Project Eveningland

3/10/2023 Friday

Do you remember that old queer rights chant, “out of the closets and into the streets!” from, I wanna say, the 1970s? Take that same cadence and chant, “out of the Smokies and on with our lives!” It was eleven miles (rounding up) from Cosby Knob to Standing Bear Farm, where I planned to stay tonight, so I wasn’t in any hurry. It’s all downhill anyway. I’ll admit it is a relief to be getting out of the Smokies after six long, hungry days.

I surprised myself by getting completely engrossed in a conversation in the shelter in the morning with Mark and Ethan (after I’d taken down my tent in the gentle rain—site worked well [sleeping surface flat] but overall unevenness of site caused crucial piece of rainfly to sag and wet part of the footprint). They were only one of two sets of brothers at the shelter area last night (there were also two brothers with a young boy—son and nephew respectively. Kid’s trail name was Nighthawk and he was seriously cool. Very precocious and a little sarcastic. Will turn out great). Mark and Ethan are only half brothers with large age difference. Mark is more than a pretty face—he’s also an English prof (creative writing, fiction) and knows a few people at CSU. Ethan studied atmospheric science at CSU some years ago and now lives in Leadville and is an avalanche specialist. What a treat of a conversation, even if it bored everyone else out of the shelter. I think the ridge runner was game though—very smart fellow.

I neglected to use the privy before I left. That’s the kind of mistake that would cause a moment of light regret in regular life, but can really alter a day in the mountains.

But first, the wild wonder. There were thick fogs after the rain tapered off. I stopped to refill my water at an unlisted spring (which probably isn’t available often enough to warrant including it in the guide). It’s a small flow of water coming out of a tangle of roots and rocks beneath thick underbrush. After I’d filtered a liter, I put in my headphones and let my phone shuffle my 2023 playlist (as it is so far). Etta James’ “At Last” came on. The trail seemed to curve elegantly back and forth with the music. Tiny bluish gray birds flitted across the trail, rhododendron to rhododendron, stirred into flight by the noise of my approach. Their little tail feathers gave a flash of white as they took off. “And here we are, in heaven…”

But probably less than an hour later, I was feeling a telltale gurgle and tension. Why does Doug/Rhetoric talk about pooping all the time? On the trail it’s a major part of your day, a thing to plan for, a thing to be reckoned with. I’d already burned all my stomach meds, and all the borrowed stomach meds. Two days ago, I resorted to taking another medication meant for a different purpose because it causes constipation as a side effect. Little effect. The problem is my food. All my high fiber meals and snacks sort of “came together” in this resupply: Complete Cookies, cliff bars, whole wheat tortillas, peanut butter, a dozen 400-cal bags of seeds (two per day), fig bars, and so on. Tuna and gummy bears were really the only two foods not loaded with it. Normally my trail eating would be interrupted by surefire “slow-ers” like cheese. Not in the Smokies. Gastrointestinal efficiency has become madness. My body now completely empties itself three times per day, usually 30 mins after eating (which has also made me fearful of eating!) I’ve had to borrow toilet paper. I could have a colonoscopy, right now, no prep, and the GE would be full of their (usual) praise for how thorough a job I did. It’s been torture. I’ll be relieved to get a pizza in me. I am gonna eat a whole bag of Parmesan crisps. That’ll slow down the works some.

So I decided, OK, let’s get this over with. 20 mins of discomfort and it’ll be over. I dug a hole amid the wet rhododendron. How can there be this much inside me?

It took a while to get my tummy calmed down. I needed to eat a snack—my last bag of seeds—but waited as long as I could bear so as to delay a round two cat hole for the day.

As I got closer to the road crossings that precede Standing Bear, my cell service came back online. I got a text from Will:

I’m not sure where you are at this point, but don’t stay at standing bear lodge when you get out of the Smokies. If you’re going to stop, hitch a ride into Newport.

I had planned to stay at Standing Bear so I could write a post called, “A Definitive Analysis of the Standing Bear Farm Polarization.” Some people say it’s a shithole. Others say it’s the best thing ever. Trip and I hated it but I wanted to investigate further with an actual stay. Then a phrase my mother and I try to live by popped into my head: “the lesson will be repeated until it has been learned.” I’ve already been there. It’s a shithole, full stop.

I called a shuttler whose trail name is Zach Galifinakis, because he looks like that actor. I met him on trail in 2021 near Gooch Gap. Super good dude. The timing worked out perfect. He could drive us to Newport where there are “multiple hotels.” I chose the Hampton Inn. It’s fine. It was the highest rated. I need a full on clean and soft reset. I need to scrub in a shower where I can sit on the ground and get between my toes and feel human again. I got Bill in on the shuttle action.

Zach drove us and two other hikers (Vegas and Spring Break) to Standing Bear to grab my resupply package (which is, sigh, also full of fiber). I had time to tell Hide and Wedge where we were going (they’d have joined if there’d been room). We exchanged numbers. I felt bad leaving them. Lost-and-Found gave me shit about bailing to go stay in luxury (for Tracy: luxury comparatively speaking).

Lost-and-Found is a bit of a silver fox. He’s in commercial real estate (I think) and his success shows, but not in some ghoulish way. He’s very well groomed and has great teeth—that kind of thing. I don’t often mingle with real estate… tycoons?… but I quite like Lost-and-Found, especially his friendly way of joshing you. It’s disarming. I also thought Mary Poppins, who enjoyed a long career in finance (including at Goldman) before becoming the most dignified thru hiker I’ve ever seen, deserved better. She is, as I think Wedge put it, “low-key super-advanced at this.” She and I talked tent-siting at Cosby Knob and… game recognize game. She picked a well-drained site beneath some rhodies for added warmth.

We got checked in at the Hampton. My room smelled a little musty. May ask to change tomorrow. I am now a Hilton Honors member, with all the privileges and responsibilities that that entails. Dinner was an adventure: no delivery drivers at Pizza Hut but they found a way to get it to me. Did laundry. Made lists. Caught up on Late Night monologues. Talked with Mom and Dad (who were on the road).

I’ll walk to Walmart tomorrow across huge highway. I look really good with a buff around my neck! All kinds of bruises and cuts I didn’t notice—I haven’t really seen much of my body in the last week.

Here’re a bunch of photos, including some I meant to share while I was in the Smokies but couldn’t because the cell service was too weak.