AT notes #6: Damascus to Pearisburg, VA

5/12

Today was a zero day to help assuage some of the shin and heel pain I accrued from the long days since I got back on trail. I did some reading, chatting, and eating: Burritos again with a milkshake afterwards.I also decided to stay in Damascus because rain was soaking the highlands north and I wanted to make sure I'd have a clear day to walk among the wild pony herds in the strange canadian landscape of the Grayson Highlands.

Mt. Rogers, the tallest point in VA., is a short blue blaze off the AT in the highlands. During a trip during the fall I'd walked up there at night to summit and found it completely surrounded by trees--no vista at all. Knowing this I knew I could pass it now for the rich views throughout the highlands ahead. The Grayson highlands comprise the last stretch of significant elevation until northern Mass. and I intended to wait for a clear day to truly celebrate this land.

5/13

I made some phone calls from this payphone in Damascus that requires no money--truly magical. Sidestep was kind enough to wait for me as I talked at length with Heather before she left for work. We then set off along the trail as it led out of town. The AT here overlaps with the Creeper Trail, an railroad gauge converted to bike path that leads from Damascus up hill to Whitetop Mt. As we walked out of town the AT quickly turned off the Creeper trail and led up into the hills. The forecast called for clouds today and sun tomorrow--perfect set up for the highlands.

The rest in Damascus was helpful but I still needed healing, and worse I'd felt strong pain in my shin. The forest extended on and at times I caught sight of the Creeper Trail running parallel and flat. I'd felt that the two trails should just be united especially since the elevation changes seemed unecessary when there the Creeper Trail was flat and undulating and already there. Eventually the trails united for a spell. It crossed a bridge where the photos below were taken.

The trails again diverged as we went up to our campsite at Lost Mountain. Sidestep and I found spots for our tarps under the cover of a grove of hemlocks behind the full shelter. I went to the privy and I found that someone had written the entire "Lorax" and I gladly stayed a little longer to read a bit despite the obvious sensory limitations.
5/14

Up with the sun, Sidestep and I traveled on towards the highlands. We followed the trail up through a field of cattle, past an abandoned brick house (which we thought should be converted into a hostel) and up the trail bordered by a green forest floor. By mid-morning we had ascended to Buzzard Rock to gaze over the hills and flatlands that extended southwest. The canopy had ceased and the hills were just grass, trail, and rock.
As we approached Elk Garden and the road there we found a small sign. On it was written, "Trail magic ahead, Tinkerbell." Naturally this quickened our pace as trail magic always does, and it had been awhile since we were blessed with gifts for our journey. Tinkerbell turned out to be a very tall man. He had some egg/sausage biscuits he'd baked, along with some fresh fruit. He'd thru-hiked the year before and we actually knew some mutual hikers. We thanked him and crossed the road and stile into Grayson Highlands.

We shared the trail with some cows for awhile and then the trail took us up to the ridgeline of the highlands beginning withThomas Knob. From there the trail continued a long the ridge to this large rocky outcropping. We climbed to the top to enjoy lunch with a wide vista of infinite forest below (no pics--batteries died). The trail became a climb over boulders of granite and saddles of grass in between. And finally we got to visit the wild ponies who populate the highlands, left as the vestige of European settlement in the mountains who've long departed.

This was one of my best days on trail and I loved every minute of the beauty before us. The day consisted of long walks through wide open meadows and the constant warmth of the sun.
We walked through the entire highlands and set up camp late. We could see a thunderstorm approaching the highlands from our vantage point well below as we sat by a campfire fueled by the wood some lovely person had left. As the rain started to fall,we retreated to our tarps and prepared for a stormy night. This storm was particularly vicious as my tarp blew in on me all night despite the extra stakes and tight pitch. There was also leak over my head and feet, but there was nothing I could do except curl into the fetal position until the morning.

5/15

Moving out into the damp morning Sidestep and I talked about the pizza we'd order tonight. Partnership shelter where we were bound is close to the highway and the area's recreation headquarters is there also, with phone service and showers. To be able to do these things from a shelter along the AT was indeed novel and glorious.

The rain came again and with it damp cold. The pain in my shin now was almost unbearable and yet I labored on. After 10 miles we came to a road. I could barely walk and Sidestep felt sick. We walked towards Troutdale, VA with no other choice. The rain became hail and no one would pick us up. I remember seeing bikers pedaling uphill getting pelted with frozen precipitation and thinking they definitely had it worse.

