I think Max’s dislike of oatmeal is reaching Calvin and Hobbes levels. I know that sounds like I’m exaggerating, but it must have literally been the second thing he said to me this morning. If You Don’t Like Trump Then You Probably Won’t Like Me And I’m Ok With That Shirt! Stephen, do you know how much I despise oatmeal? I think what he was really getting at was that we should have a dry breakfast, which I told him I was all fine with, but then he went on to lay out a list of reasons that oatmeal is horrible. It’s so much trouble to get a fire going in the morning, the oatmeal tastes horrible.
It has no protein in it. And some more petty reasons. At the end of this, I said, I think you’re being a little unduly harsh on oatmeal here. If You Don’t Like Trump Then You Probably Won’t Like Me And I’m Ok With That Shirt! And he replied I don’t think I’m being harsh enough. Oatmeal has committed war crimes. Which I’m pretty sure was a reference back to that argument we had over John McCain. OK, if it’s not obvious by now, I’m having some frustrations with Max as of late. I mean, it was bound to happen eventually; I am amazed it’s this late in the trip. And it’s not like it’s anything he and I can’t work out in a few good talks.
But after that tirade against oatmeal, I felt like saying, Max, you’re being uncharacteristically prissy right now. It’s trail food: fuel above flavor. If You Don’t Like Trump Then You Probably Won’t Like Me And I’m Ok With That Shirt! But I kept my silence because I was fine with having it dry because it gets us on the trail faster, and that admittedly was one completely valid complaint he had: cooking oatmeal takes up time. We hit the trail before seven and probably had the longest day we have ever made or likely ever will on this journey. If we didn’t make 30 miles, we were pretty well close.