Hampton, Tennessee, mile 418.5

I have taken 3 zero days off the trail at Kinora Hostel to rest my feet, and go to Taylorsville, NC to visit my old Catawba College roommate Dr. Gary Schaffer DVM and his wife Lisa. I was very lucky to make a connection with two section hikers getting off the trail here in Hampton that drove me the two hours to Taylorsville, NC.  It’s wonderful to visit old friends you’ve known for almost 45 years. They were most gracious and kind giving me many splendid meals including a grand feed of fried Bluegill, hush puppies, and beer. Lisa and their veterinarian daughter Hanna demonstrated genuine sympathy for my swollen, buggered feet, and endeavoured dramatic measures to help me.  Dr. Schaffer on the other hand seemed genuinely amused at my “stomping through the woods with feet looking like stuffed sausages.”  Perhaps his day will come.

Before getting here I experienced a couple sunny warm days, and in the low spots Spring is well on the way. The flowers are amazing and plentiful.

Mayflower

Umbellicaria mulenburgii (or something close I think, Francis will have to verify.)

Bombaliid (bee fly drinking perspiration)

My plantar fasciitis foot problems are not subsiding with my feet swelling more everyday.  The ibuprofen is helping some.  However, I’ve no choice but to go on or quit.  So, I intended to continue, hoping I can mend on the fly.

Everyday for me is a new trial of effort and determination with respect to pain and discomfort.  I’m comfortable enough sleeping and breaking down camp, but when I begin hiking the pain sets in causing me to question whether I can go on hiking.  The first hour or so is excruciating, then the ibuprofen seems to kick in offering some relief until 2:00 or so when I need to take more.  I can usually hobble on till 5 or 6 when making a shelter or campsite becomes imperative.

The Appalachian Trail itself is extremely frustrating to me because you can never just walk.  It’s hard to describe to someone who has not experienced it.  The trail is never, ever, flat.  It’s always up up up and down down down plus it’s slanted left or right much of the time so you’re trying not to slide sideways causing the feet constant lateral stress.  There’s no chance to look at birds, bugs, fabulous vistas, twirl your hiking sticks, or make long strides. Plus, this time of the year the trail is usually wet, littered with 2-6 inches of wet leaves with loose stones mixed in,  over a soil type that might be described as greased eel skin.   Constant attention must be paid to every footstep or an unexpected fall will land you on your back looking at the dripping tree branches and sullen sky.  I’ve had several bad falls so far. Luckily, nothing serious has happened.  I constantly recite to myself “You can go slowly and carefully 100,000 times, but you can only smash your brains out once!”  My chum “Loner Bohner ” cautioned weeks ago “If you want to look at something, stop dead and look at it.  Then look at your feet before moving again.”  Crossing a roadway you can put your foot down flat on brings a few seconds of ecstasy.

Many folks might wonder what it’s like to hike the Appalachian Trail alone.  There are times that you can hike for hours on end without seeing another person.  However, I can say that if you want someone to talk to all you need to do is try to pee.  People will come around the corner instantaneously, usually from both directions.  To get any privacy one must secret themselves deep in the rhododendrons and laurels.  Similarly, if you ever get hurt or need assistance just pull out a piece of toilet paper.  Boy Scout troop 666 from Chicago on their annual mission to eradicate the hemlock wooly adelgid from Appalachia will appear from one direction, while the advance guard of the Louisville, Kentucky Ladies Auxiliary will have their field glasses trained on your gunnery from the other direction.  Never attempt to fire a salvo at the opposing peaks unless you want company aplenty.  Invariably, this or some other similar scenario will embrace you. It just seems to be a fact of life.  What deity it is that has time to concern themselves so intimately with ones daily personal life?  Is it perpetually preordained that the solitary hiker should have no privacy?  Does not Jahova, Mohamed, Yahweh, or Confucius have no more important work than to assure the perpetual invasion of ones privacy?  Perhaps it’s the Buda that has never passed the potty stage.  Possibly the “Holy Ghost” wants retribution for being confined to a smokey box in dismal cathedrals attending Holy Water century in and century out.  Who or whatever entity or deity it is, plans more carefully for embarrassing me on my daily ramblings than the paparazzi plan for a Royal Wedding.

One might assume that great deities would rather invest their time   assisting Goldman Sachs to execute another trillion dollar scam and escape unscathed over assuring the constant invasion of the solitary hiker’s privacy.  Or, perhaps helping Dick Cheny escape prosecution for his time as CEO of Halliburton, or helping him plan another unsuccessful Texas quail hunt, but no, the solitary AT hiker’s daily functions must be attended.

Of course the solitary hiker can never be truly alone because Murphy is always with you.  That same Murphy that assures that anything that can go wrong will go wrong.   We have no definitive proof of God, but Murphy shows himself every day.   A few days ago while trying to break camp efficiently so as to start walking at first light, Murphy stole one of my socks.  A missing sock is no big deal when you’re home.  However, when you only have four socks and a town is days away, a missing sock takes on much more significance. Plus, it’s the damned cheek of the fellow.  Why should he take my sock for the pure sport of it.  He doesn’t wear socks so far as I know, but he stole one of my socks at a critical time.  Where could a sock go that hung on the roof of the tent all night?   Two square meters was the only space I occupied; where could it go?  There was nothing else to do but get out the other pair and put them on.  When I stopped at noon and thought I’d shed a layer or two there was the sock draped perfectly concealed around the nape of my neck.  I was glad of recovering the sock, but not amused at being made sport of by a nuisance nebulous entity.  Then he tripped me with a piece of green briar spattering mud in my eye while getting underway.  That caused me to recall the words of my Uncle Charley “If it’s not one thing, it’s three.”  So, you see one can never be truly alone in the woods.

I can’t seem to ever get connected to the internet to send posts.  Hopefully, this will get posted when I at last reach Damascus,Virginia in a few days.  I’ll try to write another short post when I get there.

I genuinely apologize for not posting more consistently.

Best to all,
Long Stride
Light heart, easy pace.