Project Eveningland

5/27/2023 Saturday

When Ben and I talked by phone just before seven PM, I told him that so much had already happened today that I didn’t want anything else interesting to happen.

This morning I woke feeling rested and limber at Bear’s Den hostel, a 1930s architectural folly. It’s a mansion built to look like a castle in the mountains. It’s a lodge now and hiking center. I slept in the little hiker hostel, a spare basement room, bathroom, and hallway. It sleeps ten in five sets of bunks. I got a coveted lower bunk in the little hallway.

I’m trying to eat a gentle diet—or as gentle a diet as one can manage on the trail—to help my GI system not go nuts all the time. I had to eat backpacker food last night and this morning even though I was at a hostel. They had soda but I don’t want soda—too much sugar and acid. Most sodas are caffeinated and I can’t handle that either. They have lemonade—too much acid. They have pizza—too much acid. They have ice cream—that much dairy is too hard on me. Things are improving slowly, but it’s hard to keep the faith sometimes. It’s always one thing or another in my body that needs special attention. It’s hard to begrudge it that—it did hike 22 miles today in 12 hours.

I was out and hiking before 8AM, which I consider respectable and humane. I had five more miles of the rollercoaster to finish. So many rocks! So many day hikers! Some folks stare. Mostly in an admiring way I guess. Or maybe I just look gross.

I had one of the weirdest meetings I’ve ever had on trail today. I met this guy, Possum, who I’ve never met before but who left the exact same day I did and was now standing at the same spot as me after over 1000 miles. He noticed that I was letting my water filter slowly by gravity and not squeezing the bag to speed up the process. He said, “you must be a patient guy.” I’ve never been called patient in my life, thank you very much. But he was making an observation! And doing analysis. I wondered what kind of career he had to be noticing things.

He’s a former nurse from Pittsburgh. Nurses size people up fast. Lives in Squirrel Hill. Had a father who was an English professor (my mother worked as a nurse when I was growing up so it was oddly symmetrical). He also likes to go slow. Prefers to stay near shelters to be near privy in morning (like me). Says he goes slow because one thing or another is always hurting (like me). Had to delay his start because he was waiting on prescription orthotics (that’d be something that could happen to me, probably has). And on and on.

The part of my brain that indexes information and makes connections—it’s a vast network—sent me a little message: improbable number of coincidences; verify story with questions; consider possibility that he is running grift. It was that kind of eerie. But he knew the right details. And so did I. What an enjoyable talk! Here’s an older man, prob retirement age, who doesn’t want to go on and on about himself, or complain, or be grumpy or coarse. He’s looking out at the world and can engage. I sure hope I get to run into him again, if only to compare stories.

Three more thoughts on Possum. 1) He hikes with the same priorities I do. He watches people pass by also—a new crowd every few days. He tries to stay away from the mileage talk also. 2) I feel like I’ve just met another member of a secret fellowship I didn’t know I belonged to. 3) Alternatively, I feel like a sneaky animal that rarely encounters another of its kind. I hope I get the chance to run into him again. Assuming he’s not a hallucination or con man. The trick to avoiding scams, I’m told, is to remind yourself that anyone can be fooled and you are not too smart to be fooled.

There were many enormous root mounds today. I love the way the big roots split, then split again, then split again, until it is a fanning network of stalwart, woody tendrils. I like the way hikers walking over them pound away the dirt and leave the roots looking worn and polished. I love the grand old trees that spring from them.

I think there’re a lot of sassafras trees here. I have low confidence in that identification.

I figured out what the rollercoaster reminds me of. And it’s a rollercoaster, but a specific one at Cedar Point. The Mean Streak. Mom always said riding the grand, wooden, jerky monster of a coaster was a surefire way to mess up your body and she was right. They tore it down I think but it’s the perfect name. Today’s first five miles was a mean, mean streak. I felt relieved when I passed into friendlier terrain, though the rocks came back often.

I ate lunch on a huge log beneath the swaying canopy and dappled light. Shortly after lunch I took a steep downhill side trail—passing a huge trail crew on the way—to a PATC cabin and visitor center. Or something. Lots of historical little buildings. I went down for the spigot and the privy.

At the PATC center a very kind woman offered me soda and some candy (I politely demurred on both). I had entered a wraparound screened-in porch where hikers are allowed to hang out. There were more volunteers. One woman said she’d been spending her Memorial Day weekend doing trail work since the early 1980s(!!![!!!]). We don’t deserve these people. They were all painting parts of the porch a dull reddish brown. The woman refilled my water and asked if I was staying there tonight (and then when I told her I was pushing to Harpers Ferry, asked if I had reservations and a resupply plan). I was touched by her concern, and also wondered if I look very tired.

I climbed back out—bonus miles—and resumed my ridge hike. The early miles had eaten a huge part of the day. It was almost 2PM and I had only done around nine miles. I pushed. Caught up to Possum who must have passed me while I was down at the little PATC compound. Blackburn maybe? Talked to him briefly (he was eating) but I couldn’t linger.

Things got dry. Many miles later I got thirsty enough to start collecting water from a foul little creek draining out of a stagnant pond. Then a ton of tadpoles came into that area. Shit, I’d rather not. So I went on, with less’n a liter for up to 4-6 miles. But there were parking lots. A handsome 20-something with red hair and a short beard was getting stuff out of his trunk and gladly gave me some water. He’s here scouting and practicing before he does a 40 mile challenge (the four state challenge) in a week or maybe longer.

The last six miles were just brutal. Often very rocky, but only for a few stretches. There was easy walking too. I was just so gosh darn sore. I stopped to stretch several times today, and that helped, but my feet especially are just really tired after long miles. The miles never seemed to end. It got closer to 8PM. I took a wrong turn and went really far down a hill before I realized my mistake. It was too overgrown to be right. I’ve been making dumb mistakes lately. I reserved a night to take a day off in Harpers but then forgot to book another night and they were all booked up because it’s a holiday.

I will figure something out. Innkeeper offered me a smaller private room. I got a long winding tour of several narrow, creaky, interconnected buildings. This town is historical AF. The civil war vibes are strong. I have so many historical plaques to read tomorrow!

My creaky old room has shifted out of plumb over many years. The doorframe has a distinctly asymmetrical shape. There are so many layers of paint that the joints seem organic. My bathroom is down the hall.

I rushed to the restaurant next door without a shower on the advice of the innkeeper. She said restaurants close early now even on holidays. I ate at the Rabbit Hole and I think I accidentally ordered something off the kids’ menu. I also ordered a raw veggie platter that inexplicably included blueberries. The meal itself was hot and greasy and carb-y. My stomach had gotten way too empty.

My legs are just bags of lactic acid. Lots of stretching to do tomorrow. And eating. I have a resupply package, which will save me enormous amounts of work.

It may be a while before I get the urge to do a 20+ day again. It may be forever.