Project Eveningland

5/2/2023 Tuesday

Last night was a cold one! The temps were within the comfort range of my summer bag, but the winds made it a little dicey. I don’t think a warmer bag would have helped much because that wasn’t the root cause of my chill.

The problem was that I didn’t eat enough last night. I could feel that I hadn’t eaten enough, but I’d eaten all I could. I woke up shivering in the bag this morning thinking, well, there’s no path toward real warmth except going into the wind to get my food from the bear box. Wedge headed out early to warm up.

It took a while to hike down far enough to feel warm again. To get back to spring again.

The plan today was to walk to the bridge over the James River—the longest pedestrian footbridge on the AT, according to the app. The hostel will pick you up there and they advise you to call from a trail junction five miles up, the last place where reliable cell service can be had.

But first, some ups and downs. I looked ahead through openings in the trees. The tallest mountains are the ones the trail will ascend and descend, directly. I don’t need to look at a book or an app to know. It is the way of the AT.

But overall it was a pleasant, relaxing day. Fascinating water features on trail. The shelter had a pooling spring in front of it. I tried to imagine the person who had first found it. Pre-Colombian discovery? Seems possible. You’d really have to know how to read the landscape. There were a few other pooling springs. And a creek which seemed to emerge from nothing, cross the trail, and promptly disappear beneath the rocks again. It could be heard below but not seen.

I reached what I thought was the junction that I was supposed to call from. (It was the wrong one, but things worked out OK). I stopped there for lunch and had a long chat with Mom. I’ve been thinking about two AT aphorisms.

The first aphorism is a long one: the first 700 miles are for your body; the second 700 are for your mind; the last 700 are for your soul. Or something like that. The AT is 2200 miles long. Dunno what the extra 100 left over is for—the bowels maybe? That saying has been on my mind because with these new shoes, I’ve been feeling a bit stronger. I remembered too something Trip once said. It was to the effect of there being a deeper kind of trail legs that don’t kick in until the 700-800s. Why not? It’s something optimistic to think about.

The second aphorism: listen to your body. I once heard these words spoken by someone whose hiking had long impressed me, though it came out “listen to your bawdy” because he has a wonderful yinzer accent. I thought, that guy wouldn’t know a message from his body if it came by certified mail. He really meant, if the pain gets too bad, it’s morally acceptable (but only just) to stop or slow down. I’m seeking to hear a subtler set of messages. That dry feeling in my mouth means drink now, not in two miles. The tired feeling means take a break now, not rush into town. I have to listen carefully. I can’t hear if there’s too much noise and hurry.

I’m quite glad I didn’t rush into town, because the walk to the pickup point for Glasgow was stunning. The last few miles follow a rushing creek with deep, clear pools hidden among roots and rocks. There were waterfalls cascading down huge boulders, each one a vertical forest. The creek then joins a big river. The footbridge across it was a marvel—what an accomplishment to have built that whole bridge across the James just for foot traffic. I stood and stared into the rushing brown waters and contemplated how much work it would take to get across the river without the bridge.

The car ride to the hostel was rough on my motion sickness. The only hostel in town is packed to the gills and then some. People are working very hard to be patient. I’m waiting on a shower and laundry—there’s a list.

I’m sleeping in a tiny bedroom with four other people. It’s just filled with bunks. There’s only one bathroom for the whole place and the laundry dryer may be caput. There are at least four dogs staying here. It’s par for the course. There’s nowhere else to stay in Glasgow. The city provides a free shelter but shelters in or near towns have never seemed safe to me.

Honestly it’s fine. We are lucky to have any place to stay in such a rural area. I’m gonna stay here tomorrow and do a slow resupply for the next leg.

This isn’t the softest mattress I’ve ever slept on. Actually it may be among the least soft in the world. I wish there were a quieter place for me to rest but there just isn’t.

I walked down to the pizza place (only restaurant in town I think) and ate in a daze. I’m feeling vulnerable tonight. It’s OK to feel vulnerable. It is kin to humility. And it happens in town sometimes. People in Glasgow have been patient and kind.