Birthday Mail Drop!

Here’s a little shameless self-promotion: If any of you friends and family out there want to send a card or whatnot for my upcoming 30th, you can address it to:

My real name
General Delivery
Kent, CT  06757

I don’t know if I’ll be there exactly on my birthday, but it’ll be close…I may be a few days early.

Want to add a little lightweight somethin’-somethin’ and don’t know what 30-year-old hiker trash could use? Drop me a line and I’ll let you know what would be wonderful. Broadcasting that here just seems a little too shameless and entitled.

In Which I Introduce to You…Delaware Dave!

Last night my three favorite hikers were all at the Doyle with me. They are, in order of which I met them, Tigger, Triton, and Delaware Dave. We’re all in the group of 25- to 45-year-olds hiking: wanderers, searchers, or bums as you will. We’re the ones without kids, mortgages, or all the other normal accoutrements of middle adulthood, sandwiched in the hiker world between college students and recent grads, and retirees.

Last night Delaware Dave and I sat on the second floor balcony overlooking Duncannon’s main drag. The night was warm and smelled fresh after the afternoon thundershowers. The streets were lined with bright new American flags hanging from streetlights, and the sidewalks were empty. We talked about our hikes, and our hopes for future adventure. Dave mentioned he’s hiking for charity, which I think is great. If you’re interested in learning more about Delaware Dave, his hike, and the halfway house he’s hiking for, you can follow this link:

www.delawaredaveswalk.com

In Which I Soak Up a Trail Institution

I’m at the Doyle Hotel, and I’ve got the Doors on the jukebox. I just had a buffalo bleu cheese burger with sweet potato fries. Hikers are sitting at the bar catching up on each other’s adventures, glancing distractedly at the TVs. I know I should go to bed soon because I’m splitting a room with Triton ($17 each!) and he’s planning on going to sleep early and getting up with the sun. It’s hard to want to sleep when there’s more of this Trail institution to soak up.

The Doyle is one of the original Anheuser-Busch hotels, and is 106 years old. The rooms are spare and ventilated by fans and open windows, bathrooms are communal, and hikers’ cell phone conversations with loved ones drift into the hall via louvered windows over the room doors. The Doyle is showing its age and hikers talk about when its near-inevitable condemnation will finally occur. Its owners, Vicki and Pat, have worked hard for the decade they’ve held the mortgage to bring the hotel back from the brink, but it’s slow, and $25/room ($7.50 per extra person) doesn’t go very far at a place that needs major renovation. Maybe the Doyle will make it; maybe it won’t. The Trail is protected and will be here forever, but the Trail institutions aren’t as permanent. Elmer in Hot Springs is in his 70s and he won’t be able to cook local, organic, family-style meals for hikers forever. Bob at Kincora is getting on, although keeping a 10-mile stretch of trail in tip-top shape seems to be keeping him young. Future thru-hiker classes might not be so lucky as to experience Elmer’s, Kincora, and the Doyle, and I’m mindful of how great it is to experience the AT in 2011.

That experience over the past couple of days has included lots of walking over flat, open farm fields–exactly what Mark envisioned the AT to be! Most of it isn’t that way, but geography necessitated this section to be routed through the Cumberland Valley. I guess there just wasn’t quite enough continuity in the Appalachian Range. The flat section was a welcome relief, proximity to town was enjoyable (I had breakfast at a coffee shop in Boiling Springs, then hopped off the trail to visit a diner on US-33 eight miles later for lunch), and the change of scenery was interesting. I walked through newly cut hayfields and past knee-high corn. The terrain presented some new challenges, too. Water was scarce and the day was steamy, so I made sure I filled up whenever possible. The grass was fine tick habitat, and at the shelter last night shirts came off and we all inspected each other’s backs and hairlines for ticks. I’d removed a deer tick earlier in the day (my third, although I’ve caught them all early), but didn’t have any more on me last night. Bombadil, a hiker from Sweden who wears all green, and has curly blond hair and matching beard and bright blue eyes–reminding me more of a leprechaun–wasn’t so lucky and had two on him.

