Project Eveningland

5/23/2023 Tuesday

In the morning, my parents drove me from our hotel to Gravel Springs Gap. It cost me $30 to get us into the park, even though they’re just dropping me off and coming right back out again. Today was another “slack pack” day because I’d left much of my gear and a resupply at a hostel in Front Royal where I’m staying tonight.

Mom and Dad awed at the hush of the forest as we entered it by car this morning. Mom played a song about the Shenandoah on her phone. Dad, at the wheel, tried to resist the temptation to gawk at the natural wonders. Some bikers followed our slow van at a respectful distance.

When we arrived at Gravel Springs Gap, I took my parents .3 miles up the trail so they could see an AT shelter in person. They did not get to see the privy but Mom posed for a picture with my pack on (nice and light because my tent and other overnight gear is at the hostel). We had gone south to get to the shelter, so I walked back out with them.

It can be painful to part with loved ones and walk away down the AT. One can be seized by the urge to run after the car, shouting, “take me with you!” And I was. I waved placidly as my parents drove away.

The landscape is gentle here at the northern end of the Shenandoah. Very little elevation change. It’s a good thing too because after just a few miles my lucky foot got irritated. Tendons, muscles, bones, and nerves—the whole thing is sore and stiff. It put a damper on the day because it kept drawing my attention. It’s not unusual for me to have pain like this, especially after a longer break. I used an ankle support for the last ten miles. I will wait and see how it does tomorrow—I have extra food so I can do fewer miles per day as necessary.

Early in the day I took a break to sit on a giant rock and eat a meal replacement bar of a brand (Greenbelly) and flavor (chocolate banana) that I ate often on the Sheltowee Trace in KY, where Trip and I hiked in June 2022. I had found it at the bottom of a box of supplies that my parents brought with them. It’s from 2022 I’m sure. Is it stale? The bar is of a texture that renders the stale/fresh binary nearly meaningless. I’ve been eating lots of meal replacement stuff. I don’t have it in me to seek a higher gustatory plane right now. I’m sad and my food is sad! An ample supply of cheese crisps awaits, however.

Anyway, as I sat eating on the rock, around half a dozen brown centipedes—or are they millipedes?—slowly approached me. One climbed onto a sweatshirt I’d just removed. Others found their way beneath my sitpad. Two of them began discussing continental philosophy. They really are a nuisance.

The trail turned rockier and occasionally marginal as I left the Shenandoah, or at least the park proper. You could feel the change. The trail enters a narrow corridor surrounded by private land. There’re fences and power lines and some buildings visible. Boardwalks traverse a few marshy sections.

So what did I find in the Shenandoah? Solitude, centipedes, wildflowers, birdsong, bold mice, dead deer. Huge campgrounds. Day hikers who smelled of laundry and deodorant. Pain. Dry stretches. Green abundance. Rocky balconies from which to regard the orderly human settlements far below.

If you look up at the hills from far away, they seem perfect. Up close they are messy and overgrown, with spiderwebs and occasional rocky nonsense to contend with. The tulip poplars, though, are grand at a distance or up close. Their bulk and height dwarf and tower, respectively.

Tonight I’m sleeping in the basement of a very old house. It’s a B&B and a hostel. The grounds include old slave quarters. The front part of the main house was built in 1847 and seems a fitting setting for a seance, if I believed in that sort of thing, which I don’t. Not even a little.

My room wasn’t always a spare basement bedroom. According to the history I read in the binder on the nightstand, it may have once been the house’s dining room. Further, it didn’t used to be the basement: “although it is now partially underground, it wasn’t always so…” the binder says. The door to a half bath off the room used to open to the outside, though it’s hard to imagine how. I guess the house has settled into its surroundings. As we all must.