Project Eveningland

3/26/2023 Sunday

Do you know what happens to “boiled buttered potatoes” (a Cloud family staple of old) when they sit in the fridge overnight? They become breakfast potatoes. They find their way to the griddle with some oil and become crispy and very, very agreeable. They will get neighborly with any old thing—eggs, toast, breakfast meats. I introduced Dad to the delights of fried Spam, which I’ve been craving.

Mom and I headed off to Johnson City in search of a million fiddly little things: a new ankle wrap (the brand I like), hydrocortisone ointment, a tiny tube of toothpaste, a new mini tube of antiperspirant, chapstick, a nose hair trimmer, nail clippers, and some tortillas. I bought something which will no doubt bring scorn down upon me from hikers past and present. I am going to carry a tiny container of my hair gel. I’m tired of looking in the mirror at hotels and hostels and seeing my flat unstyled mop. I want to look like I normally look. Have I lost my mind? Have I turned my back on the Way of the Scale? Forgive me, trail spirits. Save us, trail spirits. Keep us. Until the end of time.

I “crashed” (but not really) after the grocery store. All the turning around in the van in store parking lots, the looking down at the map app on my phone to help Mom navigate, the not eating for 30 minutes straight… well, it was too hard on me. Had to sit on a bench outside Michael’s—we went in looking for a fiddly plastic bit for my tent—and breathe fresh air.

Spent the afternoon switching out worn plastic bags, refilling pills, wrapping my tent stake bag in pink duct tape so it’s easier to see, patching my tent mesh, just endless stuff like that. With breaks for salad and chicken with rice. I will ditch my traction devices and my sleeping bag liner. Mom and Dad will take them back to Ohio.

I shaved my beard down to just a mustache—I was curious—but then dispensed with that too. I did everything except pack my food bag. Getting stuff done now meant I could nap without waking up to face a horrid to-do list in the waning hours of my rest day.

There’ll be dominos tonight and another heavy meal (or two). I bought myself the makings of what Hide would call “a charcuterie lunch” (for tomorrow) but I refer to as “adult Lunchables.” That’s what I often eat for lunch on my training hikes back in Colorado: cheese, fancy crackers, cured meats.

Benny and I caught up by phone while I was at the grocery store. He answers the phone at his desk and speaks in hushed tones while he slips out to a stairwell or other pseudo-private space to gab with me. Our own little assignation.