Well, I wanted to write more but I think the folks here are trying to close up. I’m going to be in PA for perhaps another week, and then it’s on to New Jersey! Here’s to hoping I finally see a bear; there are supposed to be more per mile in the Garden State than anywhere else on the trail.

In Which I Dominate a Half Gallon of Ice Cream, and Half the Trail

I woke up this morning at the Quarry Gap Shelter (one of the very nicest on the trail, including hanging potted flowers and Airwicks in the privy) and packed quickly. I’m low on food so had a Clif bar for breakfast, but it was okay. I knew there was lots and lots of ice cream in my future, so I was motivated to GO! The terrain was wonderfully forgiving, with a sea of blooming mountain laurel on either side,and I easily hiked 3 mph or more. For me, that’s fast!

I met a hiker named Delaware Dave a few days ago and we’ve been keeping a similar pace. He started after me this morning, so when I took a break at the first shelter I came to, I was getting ready to leave as Dave rolled up. At the next shelter I took a longer break and he curtailed his, so we hiked out together. I’m glad we did, because half a mile away was a big sign marking the halfway point. When I saw it, I started running, and Dave and I both whooped triumphantly. We took pictures of each other posing by the sign (1,090.5 miles to both Springer and Katahdin) and signed the registers. Then we set off hell bent for leather for Pine Grove Furnace State Park, and the Half Gallon Challenge!

The HGC is a Trail tradition. After hikers reach the halfway point, they go to the general store at the park to buy, and ideally consume, a half gallon of ice cream. Victors sign the HGC log and are awarded a small wooden spoon customized with a stamp commemorating the event. I’ve been waiting for the HGC for months, and I’m talking long before I ever set foot on the Appalachian Trail.

I planned on buying Neapolitan thinking the variety and lack of bits and pieces mixed in was a good strategy. There was no Neapolitan, though. I dismissed vanilla as too easy, wasn’t feeling chocolate, and thought moose tracks and cookie dough were too ambitious. That left mint chip and cherries jubilee. I thought there was a good chance I might never again want to eat my HGC challenge flavor and I wasn’t prepared to give up mint chip, so cherries jubilee it was. I paid for my ice cream and was sitting outside ready to commence when Dave came out with his half gallon of moose tracks.

Well, it is actually not that hard to eat a half gallon of ice cream, believe it or not. I put on my jacket, fired up my Kindle, and read Sherlock Holmes short stories while shoveling in ice cream. The hardest part was eating the melted stuff at the bottom. I went triumphantly back into the store to claim my spoon and get a cup of coffee to rewarm my belly.

I really struggled through Maryland. It seemed I wasn’t getting anywhere, and I was so down. Then I met Infidel, who told me there are some days he feels like throwing his backpack down the mountan and hitching out at the next road crossing. It was reassuring to know other hikers are having the same struggles. A while later, Infidel told me about a Marine base he worked on near Ramadi. Every night they were under fire, so a blackout was imposed on the base. A congresswoman came on a fact-finding mission, and she and her aides were walking back to their quarters one night when, in the darkness, they barely made out the figure of a Marine on sentry duty. The congresswoman said hello and inquired how the young man was doing. He replied, “Motivated, ma’am.”

Since then, that’s how I’ve replied when people ask how I’m doing, and it does make a difference mentally. I am motivated. I will stand on top of Katahdin. And today…today was a little maagical. It’s my third Trail monthaversary, and exactly one month until my thirtieth birthday. I reached the halfway mark, and ate a lot of ice cream. Best of all, as Delaware Dave and I hiked together, a little spotted fawn bounded towards us, coming quite close before jumping into the woods in panic and confusion. The Trail is full of goodness, and I am motivated to keep moving forward on it.

