to Point Reyes. I was driving, Christina was navigating. She's a pilot. They like to navigate. And as already discussed, I don't read maps.

Turns out Christina doesn't read directions.

We're driving and driving on the winding, narrow, drop-you-off-the-cliff-into-a-magnificent-ocean Highway 1. For a really long time. I start making noises about it being weird. Surely there's some point to cut over to the whooshy 101? Is she sure this is right?

Christina thumps her map. Thumps it. Sticks out her chin.

"The shortest line between two points is a straight line," she says. "We're here, this is where we're going (two more thumps) This is right."

Eventually (45 minutes later) the winding road makes Christina want to throw up. We trade places. I look at the first line of directions. "Turn off 1 onto 101 and travel north..."

"Christina, look the very first line of the directions says to get off the 1!"

"I don't read directions. I only trust maps."

"You don't read even 8 words that could save us an hour?"

"It's not like I got us lost," says Christina. "We're not in Las Vegas or something. We're heading the right direction. Just like the map said."

"Besides," she adds. "YOU'RE the one from California. You should have known."

Let me point out here that Christina moved to Texas nine months ago. She was born in California. She was raised in California. She says "Dude" constantly.

Still, you have to hand it to her. The girl does not easily accept directional defeat.

And I do.

I am very quick to shrug my shoulders and watch clouds while people pour over maps and directions and decide this way or that. In matters of right or left, east or west, I'm an unengaged voter. When really feeling peer pressure by some sort of group map huddle, I will squint in the direction of shared map and nod head in what I hope is thoughtful manner. Then ask a passerby for directions.

But there aren't that many passerbys on the John Muir Trail.

People get lost up there. And stay lost.

So, Larry and Christina have me thinking I might be better off navigating for myself. I mean, if I'm going to put on a backpack and tromp off into the wilderness, then I better be able to chart my own course. I'm beginning to get the idea that whatever it is that draws people to backpacking, it has something to do with self-sufficiency and getting one's bearings.

I am going to take a map. And read it myself. But I'll still look at clouds and hope the JMT has really clear trail signs.