I’m sipping warm, beautiful, coffee.  At the window I have a wide view of the valley, and the storm clouds rolling in.  Pearisburg, Virginia.  I have to leave you today.

A couple of my friends, Don Juan and Lt. quit the trail.  I didn’t expect to stop here, but I needed a night to myself to process that.  I needed to rekindle the fire I had when I stepped past the plaque at Springer.

Ladybug and Turtle Goat ended up bunking with me for the night, which was nice.  We had a small party with some other hikers.  I needed my time though, and when they packed up in the morning I stayed.

I spent the day enjoying the luxury of running water and wifi.  I listened to music, drank heavily, and did some writing; activities crowded hostels sometimes frown upon.  I also hit up Goodwill for some new clothes and a new charge cable for my MP3 player.

Feeling social again, I hung out with some hiker neighbors till dark.  I was happy to see Blue (not to be confused with Blueman) back on trail. One neighbor was a girl headed southbound, and we picked her brain for knowledge of the north.

I got my best sleep on the trail that night, and packed my gear this morning.  An email came in from my best friend, and though recharged, that further energized me for the day.  It’s a hell of a day to leave town on!

One more cup before the rain.  Stay well my friends.

 

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=P8TMEPDgvl4

The five of us stayed the night last night, and well, we never made it off the front porch this morning. A zero on a beautiful day, at a beautiful place.  I saw Blueman yesterday, he got sucked in for a day as well.

Over breakfast this morning, Lt. announced that he was leaving the trail.  I think we all saw this coming, and it seems to be the right decision for him.  I’ll miss Benji.  I’m trying not to think about it now, I’ll process it on the trail.

Woods Hole is a sustainable organic farm with two 1880’s Chestnut Oak cabins on the property.  Both have been restored and added on to.  I had hoped they were American Chestnut, as the guidebook was vague about it.

Chestnut Oaks took over after the Chestnut Blight changed the Appalachians forever.  The last time I saw American Chestnut in a lumber store, a single one by eight was going for $450.  It’s become one of the rarest woods in the world.

There are several thru-hikers here who are doing  seven week or more work-for-stays.  It’s that kind of place, and the owner Neville is a sweetheart.  I’ve never met a female Neville before now either.  I’m hoping Lt. might try the work for stay before he heads home for good.

I’ll admit that I offered to do the same at Bonnie’s place in Damascus.  That said, I had just returned from the brewery there.  Bonnie’s moonshine was pretty persuasive that night as well.  I love Damascus.

If you’re wondering about the picture of me below, I’ll do my best to explain.  Many hostels offer loaner clothes so you can wash all of your laundry at once.

According to the tag, those were “sexy boyfriend shorts” and avoided by all.  I have sufficient swagger to rock them, so yeah.  Thanks to Turtle Goat for documenting this fine moment in AT history.

That’s it for now.  Take the best of care.

 

 

 

 

 

 

T

June 13 Mile 623

Today was only a 14.4, and a bit of a rough one at that. I’m nursing two heel blisters, which robbed a lot of my speed. Blisters will numb out after a few hours of hiking, thankfully. My shoes came with “rock plates” – essentially hard plastic inserts that go under the insoles. I’m going to give them a try tomorrow. I’ve been very impressed with how the Altras grip on rocks, but I need a stiffer sole to keep the foot pummeling to a minimum. Virginia is anything but flat or smooth thus far.

This trail will kick the shit out of you on every level, make no mistake. Turtle Goat and I talked about that yesterday. He and I boogied out of our resupply point before the others, trying to make camp early. Like Firebird, he and I don’t get much one on one conversation in. He’s usually gone before I’m up in the morning, and can rock four miles an hour all day long.

We had a mile road walk and a full hour at Dismal Falls to chill before the others arrived. Several in our group have been really negative lately, and it was nice to discuss it openly. One thing I’ve become far more adept at during my time on trail, is avoiding negativity in general. Turtle Goat and I have never thought about quitting since we started. We both came onto trail with the exact same rules in place though. Never quit on trail, never quit during weather, and never quit on an uphill.

“Happiness is not always comfortable.” This is something I heard last year, and it’s become a personal mantra of mine. So many issues out here are as simple as being hungry and tired. We’re still three-year-olds when it really comes down to it.

I very nearly told Shortcut to go fuck himself when I first met him, because he kept asking me about my stove setup. I had just hiked eighteen miles, so I was wet, hungry, and tired. All I wanted was a bowl of mac and cheese and to be left the hell alone. After I ate, my demeanor completely changed, and we’ve been friends since. The trail is about mitigating and growing past those kinds of situations.

I’m exactly in the place I should be right now. I feel as though my every life’s interest has prepared me for, and is culminating within, this single journey. I’ve wanted to do this since I heard about AT at ten years old, I just forgot about it for a long time. How different my twenties would have been had I remembered.

This morning I woke at the top of the falls. Most of the crew had gone back to Trent’s Grocery for breakfast, but I decided to sleep in. Firebird was sitting on a rock and sketching in the morning sun. I bent down and dunked my head into the water, comb in hand. I had breakfast nearby, on my own sunny island of rock. It struck me how exactly at home I felt in that moment. What a home to have, even for a short while.

June 10 Mile 579.

I glided downhill like a torrent, bounding over rock and root. I abandoned my pack on trail with some level of nonchalance, because I had a more serious issue to contend with. The air was still, the sun persistent, but I had to keep going. I thought up a few contingency plans, but if this didn’t work out, it was going to be a major blow. Desperately I kept listening, and finally I heard it. Water.