We started cursing cars and feeling pretty desperate. Finally a van pulled over just as the clouds gave way a bit. The driver turned out to be the trading post owner (the only grocer and restaurant in town). She offered to open if we needed any supplies (as it was Sunday), but we felt adequately supplied as this stop was not planned. Pulling up to hostel at the Baptist church we surveyed our new digs. The two room house was a spartan floor with a few chairs, a port-o-john outside and showers in the backof the church...the best part was the heat--we had the place warm in minutes. How quickly our luck had changed.

After we showered and took care of drying gear we began to wonder what next. At that time Rael, a man I met at the hiker hostel in GA where I began this journey, showed up--now with a huge beard. I recognized his sharp northern speech first and eased into conversation where we uncovered our past meeting. He'd expected never to see me again because I was hiking pretty light, but here we were again in much different context.

I delayed thinking of the big questions of how serious my injury was until after dinner. Dinner came first from a local gentleman and his wife. Locals in Troutdale often drive by the hostel on Sunday when the trading post is closed and offer a warm meal. Two such offerings came to us: one a meal of country ham, biscuits, and cobbler; the second was beef stew and biscuits--and we ate both. Both were fantastic and so graciously provided. We all got a chance to speak with the preacher who initiated the building of this hostel for thru-hikers. He took great care to make sure we were well and comfortable--stopping by several times to check on us.

5/16 -- 5/17

The next few days consisted of resting and eating every meal at the trading post. Thru-hikers continued to pour into this tiny burg to escape the nasty weather. We'd heard of an inn outside of town and decided to treat ourselves to a night with a bed and some TV. The Fox Hill Inn (above) was a quiet old bed and breakfast atop a green hill with views of the sloping mountains around. I spent the day reading and testing the strength of my leg.
Still unable to hike out, Sidestep and I devised a plan to make the long hitch to the next big trail town: Pearisburg. The goal was two-fold: to allow my leg time to heal by skipping the 110 mile section; and to catch up with friends who were likely there preparing to hitch back south to Damascus for Trail Days (the major AT festival).

The hitch was very tricky involving first the short hitch from Troutdale to Marion. Once in Marion we were located along I-81 and could hitch to the Pearisburg exit about 70 miles north and from their 30 miles northwest to Pearisburg. A complicated hitch, but possible with a good smile and attitude.

Coming out of Troutdale was easy, we found a ride at the Trading post. But in Marion we stalled for awhile. A brother and sister section hiking had the same plan so we joined thumbs in Troutdale for the journey.

The first hitch from Marion was only two exits. And the next only 20 miles. Now in Atkins we looked for the perfect hitch. Waiting in front of McDonalds at the exit we danced, smiled, and waved our sign made in the process of hitching. It now read: "AT hikers going North on 81 or Pearisburg," as we had marked out the towns we already reached. We caught the attention a student at Va. Tech who ultimately decided to give us all a ride the whole way, which was well out of his way. We scored and knew it thanking him profusely.

In Pearisburg we picked up packages at the PO and found the hiker hostel at the Catholic church and some familiar faces.

5/18

I woke this morning sleeping on a picnic table outside a hostel in Pearisburg.The sun was seeping through the fog surrounding me on this hill overlooking a mountain ridge and bright green grass. There I met with folks I had known since the early days and inquired about my friends. It seemed they intended to make it here before Trail Days but had hitched in early to Damascus to get a campsite.
I knew the end to this hike was near, but I still entertained the notion of setting off again in a few days. Now recumbent for several days I felt the need for the movement that walking around town and down the hill from the hostel to walmart couldn't satisfy. I eventually destroyed my fears of not making it to Maine, of not hiking every mile and I embraced the moments before I would leave the trail for now.

(So pimp, with so much food to figure out what to do with)

5/19

I told Sidestep I'd have to rest long enough to stop hiking this hike. And that today I'd be traveling home. I arranged a ride to Blacksburg where there was a bus that would take me to Roanoke; there I would board the greyhound traveling home to Norfolk and my parents. I phoned them and Heather the night before as soon as it was final in my mind. So quickly I found myself at home 2 months after I'd flown out to Atlanta.

5/20...The floor in my headquarters room, where I had done all the logistical work was still full of boxes bound for places like Hanover, NH and Rangeley, ME. I eventually cleaned all of this up during the few weeks I stayed at home. I was eager for my next adventure. I found myself home in time to go to a friend's wedding and catch up with old friends. I convinced them briefly I had come off trail and hitched the 6 hours back home just for the wedding. It was a beautiful celebration.

