Project Eveningland

2/19/2023 Sunday

I slept really well at the cabin—I slept on a bed up in the loft. Woke up at 4AM and tossed and turned but then got 2.5 more hours. I used my breakfast sando (sandwich) method: when you can get your hands on breakfast sandwiches, and a microwave, eat at least two in the morning for a fast 600+ calories, tons of protein, tons of fat, over 40 grams of fun.

Bill and Mitch got an early start. Chris wanted some time by himself in the cabin so I left him with the keys and set off myself. The store was still closed as I passed. I talked with Ken, a minister-cum-bus mechanic. He asked, in the course of conversation, if my wife likes to hike with me. Now the next words are crucial. I want to break the presumption, but I want to do it gently, gently, so that it’s not a negative experience. Am I bending over backwards for heteronormativity? No. I’m choosing the way of rhetoric, of audience and persuasion. He and I spent five minutes talking about “the old ball and chain,” in a middle America sort of way. So that’s a win.

I caught up with Bill but there was no sign of Mitch and Bill was *certain* that he hadn’t passed him. So it was a minor mystery. Chris caught up to us and elected to “chill” (meaning slow down to hang with us). We met Sam, another Brit, much younger, just out of Uni. Got a philosophy degree and now plans to return for an MBA. He seemed flattered when I said that was a really unusual degree combination that was likely to equip him for success in unusual and compelling ways. He and Chris’ accents became much thicker as they talked (Sam is from London but has family in Manchester where Chris is from). It was a thing of beauty to listen to. I carefully chose my moments to say “huh? What did you say now?” because it was just so heartening to see the effect of running into someone from home.

I was quite looking forward to reaching Tensatee Gap, which holds no particular significance except for that which I imagine. It really made me think of the first trip, the excitement, and the perils of running off down the trail with abandon. This landscape is rough. It’s rougher than the Colorado Trail. It’s deceptive. It can chew you up. So this time I’ve again reached Tensatee, only with a very different mindset. I’ve begun talking to my ankle. What do you need? How far can you go today? Do you want a support wrap? Do you want Tylenol? It may be my imagination, but I hear clear answers and feel a kind of cooperation.

But anyway I reached Tensatee and there was trail magic (or really trail science—there’s nothing magic about what kindness and calories do to a person). I set the goal of eating 1200-1500 calories right there. I had a generous PB&J, a big bowl of chicken noodle soup, cheese, fruit, snacks, Gatorade, something called “cream cheese pound cake” (it was fine). One of the guys joked with me, “are you sure you ate one of everything?” Now, just a year or two ago, I would have reacted defensively! It would be a holdover from being a fat kid—I don’t appreciate having people comment on what I’m eating. But now, in 2023, I knew to joke: “I think so, but I’d better take another pass to be sure.”

The Brits were already there when I arrived at Tensatee and I felt a mild pride that my fellow Americans were extending the Brits a hand of welcome. The group took a photo with Sam and Chris and doted on the much younger Sam. He’d wanted a picture to “send to his mum.” We all pointed out that any person who’d say no to that request would be a monster.

Chris and Sam got ready to leave. I was just getting warmed up on eating. One of the women asked to say a prayer and I listened and thanked her and told her it was eloquent. It was filled with lovey sentiments which I only recently find myself able to… accept maybe? Or perhaps accept from strangers. Or maybe it’s religious types. I assume pray-ers aren’t keen on queers, but who knows these days?

The polarization in our body politic is such that it’s difficult to imagine what a rapprochement would even look like. I think I saw a glimpse. I’d been having a problem all this morning with my right toenail—the one right next to the major. (GRAPHIC IMAGES AHEAD). A blister’s been forming under the nail, pushing it off the nail bed. I could have saved it with my nail clippers but they got removed from my ditty bag and I choose to blame Ben with no evidence at all. So I don’t have them. I managed to, sigh, pull up on the nail and bust the blister, releasing a huge amount of clearish pink fluid. It’s gross but I had to find a way to release the pressure. No one in the cabin had a nail clipper so I could shorten the nail. What else can you do? This morning the blister had resealed and refilled (the body is amazing) but had resumed painfully pushing the nail away from the nail bed. When I got to Tensatee, I asked the trail angels if they had one—a nail clipper. The woman who’d said a prayer said, “well, I have one in my purse…” I offered to buy it off her but of course she gave it to me. That group really prides themselves on having everything. I said, still dithering about taking it, that I felt bad. I am just not used to taking things from other people. “You don’t have to feel bad,” she said, “you can feel loved.” So that’s what it looks like, the rapprochement I mean: a set of nail clippers held in the clutch of two sets of fingers, passed between two hands.

I wished them well—Bill had just arrived, and I knew he’d be happy and very good company for them. I headed off up an incredibly steep long climb up a hill next to the road. I stopped and clipped my nail short, fully severing the top of the nail bed and releasing more liquid. I bandaged my toe and set off, hiking the rest of the afternoon alone, apart from day hikers and many wonderful dogs who’re doing a great job and need to be told so. By me.

Stopped at Low Gap. Mitch and Bill joined. We made reservations at Around the Bend. I got a private cabin so I can call family and catch up.

Emma and Laura, (Mouse and Socks) two 19 year old, ginger, smart, vivacious, tough, Maine-born, giggly young women who’ve known each other all their lives are here. They offered to kill shelter mice for grown ass men. I think they have killed them at other shelters.

I found a marginal tent site but managed to align my sleeping surface with the only level part. Brilliant.

The trail angels solved my food problem mostly.