In Which I Need Care, Urgently

I did indeed pick up a cold, either Jenny’s or from another source in the wide, wide world outside the AT, so I dragged through my first three days in Shenandoah National Park. On those days I hiked a 7 and two 13.5s. On one of those days, a very excited man walked up to the shelter in the evening. He’s an arborist working on an American chestnut preservation project, and he had just found a previously undocumented tree measuring two feet around. That is a very big deal, so he offered to take us into town for beers to celebrate. The guys were lackadaisical, and I was too sick to muster them.

After those first days, I was on the upswing for two days. I met some cool section hikers, a trio of siblings celebrating the end of their school years, at a camp ground. Tigger and I had an epic day in which we hiked 17 miles in six hours and made it to the Skyland lodge dining room just in time for a sumptuous lunch. After that, I started going downhill fast. A sinus infection developed and by my last day in the Shennies, just two days later, I felt so rough I couldn’t bring myself to cook dinner. I lay in the shelter, sweated with fever, and finally nibbled on the Clif Mojo bar Amy sent me. The boys took pity on me and hung my bear bag for me.

I knew I needed medical help. Fortunately I was 10 miles from the Front Royal Terrapin Station hostel. I managed to hike in the next day, and Mike, the hostel owner, took me to an urgent care clinic that afternoon. The hiker boys rode along and ate hamburgers while I was checked out. I got a couple of presciptions, which I was abled to get filled immediately, and I spent the next few days on the couch in the hostel lounge, drinking pineapple juice and watching baseball. Tigger zeroed for the first of those days, and he rifled through Mike’s excellent vinyl collection and manned the turntable all afternoon.

After those two zeroes I felt well enough to hike out, and I’ve been improving slowly ever since. I only have a few days of antibiotics left. I stayed at another hostel last night, the Bear’s Den, and felt well and hungry enough to put away a whole Tombstone pizza and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. I’m not too worried about the calories. Hiking 8 or 10 hours a day, I run at a perpetual deficit and at the doctor’s office I discovered I’ve lost 17 pounds since my physical a month before my hike. Time to start thinking about how to improve my nutrition some more.

Today I passed the 1,000 mile mark, and tomorrow I arrive at Harper’s Ferry, where I’ll have my picture taken at the ATC headquarters and sign their register. It’s a big psychological victory, and sometime next week I’ll pass the halfway point and take on the Half-Gallon Challenge. We’ll see who emerges victorious there…

In Which I Hike With an Army of Sargeants

Maybe more like a posse. Mark and Jenny, my brother and sister, came out to hike a 52-mile section, from Buena Vista to Waynesboro, with me. It’s one of the hardest sections in Virginia, and they’d never backpacked before (although Mark had plenty of opportunities in the Marines to carry heavy stuff over long distances). Jenny was getting over a cold. It rained, poured, thundered, lightninged, and hailed for the first three days! We couldn’t get wet stuff (shoes, tents, Mark’s sleeping bag) to dry out, and even after it stopped raining, wood was so soaked that starting fires was difficult. Mark and some guys used most of my white gas gwtting a fire going our last night out. It turns out s’mores taste a lot better when they’re hard-won.

I had a great time with my siblings, and I’m sad to see them go. They were champion backpackers–the longest day we did was a whopping 15.8 miles! We celebrated  with the new Pirates of the Carribean movie (in 3-D!) and steaks at the Outback. Now they’re getting ready to fly back to Seattle, and I’m getting ready to get back on the trail. I’ve been fighting a cold for the past few days and five miles of hiking yesterday left me weak as a kitten, but I’m getting the upper hand. I may do a short day today and sleep some more, if need be, but I’ve decided taking a zero will only make me lose momentum. Momentum and motivation is starting to be hard to come by some days.

They’re buoyed by seeing loved ones, receiving tasty things from Amy, and having little goals to work towards. When I got off the trail recently to see Tim, work out some logistics, attend Torie’s wedding (GREAT party!), and meet up with Mark and Jenny, a guy named Beanpole said, “Have fun on your vacation!” I laughed. He said earnestly, “You are going on vacation. What we do every day is work.” It is work, hiking for eight or ten hours a day.