Most of the 500 miles I've seen is a corridor that expands ever-forward and when it ceases to reveal a lake, a river valley, or bald mountain vistas, you stop and and really treasure such a gift. And accordingly, I treasure my experience and look, forward to finishing the hike as I set off from Troutdale into those loving hills again.

I caught up with my friends north of Roanoke as I drove out to New Mexico. I spent the night with them and enjoyed all of the benefits of a thru-hiker zero day: swimming, wiffle ball, beers, and food. I donated all of the food I bought for the other 2 months I expected to be on trail to them. They used this food to help them get farther north. They all stopped hiking in northern Va and Penn. and either went home or on other trips out west. We still keep in touch now that they live in Reno and me in Boulder. I expect to see them sometime this spring. We'd talked about hiking the PCT together in 08' and it sounds promising.

Now winter here in Colorado I look forward to the mountains here this summer. I've begun planning small trips along the Colorado Trail and other wilderness areas near Boulder.

The rhythm of walking everyday in a new place along a strip of trail extending from foot to horizon is when I feel all, and thus celebrate my spirit.

AT notes #5:US 19E to Damascus, VA

4/28

I woke up feeling fine and greeted the cold air, anxious for the sun to pierce into the canadian boreal forest of spruce. The Roan highlands are among the last vestiges of alpine vegetation in the Southern mountains. As glaciers retreated high points like Roan and the larger mountains in the Smokies offered a refuge to plants escaping unfavorable weather.

During my first trip up to the Roan highlands was beset with fog. As we slowly ambled through the grassy mountains, teeming with rhodendron and flaming azalea, we briefy caught misty views of farm land below and valleys extending wide. Walking over the completely exposed and rolling landscape made me think the land resembled the highlands of Scotland. I've never traveled there, but it was just what came to mind.

This morning it was a slow start as my feet felt every twist and roll far beyond what was normal. Still at this point I had no idea something was terribly wrong. And so after we descended from Roan to Carver Gap where the trail led through the rest ofthe highlands I was less than full strength, but well enough to hike a 14-18 mile day from here to US19E and beyond to a campsite.

Again I watched my group effortlessly pull away from me as I slowly walked in this beautiful place: slowly, slowly was the way.When I caught up with the group for snacks everything got very loud. At this point the wide, clear views of the bald mts. had given way to forest still on the brink of spring. The views had staved off the worst of my pain. After eating I was nauseous, and a fever had set in. The remaining 10 miles to the road seemed impossible. I was considering stopping altogether, crawling in my bag and falling asleep. At this point I oscillated between having chills and overheating. Luckily for me Charles and Josie caught up and I conferred with them about what to do.

I asked them to walk with me as I was feeling delirious and extremely fatigued. We decided that stopping still so far from a road crossing wouldn't be a good idea if things got worse overnight. Charles offered for me to tag along with them as they planned to meet with family he had in the area and spend a few nights with them. I knew I needed to get off trail, but the rest was a mystery still.

As the trail began to ascend ever higher my steps became epic battles. Charles and Josie went ahead and promised to wait at Little Hump. In what seemed like hours later I made it to the top where hikers relaxed in the grass of noontime sun and the circus flew kites. Everyone was concerned and we all figured it was something intestinal--very common in the wilds with questionable water sources, and comprimised hygiene.

Josie and Charles were saviors offering to carry some of my heavier items-- indeed this was probably the only reason I made it to the road that day. This was the toughest day I'd had yet on this hike and it was a constant trial. I wanted to take a lot of pictures over this section as it would definitely be a highlight of the trip, but I was too desperate to try. The only pictures from the day are those I took of the Watusi cattle (originating from East Africa). I couldn't not take a picture of these cattle that reminded me of Masailand, as they grazed atop a bald mountain above 5000 ft'

4-29 -- 5/07

That night at Charley's Aunt's House I was unable to eat at all. My muscles were frozen tight with cramps and I battled a high fever until late that night. I awoke after breaking the delusional fever and watched Iron Chef with Charley and Josie.

In the morning I got up to use the bathroom and almost screamed as my right heel touched the floor. In the bathroom I inspected my heel and found a large blister on the back of my heel surrounded by swelling and infected tissue. The infection seemed to be spreading up my ankle and required immediate medical attention.