I emptied my last bottle seven miles south, and to my peril, ignored a water source there. I thought I had a mile before the next stream. I was wrong, and the sun made me pay for it. The air temp pushed close to ninety. Being without water, and knowing you have to hike for it is rough. Worse is when you arrive at a water source after seven miles, and the sign reads:

“Spring .5E, Wet Weather Only.”

It’s been very dry, which till now was a blessing. Still, I got what I needed and made the half mile trek back uphill to the AT. I made a note that it was flowing at the current date and time, and put it in a Ziploc. As I was taping the bag to the sign, Firebird walked up.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

In the calmest whisper of a voice she responded:

“I’m so fucking full of rage I might actually start seeing red.” Then she smiled sweetly. Firebird’s a bit scary when she’s angry

“So… Do you need any water?” I sheepishly asked.

As it turned out, she had just rolled her ankle for the fifth time that day. The rocks in this section are horrendous and unstable. Between her knee acting up, an accidental double mail drop, and a few gear failures, she was having one hell of a week. Mind you, she’s a complete badass, so I heard her out and carried on.

I started hiking, and a few minutes later I heard an angry, booming, howl/growl/scream/shout. I sat down on a nearby log. I closed my eyes, rested my chin on my trekking poles, and waited.

Soon she caught up, and asked if I heard her. We’ve all had those days. If you don’t make a noise like that from time to time, you’re not on a thru-hike. Ankle roll number six.

Our best guess was that we were two miles out, and we decided to hike this last bit together. I haven’t had much one on one conversation or hiking time with Firebird, and I’ve always been a bit intimidated by her to be honest. We both tend to hike solo, but the conversation managed to flow.

We hit the side trail to the shelter and I saw Turtle Goat and Lt. making dinner. It had been a couple days since I had seen them. It was a great end to my tough 22 mile day.  I sprinted to the shelter and gave them burly man-hugs (it’s a trail family thing).

Lt. fell on the rocks three times, and had a close call with a Timber rattler. Even Turtle Goat, the strongest of us, was wiped. It was late, almost nine, and I found myself frantically trying to do all my camp chores at once. Firebird saw this, pointed to the bowl of mac and cheese I kept abandoning, and told me flat out:

“This is the most important thing, everything else can wait.”

She was right. I sat my ass down and started eating. One more day accomplished on the AT. One more evening eating dinner with my tribe. Present. Thankful. Everything else can wait.

June 9th Mile 556

I’m sitting on a gravel driveway outside of a hostel, under an expanse of stars. My less delinquent cohorts are missing out on this view. I’m beginning to embrace the fact that I am the strange kind of person who does this sort of thing. My best memories are cycling in the middle of the night. I guess I’ve always been more of the carpe noctem type.

I have no idea where I am, or the name of this hostel. These things no longer concern me like they once did. I just know that everything I need is fifteen feet away in a backpack, so really, why does it matter? This is the most calm I’ve been in daily life, as far back as I can remember.

I made an impulse decision to split with my group for the night, but I’ll be back with them sometime tomorrow. Around 5pm I came out of the trees to find Firebird and Hop-A-Long talking, and went over to join them. It was a large picnic area with grass, and an occasional car would zoom through the nearby s-curve. Firebird was having a rough day, and I just couldn’t get going. As Ladybug so aptly put it, we were all doing “mental zeros.”

Out of nowhere a gray pickup pulled up, and Hop-A-Long recognized the driver as the owner of a hostel. She was setup nearby, but decided to break down camp and head out. Firebird wanted more miles, but my gut told me to go. It could be that clean laundry sounded wonderful. It could be that Hop-A-Long is pretty cute. Regardless, into the truck bed I climbed. It’s best not to question these things.

We arrived at the nicest hostel I’ve ever stayed in. I’ll get the name in the morning. The owner is a former thru-hiker named Lumber-Mack, and his wife Kelly had dinner ready for us. Country-fried steak, potatoes, green beans, corn, salad, and homemade applesauce made the menu. We were happy campers!

I shared the table with Curious George, Random Section Hiker (that’s my name for him) and another thru-hiker. I cannot remember his name. Lumber-Mack brought dessert out later on. I went for the homemade lemon cake.

I had the best shower ever today, and made use of the loofa I’ve had dangling off my pack since Damascus. Curious George referred to me as “Clean Girl” for the rest of the night. Hop-A-Long told me earlier that it was weird hearing her real name now. How weird is it that I respond to Dirty Girl? I feel like that will be less than opportune at some point in my life.

We played spades till 9pm and called it a night. Well, they did. I’m finding more and more that I cannot sleep in bunk rooms. The woods are noisy at night, but in there you can hear a pin drop. I like to flail around a bit before I find my magic comfy spot on a foreign mattress. I like to fire up the MP3 player and fall asleep to music. In both cases I like a bit of noise cover.

So here I am, sitting in the dark on a stranger’s driveway like a weirdo. His cat joined me though, so there’s that. I really do sleep better in my tent. Maybe I’ll just rock my ThermaRest on the porch? It’s official, I’ve become Daryl from The Walking Dead. I’ll be eating possum before long…

One hell of a view though, I wish my phone could capture it. I’ll be back on trail in eight hours. I really need a 20 miler, but I know I’m overloaded after the last resupply. New strategy, go too light on food and up the milage. Hike or starve. “March or die” as the Legionares used to say. It could work.

Another rambling. Take care.

That puts much into perpective.

I finally got a good picture of the guys.  From left to right is Ladybug, Shortcut, Turtle Goat, Firebird, some random section hiker, and Lt.