I know the blog posts have been sparse lately. I’m learning that time goes faster in town. That’s where necessary errands must be done: laundry, shower, resupply, visiting the post office, maybe printing out photos to send home, visiting the outfitter to repair or replace gear or get more white gas for the stove, and of course eating lots of calorie-rich town food to help reduce the calorie deficit. It’s slipping away now; I need to get ready to go back on the trail. I’m going to be more diligent about making time to blog, though…after Shenandoah National Park!!!

In Which I Weather the Storm and Take a Well-Deserved Break

Looking back on the last section of my hike, the 180 miles from Damascus to Pearisburg, it seems like I was usually rushing. On more than one day, I put in big miles, or hiked fast, to get somewhere before it closed. I liked testing and pushing myself, finding that now I can hike 24 miles when 10 was once my limit. However, my body was demanding rest by the time I arrived in Pearisburg two days ago, so I took a well-deserved zero at a church hostel housed in a cozy converted barn. I ate amazing town food, and lots of it, and I’m ready to type this up, pack, eat breakfast, and hit the trail once again.

Damascus was a wonderful break, with Tim visiting and us staying at the Hikers Inn. It was the first time I stayed in a private room, rather than a bunkhouse, since I got on the trail. We drove up to the Grayson Highlands and saw the feral ponies introduced by the park to help manage the invading brambles and maintain the Highlands’ grassy, open fields. We even took a little hike on the AT! It was wonderful spending time with Tim, so much so that I didn’t think about the trail much at all.

That changed the night I hiked out of Damascus. I needed to get to the post office in Troutdale because I’d ordered a lighter summer sleeping bag, aand the weekend was approaching. I would have to hike a 20 and a 16, so the next day I busted out the 20, around Mt. Rogers and through the rocky ridges of the Grayson Highlands. I saw a lot more ponies, which was neat (not a lot of foals because bears have been eating them), and finally stumbled into camp after 12 hours of hiking. I got to Troutdale the next day to find my package wasn’t there yet, so I put in a forwarding order and stayed at a church hostel there. The next day the hikers were all shuttled back to the trail by a Trail Angel named Gary from Ohio, who bought a 30-year-old ambulance and is spending the summer giving hikers rides from Dickie Gap to Troutville and back. He used to hike, but his canine pal Pepper’s hips are giving out, so he thought he’d do this instead.

The next big destination was the Partnership Shelter, where you can take a hot shower and have pizza delivered. I did both, splitting a pizza with Mammoth, a German physicist who just got his PhD and is hiking to take a well-deserved break before plunging back into the world of research and academia. He’s been hiking with Chainsaw and Earl Grey, two retired firefighters, one from Baltimore and the other from New Hampshire. I fell into that group for a few days and hiked and camped with them on and off.

On Easter Sunday we found ourselves 11 miles from The BarnRestaurant in Atkins, VA, which has a Sunday buffet, so we hiked as if chased by the hounds of hell, and got there in time to eat our fill. I shared a table with the three guys, a farm boy named Rumblestrip, and a girl named John Rambo. You never can guess gender from a trail name alone.

The next week was another push so I could get to Pearisburg and pick up my mail drop and new sleeping bag. In the process I hiked two 1% days, which is what it’s called when a hiker does over 1% of the trail in a day. This year, that’s 21.8 miles. On my (consecutive!) 1% days I hiked a 24 and a 22. I feel pretty badass. For the most part the wether ws perfection itself, and I drank in views of rolling green pastures, red barns, and the delicate white blossoms of apples and dogwoods.