Luck again placed me in a position where I was just 45 mins from my doctor and friends in Johnson City. I called Heather's Mom, Melody, and she graciously offered to pick me up. It was a Sunday and my doctor and her family were preparing to go to a friend's party. Despite this she agreed to see my ankle. She drew a line around the infeection so we could monitor the progress of antibiotics and told me I'd need to heal for about a week.

And so 3 days after leaving Johnson City I was back with the orders to stay much longer. I can't thank everyone enough for making that time as easy as possible--it was a true blessing.
And so I soaked my feet and drained my blister multiple times a day; I took my meds every 6 hours; I watched a lot of TV; I tossed my shoes and footbeds as they were now full of the same bacteria that had infected my ankle; I bleached my socks to rid them of the bacteria to blame; I took a trip to Damascus (along the AT) where I had shoes sent which I now needed earlier; I ate a lot of good food; I hung out with the Davis' many animals; and I read a great book.

The cause for all of this pain was the miles of water I'd sloshed through 3 days prior. It's important to always take stock of your feet during a hike like this. Wet skin only weakens the skin and allows for opportunistic infections like this one. Since my hike I've read a great deal on foot care and am now a great advocate. No matter where you're going your feet will take you there.

5/08

Melody dropped me off a week later where I'd come off trail. When you take that much time off the dynamics of the trail change quite a bit. All of the folks I'd become familiar with over the last 400 miles were now in Virginia. So again I was alone without a tribe, just like my first day in GA. The beauty of walking like a solitary pilgrim was that your day was completely up to you. Often in a group you steer towards group goals, which I don't think is inherently bad, as it changed my hike for the better in most cases. But now, I planned everything and so there was much more room to explore.

I bandaged my heel really well and said my goodbyes to Melody, hoping to not see her again in this context.
And immediately met this guy, "ballpark," who spoke in a thick bostonian accent. He was from Mass., I would later find out. I was ready to walk alone and in a sense I sunk into an aloof thru-hiker mode for the first few days back on trail as I felt very much a solitary man. My focus was walking and my focus was healing--beyond that I couldn't really feel compelled to devote any energy elsewhere.

Soon after making the walk through misty meadows and sparse pine forests I found myself with my first option to investigate off trail. With a long hike like this you tend to focus on a silly notion of progress: in that each step should be north towards Maine. In that you miss a lot of the blue blazed trails leading off the AT towards waterfalls, ancient trees, landmarks, etc. With all the time in the world I decided to change that and walked to Jones Falls for a rest and some falling water.

From then the day crossed o'er many streams and meandered through endless woods. I walked on and felt the lack of physical strength in my softened muslces that taken over a week completely off--I couldn't even walk on both feet until 3 days before I set off again. I'd hoped to make it to this meadow where Heather and I spent a quiet spring night watching fireflies and stoking a fire. However, it was all I could do to make it to the shelter just 2-3 miles south of that meadow. I settled in at the shelter to care for my feet. Changing bandages and socks was a habit I now took too with great care.

5/09
The next day I woke and set off very early as was my usual habit. I loved walking alone in the early morning; there was something so inspiring about starting the day with the cool, damp promise of something new. I descended softly down to Dennis Cove where I had a package waiting at the Kincora Hostel. When I made it to the road and walked the short distance to the house of the area trail manager/hostel provider I expected to see some new faces. However, no one was there. I waited feeling annoyed because I wanted to make great progress today and needed to pick up my food I'd mailed here. Realizing I couldn't leave without my food I waited and read the logbook to see how far ahead my people were.

It was there that I happened upon this entry. Normally, these books are covered with quick messages and mundane ideas. But,this particular one had this fun discussion of the greek idea of Kairos, as opposed to chronos. Chronos, as relating to time,sets up life like this:

event...................event

The space in between (....) represents the passing of life and time.
So, one living life in such a way is ever-looking forward and backwards to events and their superficial, static meaning.

Kairos is set up like this:
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Every experience here is a chance to participate, reflect, ask the appropriate questions, and act.
My hike up until that moment was very chronos--in fact I only read that log because I had to wait. Otherwise, I would have breezed through to get to the next destination, the future event. I decided then to change my walk--indeed, I was going to take that time to care for myself, avoiding the injury cycle which is only another form of the painful cycles we put ourselves through.

