Project Eveningland

3/31/2023 Friday

My high little ridge campsite stayed warm last night. I watched a tiny brown mouse poke around under my tent vestibule in the bright moonlight. He didn’t linger—there’s no food in my tent and, judging from the amount of ash in the fire ring, this site gets used a lot. Plenty of crumbs around. Last night I poked my head out of the tent while Benny and I were talking on the phone and saw a night lit by stars, a bright half moon, and town lights—Winchester maybe?

The dawn came grey but dry—rains were clearly on their way. I headed down the .2 miles to Low Gap, where there’s a road crossing and a pretty nice piped spring. I filled up and then the trail regained the ridge, where I’d hike about 15 miles to Damascus. Something about the forest I noticed today: the trees aren’t really brown, like the ones I build out of Lego. They’re more a dark tan spotted with copper green and other neutral colors. I started thinking about how I would go about building different kinds of trees. How would I get that angle? How would I match the soft, graceful needles of a fir? I’d love to build a little AT shelter and part of the trail out of Lego. People would love to see a big trail diarrhea—I mean diorama. The hardest part would be rendering the texture of the ground, which is mostly oak leaves and similar but in so many shades. The rain leaves a sheen on the forest floor. It smells like leaf rot in the freshest way.

It was a fast, quiet day. I’m listening to Caliban’s War and paying close attention to how Chrisjen Avasarala is rendered as a character—I like her sense of discernment, judgment.

I stopped for a quick break at McQueen Gap Shelter, which is tiny and old and “for emergencies only” according to my app. When I hiked through last time, it wasn’t even listed in FarOut. It’s the cutest little shelter you ever did see. Ben’s and my bed at home is larger than the whole shelter. It’s only enough room for one person or a couple.

A few miles later I stopped at Abingdon Gap Shelter and put on rain pants (mainly for warmth—the rain was gentle) and restocked the snacks I keep in my fanny pack. I’m down to peanut butter tortillas and peanut butter crackers. Anything I cram in my mouth will make me feel better, though. Any time I feel crummy on trail it’s probably because I need a snack.

The underbrush is beginning to leaf out. At lower elevations red buds hang heavy on the trees. The grasses in town are a startling green.

I am eager to rid myself of this problem. The Giardia I mean. I think of the human body as an ecosystem, a big beautiful flying forest with all manner of creatures. These ones, though, have got to go.

I stayed on a beautiful ridge all day, with light but steady rain, crossed the VA border, then started the switchbacks down to town. I stopped at the pharmacy (no restroom to wash my hands; the restrooms in the park were also out of order—on their own heads be it). Then I checked into my costly, beautiful AirBnB suite, which I deserve, because I am not feeling well. It makes me feel like a real person to sleep in a well-decorated room and not a loud, shabby room in a hostel, as charming as those can be.

Had a big old cheeseburger and fries at the diner. Ran into Bean, Let’s Go, and a quieter guy named Ben. They got off trail back at a road crossing 20 miles away by trail to avoid the severe weather that’s coming. High winds and rain are on their way, though people seem more worried about the former.

I walked up to Lady Di’s, where I’d planned to stay (but they were full). It was huge! The whole gang was there. I caught up on trail goss (gossip) and learned that Lost & Found now goes by Lost in Town, initially because of a misunderstanding, but now Chris likes it better. I’ll abbreviate that one LiT. They want to change Beaker’s trail name to Fair Point because he says that phrase a lot (“it’s noncommittal,” I observed, which he enthusiastically confirmed is his reason for using the phrase). Wedge has been preparing for a trail visit from his wife and kids. Hide recently took on the work of planning a big slackpacking journey for all of them to Marion, though I think the logistics were pretty wearing. My friends are still slacking all over the place! They’re going backwards, hiking through bad weather, all made possible by lighter packs and hostel stays. It’s a great way to do the trail but it’s a bit too complicated and “locked in” for me. I dislike committing to a 20-mile plus day in advance. I want to be able to stop early if my body tells me to, or go farther. And now that sleeping alone in the woods is (mostly) no big deal, I don’t mind the camping aspect nearly as much.

I had a second dinner at the diner with the gang. It was crowded and loud and full of locals. Always a good sign. Then I shopped at the Food Desert Mart—er, I mean Dollar General, where they have a section for refrigerated foods emblazoned “Fresh Foods.” This is an excessively generous description for a collection of hot dogs, Hot Pockets, and, um, Meat Lover’s Breakfast Bowls (shudder). I guess if by “fresh” you mean “theoretically capable of spoiling,” then it works.

I’m looking forward to two days off to rest and destroy the protozoa currently trying to colonize my small intestine. Let us rain down destruction on my entire gut microbiome! We can rebuild it after with probiotics. Party’s over, now GTFO!

There’s a scale in the bathroom of my rental. Shall we find out how much weight I’ve lost? Giardia and hiking 470 miles, that’s gotta melt the pounds away, yeah? I lost a grand total of… about four pounds. And that was before any town food. That’s not very much at all. When you don’t lose much weight on trail, it speaks well of your nutrition strategy. And your training beforehand. I guess. Mostly my body has reconfigured itself. I lost a lot of chest definition (on account of not swimming), but that ass! Looking good, Cloud!