One night we had an intense storm. We knew it was coming and hunkered down at a shelter area. I couldn’t get a space in the shelter because late in the day I was passed by a group of 6 who filled it up, so I staked my tarp down tightly and consoled with the thought that I’ve tarped out in many a storm and never yet got more than a bit damp. Sometime in the night I woke up to lightning so constant that the sky flickered like a fluorescent bulb, and the thunder was a continuous rumble. The rain started coming down in sheets, buckets, a fire hose in the sky pointing directly earthward. I stayed dry, though, and was proud to say so the next morning when the shelter group asked how my tarp did overnight. We found out at a grocery the next day that the same storm system dropped golf-ball-sized hail six miles away, and produced a tornado 50 miles away that killed 7 people. So perhaps we were guarded that night by a different kind of trail angel.

I have another big push over the next to days to get to Lexington, where I’m getting off the trail to see Tim, go to Torie’s wedding, and meet up with my brother and sister, who are joining me for a 50-mile section. Well, it wouldn’t be a big push, but I’m taking it easy so I can get to Catawba when the Home Place is open and sample their AYCE family-style Southern cooking. I’ll pay for that by hiking the next 100 miles in five days–another challenge.

I’m still taking time to soak in and enjoy the experience. Every hiker is aware of the fleetingness of this adventure, although some days seem interminable when you’re in them. At Partnership, Mammoth and I sat by a fire and talked about past experiences and future hopes and dreams. I admitted feeling helpless and apathetic as the world seems to crumble and fall before greed, fear, and hatred. In one way, this hike was the ultimate way for me to check out of a world in which I feel hopelessly small, unheard, and disenfranchised, and to check in with myself. I’m starting to feel as if I’m awakening after two and a half years of sleepwalking, and there’s 1600 miles to go.

In Which I Eat Easter Dinner

While I bemoaned the lack of ham and whatnot for Easter, Mammoth perused the Thru-Hiker’s Companion and found a listing for a Sunday buffet only 11 miles from the Partnership Shelter, where we stayed last night. We hiked fast this morning and arrived around noon. The meal was eight bucks, with a three plate maximum. Behold plate number two.

From a shelter register: “Y’all can go to hell, I’m going to Texas!” –Davey Crockett (in “The Alamo”)  “And I’m going to Mt. Katahdin!” ~Sherpa

That was at the Abingdon Gap Shelter, the last one in Tennessee. The shelter area was full of Boy Scouts, section hikers, thru-hikers, and dogs. I set up my tarp across from two very cool ladies starting a section hike with an ancient but game Weimeraner. We swapped stories, I fussed over the dog, and they shared their chocolate covered pomegranates with me. I woke up in the morning to snow on top of my tarp and ice encrusting the inside, so I rolled up the tarp, fetched my bear bag, crawled back in La Pouffe, and had breakfast in bed al fresco. Then it was time to cross the Tennessee/Virginia state line and make a beeline for Damascus and Tim. I arrived in town at 12:30 in the afternoon, found a place for us to stay–a very cool inn run by a former thru-hiker–and spent the evening eating and hanging out with hikers. Eating is starting to occupy a lot of my town time. The hiker hunger’s set in, and I’m putting away unprecedented amounts of whatever sounds most appetizing. Yesterday for lunch it was potato skins, a calzone the size of my head, and five or six glasses of sweet tea. There’s plenty of time for healthy eating on the trail. I also ran into both the other Sherpas outside Mount Rogers Outfitters, and we took a picture. One is staying in the same inn as me. What are the chances?

This last section took me over the Roan Highlands, a series of balds in eastern Tennessee. Balds are mountain with grassy tops, which may occur naturally or at least be pre-Columbian. They are a little tough to walk on because the trail is a trough worn through the grass, but they are incredibly beautiful. After elk were hunted to extinction in this area, the balds were maintained by cattle grazing on them; however, most of them are protected now. Unfortunately, with no large herbivores keeping back the invasives, the balds are getting choked out by shrubs and brambles. One solution is to bring in goats! Every summer for the past few years, goats who are otherwise too old to be “productive” (giving milk?) are shorn, deloused, fed a seed-free diet to clean out their gut, and pastured on top of the balds to fight the encroaching blackberries. I didn’t see the goats because they aren’t brought out until June, but I think it’s a brilliant project. Since I can’t be a volunteer goatherd–people come out for days or weeks at a time to camp on the balds (otherwise verboten) and care for the goats–I’m going to “adopt” a goat for Tim’s birthday this August. He likes goats, the goats like living and not becoming dog food, and who doesn’t like the Roan Highlands? It’s a win for everyone!