For the rest of the day I walked with clear intentions to just experience all there was ahead of me. Walking in the Pond Mt. Wilderness with the added supplies of Easter candy, homemade granola, and kind words from my family, I found my into the green wonderland that was my moving picture. With the promise of a sacred spring at the top of Pond Flats I climbed on through the deep hollows and silent ridges.
I was now carrying gatorade powder to help stave off dehydration of which I think I was in a constant state thereof. With full bottles I made my way down and spotted the most beautiful flaming azalea bush. It was flirting with a butterfly as I delicately withdrew my camera and photographed their dance. Spring was indeed full.

Now descending I came to a road which led to Watauga lake. Sometimes it's quite strange to spend the day alone in the wilderness and then quickly descend to a busy highway and a lake full of fisherman and activity--today would definitely qualify. I met this painted horse before I crossed over to the lake.
From that point the trail followed around the rim of the lake and took me into the woods along the bank on the otherside.I could hear some yelling ahead and hoped to not run into any drunk, rowdy folks. However, I found 5 highschoolers celebrating the 18th birthday of their friend in my the path. It seemed as if they were hollering at the boat off shore. I tried to look disinterested, but I was dragged into their party.

They looked at me like I was strange and asked me where I was coming from. I stated, "Georgia,"thinking that they'd probably run into plenty of thru-hikers already. The reactions that followed were of utter shock; they were pretty drunk so I'm not sure how serious they were. They asked to take a photo with me. As we bunched together one of the guys gave me a friendly butt-slap as they took the picture. Immediately I was reminded of highschool as they all called him all the derogatory names for homosexual they could find. I knew I needed to move on so I wished the birthday party the best and set off.

Soon thereafter I found my way to the shelter along the lake. I'd hoped to have a view of the lake from the platform, but we were totally enshrouded in green. I settled in and began chatting with the same folks from the night before.

5/10 The Thirty Mile Day

I felt free. Now in possession of this thing I decided to challenge myself to walk the 40 miles from here at Watuaga Lake to Damascus, VA. The terrain here lends itself easily to 3+mph pace, and is referred to as the "Tennessee turnpike," or the first opportunity to try a long day on the AT since the trail from GA to here is graded far too steeply to allow for this mileage. Well beyond all of that I wanted to do it and my intention was completely personal--this was not for show or display; it was just the right place for it.

I walked too fast at first and I knew it; I ran out of water and started rushing past some new folks, and gradually I settled into it. Eventually it all became this great non-challenge--not requiring masculinity or fortitude, just walking. And so I just kept walking thinking on everything.

And there I came out of the woods, about half-way, to this wide open field atop a serious of gentle hills. I was astounded after all those blind miles of the "green tunnel" to be so shocked by open fields, dandelions, old barns, and so may notches in the grassy hills calling for you to spreadout a blanket and take a nap. But, the sun was hot and bright and my day was still flowing north-by-northeast.
Sometimes in the past I played this number game with what was and is a mile. With the guide book you can always get a fairly accurate idea of how far you've come or how far you have to go --completely chronos. But it's really hard not to do.

During the latter half of the day I wanted to be done around mile 25. Pressing on through the last 5 miles to 30 was no celebratory finish. It was fulfilling in the sense that I could do it. However, the experiment was still very chronos, despite all the peaceful gliding moments that filled my walk.

Now at the shelter in time before the sky dropped I mechanically moved downhill to the water source. I'd begun to cramp as soon as I'd stopped. I found Grey Goose (a familiar older man, who I'd walked with since the Smokies--he made it all the way to Katahdin) and Miles who told me of the many trials he'd undergone. Apparently he was nearly struck by lightning on the same exposed ridge I'd described earlier.

He had sat catatonic on the ridge until some hikers came along and brought him down. And just today he was peppered with birdshot by some blind hunters who mistook him for a turkey. Luckily, he was only hit in the backpack. The hunters ran away. Miles spoke with a police officer at the trail head but to no avail. So seemingly Miles could have been shot and left to bleed to death by these hunters--his life was now twice in jeopardy. I was shocked. He seemed fine. I told him that maybe he should stop hiking, maybe it wasn't in the cards. And that indeed turned out to be his plan anyways--to hike to Damascus for Trail Days and head home afterwards.

5/11
I was excited for today I'd make it to a great trail town, but more importantly to my home state of Va. I looked forward to walking through every bit of the trail through VA and hopefully meeting my parents in Harpers Ferry, college friends in Harrisonburg, and Tim in the Shenandoahs.

The sign marking the entrance into Va was less than impressive like all the state crossing signs I'd seen before. Now in my fourth state, I settled in for the longest state of the hike: VA. Again rain threatened and I quickened my pace to make it into Damascus and find a hostel before it fell down.

There I did the normal town chores: laundry, mail, gear, and most importantly, hot fresh food. I was still very happy with being alone but I started to hang out with Caveman and Miles and some other characters. It was at "The Place" hostel where I met Sidestep with whom I'd later walk out of Damascus.

AT notes #4: Standing Bear Farm to Roan Mt.

In an attempt to reduce unecessary weight I removed the straps from my hiking poles. Without the straps, the pressure through my stride focused on my palms resulting in some gnarly,dog- pad blisters.

4-16

I left my friends at Standing Bear Farm for familiar ground. The trail from here would gradually lead to Max Patch Mt. When I first moved to Asheville this was the place people told me to see. The bald mountain lore is rich with stories telling of their magnetism and energy: this place became home. I traveled there with Matt,Katy, and Mark--my closest friends in Asheville. Eventually after I met Heather, we took trips up there to take naps on top of the huge grassy expanse and look up into infinite blue.It is a magical place. For it's personal significance I was glad to hike there alone.

The woods ascending from Standing Bear were alive with color. Here the dogwoods whiten the sky.

The day was hot. My feet blistered from the battering I'd dealt them coming down from the high ridges of the Smokies now required frequent rest.At some point in the day I passed this FAA communications tower that emitted a very secretive vibe.I decided not to take a picture and leave it be. From that point I focused on my walk and dug deeply as water was scarce,the sun bright, and my body fatigued.

Plodding on I continously thought Max Patch was only just over the next hill. No Max Patch, no water. Memories flooded back. I never felt alone in the brown and green wilderness I walked amongst, as I was surrounded by friends, writings, dreams, and animals.

It was evening when I reached the road before the path up the mountain. A young couple from Asheville waited there for thru-hikers with a car full of trail magic: chicken salad, doritos, oreos, and gatorade! I dove into the food trying to remain conversational. It seemed some of the food came from the same natural food store I worked at. We spoke about Asheville,and their hike a few years back on the AT. They planned to hike the PCT in 2007, I guess that'd be this spring--good luck to them.

I reached the top an hour later to sit with hikers and gaze at the sun settling down among the land we'd just crossed. The previous 250 miles I'd longed to reach this spot and gaze on the 360 view of my home, and rest in the soft grasses, kissed with sweet winds.
I wanted to sleep on top that night, just me and the stars--no tarp. But I decided to hike down a little to avoid the stirring winds. I slept on the verge of the forest still on the bald of the mountain. I woke later that night due to the brightness in the sky--the moon was near full and the sky clear. Gently the wind swayed and I slept enchanted.

4-17

Today I knew I'd see Asheville again, and all my friends there. I was now a day's walk from Hot Springs, which was a short drive from Asheville. I practically ran the 20 miles down to Hot Springs for the good times that awaited me.

I passed through strange lands atop Walnut Mt, the hillside filled with burned and felled trees--denuded in an apparent attempt to restore it to its bald mountain past. Bald mountains are said to be the creation of the grazing stock ofEuropeans, or countless other theories. Regardless, their state as a natural habitat is quite contentious. The forest service cuts the grass and brush to maintain bald mountains for the lore they create. My feeling is that they are the highlight of hiking in the southern highlands and speak of some past of uncertain age.

At the shelter at Walnut Mt, I found one of the treasures left by Southpaw and Beamis (met in Southern NC). There they had told us they photocopied pictures of David Hasselhoff from a calendar and distributed them from Hot Springs south. They attached Hasselhoff hiking tips with each picture.These pictures were things of brilliance with the world's most popular tv star sitting in his car or flexing on the beach.I wish I had photoed these for later viewing. They still exist in shelter logs somewhere.
Finally in Hot Springs I walked the streets with a stride that bespoke my familiarity with the place. I picked up my mail, sent some cold weather gear home, and prepared for the warmer temps ahead. After a meal at the Paddler's Pub I called Mark at Harvest records to pick me up.
We drove to Asheville with Gillian Welch strumming in the speakers, the same album I'd sung the previous day.

4-20

After 2+ days in Asheville resting and hanging out with Matt and Mark, I needed to get back to hiking. I was also wondering about my friends who I'd left 5 days ago. I left a message for them in Hot Springs and I expected we might meet there. Sure enough as I strolled out of town after Mark dropped me off, I saw some figures that looked friendly. I walked over and reunited with my walking family. The reunion was short-lived as they intended to travel to Asheville for a show, while was ready to hike again. We played wiffle ball and soaked in the hot springs along the French Broad River. As we soaked I dreaded walking in the hills now covered in thunderheads: rain was coming.