After the Roans I took refuge from a day of rain at Vango and Abby’s Memorial Hostel–internet and a bunk for $5! I left my cell phone charging there, and the owner of the hostel sent it on to the post office here in Damascus; I hope to pick it up today. Then it was on to Kincora, a hostel run by Bob Peoples. “Kincora” means “kinship of the heart,” which is certainly in abundance there. The hostel is a snug little place run on donations of $4 per night. Hikers do the laundry, keep the kitchen clean, and generally try to leave the place better than they found it. We all chipped into make desserts and had coffee and brownies and pie the first night I was there. Bob is a huge friend of hikers and the trail, and maintains 10.4 miles of it. Tuesday is trail maintenance day, and Bob rounds up the hikers and takes them out to give back. Unfortunately I missed that, but hope to join one of Bob’s Hardcore crews in the future–he coordinates a big project every year right after Trail Days. Instead, I took up Bob’s offer of a 9-mile slackpack. He drove me and two other hikers to a point nine miles to the north, and we hiked back south to the hostel, carrying water and snacks in daypacks he provided. Then it was another night of kinship of the heart, and back on the trail.

Bob Peoples is a trail legend, and it’s hard not to love him immediately. He’s a small man with wispy white hair, a bushy white mustache, a thick Boston accent, and twinkling eyes. He keeps busy around the hostel, but also finds lots of time to chat with hikers and tell many a story of hikers past. On my second night there, Bob and I had a long talk about books, especially Steinbeck. I left a book for Bob, as well as a reading list, and he gave me a reading list in return. the impression Bob makes on hikers is evident in the shelter graffiti and registers for fifty miles after Kincora–hikers have come up with Bob Peoplesisms in the manner of Chuck Norris jokes: “Bob Peoples gives his boots blisters.” “Bob Peoples doesn’t hang bear bags; Bob Peoples hangs bears.” “When Bob Peoples stays at shelters, the mice bring him food.” My favorite is, “Paul Bunyan’s axe is on loan from Bob Peoples.” I’ve been photographing these and will one day post them, along with my other trail pictures.

Now I’m in Damascus, and Tim’s driven down to spend a few days with me. Today’s a rest day, and tomorrow we’re day hiking in the Grayson Highlands, where there are feral ponies. Then it’s back to the trail for me, with more miles to put behind me. I’ll be reaching maildrop #4 in a couple of weeks, and am looking forward to shipping home my winter gear from there.

In Which I Hike Over 400 Miles

Not in one day, obviously, although that would be awesome. Today I reached mile 402. This past week has been the prettiest section of the trail so far, especially hiking through the Roan Highlands. Those are a series of balds–grassy, treeless mountaintops–in eastern Tennessee, and the trail goes up and over four or five of them in succession. The views are amazing and there is something about walking over those grassy summits that made me smile. In wooded parts of the trail, evidence of spring is everywhere. The forest floor is carpeted in green, and I’m seeing m0re and more wildflowers. They smell divine, too. Last night I camped in a hollow created by an old quarrying operation, and the ground was covered in violets. At lower elevations the trees are finally leafing out, too. Pretty soon I’ll be hiking through “the green tunnel” at long last.