After they left I struggled walking into certain rain and lightning when I could have gone back to the comforts of Asheville. But I knew I must.

I'd hiked a small portion of the trail leading north out of Hot Springs with Josh, Matt, and Mark, when Josh had visited on his drive cross-country, so I knew it was a steep jump. I settled in the for the climb and awaited new ground. After reaching Lovers Leap Rock I found a lazy pond surrounded by a gentle wood. I walked up a road for a way and spotted the greenest trees and fields--spring needed these rains to produce such verdant light.

About an hour later rain and thunder came. I put on my poncho, looked down and plodded on as the fury in the sky threatened again closer and closer.I found the shelter full: bad news with steady rain settling in. Walking a little beyond the shelter I found a flat spot to call home and quickly set camp and started dinner.

4-21

Early rains came. Today was the first time I awoke to rain and thus first time I was confronted with the decision to leave warmth and dry for cold and wet.I set off slowly and came to enjoy the thick fog of the Appachian spring rains. I had certainly expected them, but had 3 weeks of dry, sunny conditions from the start.

The day that followed was exceedingly rainy and windy. I fought with my flagging poncho most of the day and fully realized its limitations. Without thunder in many hours I decided to hike the trail over an exposed ridgeline when a blue-blazed trail for inclement weather was available. Realizing how exposed I was atop the rocky spine cutting in the belly of the clouds I began to panic. The trail became sharp and unforgiving boulders. I tried to gain a sense of how long I'd be exposed as I began to hear thunder again. I was a lightning rod, the tallest thing on a ridge for an unseeable distance. Clambering forward for what seemed miles, the trail finally sheltered me under trees. I moved with adrenaline and didn't stop.

With a little break in the rain I found another shelter full of hikers. I was hoping to sleep there, but I had to continue another 6 miles to Flint Mtn; I'd heard more rain was on the way so I intended to sleep under roof tonight. Climbing over foggy meadows and steeply descending old roads I made it to Flint Mt just before a rush of hikers came looking for the same shelter from the night's storm as I.

That night brought torrential downpours and deafening thunder.I slept easily after the lightning ended, with gliding rain making the air more peaceful afterwards.

4-22

I decided, now less than 2 days from Erwin (the gateway to Johnson City--my old home with friends waiting to feed me) that I'd make a long day in the rain in order to have a short 2nd day to Erwin. After the first road crossing that morning I found myself hiking along a cascading river. Crossing this many times I was deep in a hollow that was filled with relics of an old homestead and school. I saw the carcass of a truck and the beaten wooden structure of a barn. Along this stretch of trail yesterday and today I came across several cemeteries and memorials. With the rain these landscapes gave me the sense that I should not idle there, but swiftly continue on.
Miles north I started to walk on a part of the trail I'd hiked with Heather. When I moved to Asheville I bought the maps for the sections of the AT from Max Patch north to the TN/VA line. Eventually I'd used these to find all the trail heads during my residence in Johnson City and hike as much as a night's camp or dayhike would allow. Heather joined me on a number of these hikes and I prepared to feel her presence in the woods and miss her more vividly.

The day became a grey blur as I splashed and splattered through miles of saturated land. Eventually I crossed Sam's Gap where I-26 passes through the mountains, the route between Asheville and Johnson City. I looked forward to the new terrain just as much as the familiar. I seemed to rush through this landscape and eventually slipped on some mud and fell straight down on my back. Usually when I stubbed a toe or rolled an ankle it was because I wasn't being present, indeed it always woke me up.

I pulled myself up and realized I was atop Big Bald Mt with a beautiful shrouded vista. From there I gingerly ambled on through the many miles of wide, grassy ridge before me. Finding myself at my destination early I decided to push on, knowing the trail desceded without any sharp features from here to Spivey Gap. The last mile was a complete struggle to remain vertical. I ate a candy bar to gain some last energy push as my tight leg muscles resisted anything further. The way down from Big Bald was an endless muddy bogg. I'd loved it.

I took great care to document the muddin' I'd done. The pictures don't really encompass that satisfied feeling you get after running through mud unabashed for hours. Anyways I knew a shower awaited me as soon as I reached Erwin where I could call Heather's very generous parents for some hospitality.

4-23

After a brilliant night at a picturesque meadow campsite I prepared for a short 11 miles to Erwin. The rain had stopped and the sun began to shimmer.

I'd hiked just about all of this section before, but some of it seemed different for whatever reason-- distance actually seemed to stretch in parts. At the midpoint I came across a shelter. I looked at the log book to see if familiar hikers would be in town.I found some names and read their stories and moved on to the Nolichucky River. I left a message for my friends about my struggles in the rains and about my plans in Johnson City. (The Nolichucky River with a train crossing the bridge)

I was elated to see the river from the high ridge I'd hiked so many times wondering when I'd hike the Appalachian Trail. I'd been up there in the winter, summer, and fall. Throughout last year I realized just how much creative power we have over our lives.: all that I'd endlessly hoped for happened quite effortlessly.
When I saw Mark's (Heather's Dad) truck pull up I couldn't restrain the happiness I had to see Heather's family after 3 months.

4-24/ 4-27

I spent 2 days with Heather's parents and animals. Her mother cooked my favorite meals and I shared with them my experiences as best I could. Later that week she was planning to go for a work-related hiking trip to Mt. Leconte in the Smokies, so I tried to offer my seasoned assessment of necessary gear. My time there was extremely relaxing and healing.

For the final 2 days I stayed with my doctor's family. Colleen, my doc and great friend, helped ease a lot of the leg pain I was experiencing from pushing so hard to get to town. I got to spend time with their new son, Kieren, that she and Michelle had adopted just before I moved. I had a blast with them as there family is so full of love and laughter. Also their other son, Kevin, was now talking a lot and becoming so animated.

I had planned on leaving their house after one day, but rains came the following morning. They were happy to have me another night and I definitely obliged.

The next day I had a great conversation with Colleen about some of things I'd learned from my long, meditative walking. She's a dear friend and with love I said goodbye as she dropped me off in Erwin.

I set off across the bridge over the Nolichucky River ready to begin the next phase of my hike, now that I would likely be without friends and family to visit. About halfway across the bridge I hear, "Hey Banshee, where do you think you're going?" There was my hiking family all together again. Continually, I was amazed at how we hikers communicated and connected on this path--and how easy it all was.

I joined them as Miss Janet, the owner of the hostel in Erwin, drove us 20 miles north for a slackpack of the section over Unaka Mt. and Beauty Spot, again familiar ground. We left our bags in the truck and set off in the hills heading south for Erwin to spend the night at the infamous Miss Janet's House.

We had a spectacularly beautiful time over the day's hike. With all of the rain the final miles of the trail were made into a river which I splashed through reluctantly at first and then I took to it with all of the abandon I would at age 5. As we waited for our ride into Erwin at day's end my feet were quite cold, and beaten.

I slept out on the porch with a couple other hikers. It was strange to spend more time in this town now then I ever did when it was just 15 minutes away. Tomorrow we'd drive up to Iron Gap (where we started south yesterday) and hike north to the Roan highlands--one of my favorite stretches of the trail in TN/NC. In the past I'd driven up to the nearly 6000 ft where the road passes between Roan Mt. and Round Bald, but today I'd get to walk the 2000 ft+ ascent--probably the last big climb until New England.

The Circus, as we were now dubbed, stopped by the dollar store to pick up items befitting our playful band of misfits. We found kites, streamers, stuffed animals, water guns, and other gaudy circus gear.

The hike up was arduous. I knew it'd be tough, but I felt every step as a swinging bat to my heel. I had no idea were this foot pain came from and passed it off as fatigue from two consecutively long days after 4 days off. I started out fast,but eventually lost everyone as they passed ahead-- I was missing something. I pushed on to try to save any built momentum as the climb seemed near vertical for miles and right at the end of the day when energy is low.

Reaching Roan was a great relief to me and I could hardly celebrate when I reunited with my circus at the shelter. A few had hiked to a friendly cabin to buy some beer and hitch up to Roan. They were there drinking beers and I took one feeling like I needed to celebrate a huge victory, but I was shot and dehydrated and the thought of drinking made me nauseous.

I went to bed after a meal and lots of water. Roan Mt Shelter is the highest on the AT at 6825' and it was cold enough to prove it. I went to bed looking forward to the day's walk tomorrow over my beloved highlands. I'd already walked this entire section and knew what to expect, especially on a clear and sunny day that we were in store for.

(Charley and Outlaw eating breakfast at Roan Mt Shelter)