One troublesome thing is a general stiffening of my shoulder muscles, resulting in a sore neck. I’m continuing the physical therapy exercises I started before the trail, and am paying a lot of attention to my posture as I hike. Balancing my pack and really getting the weight low and on my hips is important, and I’m thinking about ways to reduce my pack weight. This is especially important as the Hiker Hunger is kicking in and I’m starting to carry a lot more foot. I put it down pretty quickly, but on long stretches between resupplies, by which I mean five days or so, my food bag can weigh between 10 and 13 pounds. I’m shipping a few extraneous items home in Damascus (gaiters and down booties), and although I love La Pouffe, I’m looking forward to swapping her out for a 40-degree sleeping bag. I’m also getting to a part of the trail where more frequent resupplies are possible, so I’m going to try carrying less food and going into town more often. This can be a double-edged sword as town sucks up time, and has the potential to suck up money. However, I’m afraid if I don’t get my body straightened out my hike could be derailed. I’m also taking into account that I’ve started upping my mileage to 15- or 16-mile days. That’s pretty normal for this point in the trail, but I need to listen to my body and decide if this is a sustainable pace.

It’ll be good to get into Damascus and take a zero day or two. Tim’s thinking about coming down. If he does, we’ll go to the Grayson Highlands and see the feral ponies. If he doesn’t, I’m going to eat a lot of ice cream and pizza, and lounge around The Place, which is a free hostel offered by a church. Either way, it’s a win.

Tonight I’m staying at Vango and Abby’s Memorial Hostel, a small bunkhouse a short way from the trail. It’s cheap, only $5, and pretty cozy. For nearly the past two weeks, I’ve camped at the same place just about every night with a section hiker named Ron, who is a 59-year-old insurance agent from Georgia. Ron loves baseball; he played in college as well as two years of pro ball, coached college baseball and then American Legion when his son was older, and is now a scout. So we talk about baseball a lot, and our families, and generally just swap stories. Ron hasn’t got the hiker appetite yet, so he’ll often ask me to finish his dinner when we’re camped at the same place. Usually it’ something very different from my normal dinner, like the fancy, expensive Mountain House dehydrated hiker meals. Some days we hike together, too, since our paces are pretty similar. I ran into Ron about two miles into my hike today and we hiked together for the rest of the day. It started raining hard while we took a lunch break at the Mountaineer Falls Shelter (which is new and gorgeous–clothesline, washpit, two floors, a loft, and a chainsaw carving of a bear on the second floor), so we decided to wait out the rain and come to this hostel tonight instead of pushing another 9 miles to the next shelter. A rainy night inside a hostel always feels like a win on the trail. As we drank Cokes and waited for our frozen pizzas to bake, and watched the mist swirling around the bent trees outside, we congratulated ourselves on this particular win.

Ron had an adventure this morning. While I camped in the little violet-filled cove last night, he walked perhaps another 300 yards to a shelter. A man was in there who’d been there for two days. At about 5 AM the man started packing up, then leaned over his pack, breathing hard. He told Ron he was having chest pains and shortness of breath, and asked him to call 911. He subsequently told Ron he’d had two heart attacks last year. Later I told Ron he should have hollered for me; I have aspirin in my med kit, and two people can do CPR longer than a single person can. EMTs arrived after about 45 minute, worked on the guy for a half hour, and assisted him in hiking out. Ron said he was surprised I didn’t hear the EMTs’ radios. All I heard last night and this morning were owls, robins, and wild turkeys.

I meant to update from Erwin, TN but ended up spending a lot of time on logistics. My mom is opening my bills for me and then e-mailing me the bill  amount, account number, and phone number so I can pay over the phone with a credit card. In Erwin, I had to take care of a couple of bills. I also had to call Marmot because my rain pants are shredding at the seams. They told me I chose the wrong pants for the AT, then said they were going to send me a new pair of better rain pants (they’re upgrading me from Precip to Minimalist); I’m going to pick them up at the Kincora hostel tomorrow. Also, I did a lot of eating in Erwin. I’ve managed to find a couple of the pounds I lost, which is okay with me, and I wonder how much of it is fat and how much is muscle. Hiking for eight or nine hours a day, it just doesn’t seem possible to replace as many calories as I’m using.