Date: 2018-06-21
From: Pedlar's River bridge

To: Buena Vista
Miles today: 6.8
Weather: overcast clouds

A fierce thunderstorm blew in around 11 last night and poured buckets for over an hour. I had to quickly close the flaps on the rainfly which I'd left open for circulation. I find out this morning though that I hadn't closed the flap over my pack properly so it is now nice and wet. So too is the food bag I hung, which for some reason I thought was waterproof. Nope!I pull on my damp hiking clothes reluctantly, but truth is my sleeping clothes hardly feel any dryer. Goes without saying my socks and shoes are as wet as when I took them off. Plus with runoff pouring under the tent (ground looked flat last night!), the footprint and bottom of the tent are wet along with the fly. So pretty much everything is wet and I'm in no mood to sit on a damp rock and cook oatmeal while the bees divebomb me. I hike out over the Pedlar's River footbridge.There's a hammock strung underneath the far end. No doubt it's one of the several hikers who walked through after dark last night before the storm. Glad they weren't caught in that.The seven miles to route 60 are relatively flat, except the last two miles after Brown Mountain Creek shelter which rise 700 feet to the road on it's way to 4059-foot Bald Knob. Brown Mountain Creek used to hold an old ex-slave community of sharecroppers, according to historical interpretation signs (these are highly unusual for being so far from any touristy trailhead). Ninety years later it's a dense second-growth forest with no visible trace of a settlement under all the foliage.It's the first day of summer, which means it's Naked Hiking Day. I feel no need to try it this year. It'd be great to get these sticky clothes away from my body, but the pack is just as bad. Plus I'd have to put all those damp clothes on again later and the transition is the toughest part.So at route 60 I'm determined to get into the town of Buena Vista to dry off, do laundry, eat, and shower if possible. Otherwise I'll be miserable for the next three days til I reach Waynesboro. I plan to return to the trail this afternoon and continue over Bald Knob.It's over 9 miles to town on a narrow winding mountain highway with tractor-trailer traffic, and of course there's no cell service to call for a ride. I haven't had service since leaving Glasgow. So a hitch is necessary. I was warned route 60 would be a hard hitch because there's nowhere to turn off. But that's not the case. There's a pull off right at the trailhead on the west-bound side (towards town) perfect for pulling over. There's even an overlook with a picnic table and loop for parking. It should be ideal. But the reason it's a hard hitch is because no one stops! In every state I'm told how wonderful the people are and how they are happy to give hikers a ride. Virginia is so much better than further south everyone tells me! But I stand there looking as pathetic and non-threatening as possible for well over an hour and 36 cars go by towards town (yes, I counted). Logging trucks, dump trucks, pickups, contractors, family cars, SUVs, and coupes. Not a one even slows down. It's the top of a steep hill so it's either a truck coming up in low gear followed by impatient drivers, or it's someone zooming through with barely a passing glance. There's a gravel road that enters on the south side, and even though I catch the eye and even talk with a couple drivers waiting to turn out, they blow me off. Then there's the utility contractor who parks in the overlook loop behind where I'm hitching. He takes the cake. He's a fiftyish good-ol-boy type from Florida missing some teeth and common decency. He pulls up in his truck five minutes after I get there. When I offer gas money for a ride he tells me he's got no room, motioning to the trash sitting in the passenger seat. He asks if I'm out of gas or sumpthin'. Since I'm clearly wearing an enormous backpack and there is no other car in sight I realize I'm dealing with someone unfamiliar with hiking and possibly not the sharpest tool in the shed. After a brief explanation of my situation I leave him be as he fiddles with his phone. But an hour later with no other bites I approach him again to ask if he has cell service so I can call a taxi (hint hint). He's snoozing. I wake him all friendly like. No service, he says. Sure I can't pay you for a ride? He's already told me he's going to Lexington to meet other contractors so I know I'm right on his way. Sorry, bub, he only got two and a half hours sleep last night, doesn't know where his buddies are, needs to get to a place where he can call them, blah, blah, give me a break. I figured out you were a jerk long ago, no need to provide more evidence. So I decide to hoof it into town. Yikes! Yes, I am that wet and miserable. But it's mostly downhill, right? I can do 9+ miles in under 3 hours on pavement. Well, that may be okay on a jogging path but dodging trucks and crossing the road every time there's a blind curve ahead is no fun. But at least I'm getting somewhere! I pass a few homes and wonder if I were to stop to ask to use their phone would they call the police on me? I'm too frustrated to even try. But hey, guess who passes me about two miles down? Yep, Mr. No-Sleep-No-Service-No-Room himself. Guess he woke up.I get about three miles down in an hour with six more to go. Then a lifeline appears in the form of a red sports car. It pulls off at a gravel driveway ahead and I figure he's visiting the house, but then he rolls down the window and asks if I'm going to town! Why, ye-es! Yes I am! It's Eric Templin, a local hiker. It's his day off and he was on his way to see if anyone needed a lift at the trailhead. I very gratefully jump in as we zoom down to Buena Vista. Eric is a 44-year-old vet on a pension who plans to thruhike as soon as he can pull it together. His cherry red sports car is spotless and would struggle to fit more than one passenger, let alone their packs. Yet here he is anyway.Once again I've found that hikers mostly get hitches from other hikers, not from random locals, no matter how "hiker-friendly" the area is. I've found this personally in Great Barrington, Manchester, Hanover, Gorham, Monson, Millinocket, and now Buena Vista. Only once have I ever gotten a hitch from a non-hiker, and that was in the heart of the White Mountains at Crawford Notch (even there my return hitch was another hiker). I guess it's difficult to appreciate someone's predicament if you've never been there yourself. So when people tell you it's easy to get a hitch at such-and-such a place, ask them if they've personally gotten one and who picked them up. More than likely it's a hiker or someone who knows one, or they're just passing along what someone else told them.Eric, my trail angel for this trip, drops me at the Budget Inn and reluctantly takes gas money. It's taken almost three hours to reach town so I've decided to make this a Nero (near zero mile) day and stay overnight. No one's at the front desk. I call their number and a tired voice says she has a smoking room. No non-smoking? Sorry, I won't get to cleaning them today - too tired! I traipse over to look at the smoking room. The owner, an older Indian woman, meets me. I reluctantly accept the room given no other option, but then plead again for non-smoking, I just need some sheets and towels, don't worry about cleaning! She relents and fixes one up for me that another hiker (thankfully a neat one) just vacated. It's clean enough for me. What I really need is the air conditioning anyway. She is her own maid, she tells me, because no one in town is willing to work hard and clean the rooms properly. Plus people want to be paid cash so they can keep their government benefits. She will sell the place and get out of town as soon as she can find a buyer. It is one of only two motels in the area, and closest to town, yet it is dilapidated and has far more rooms than there seems demand for. She is used to hikers though, and there is even a hiker box.After taking a much-needed shower (Eric kindly reminded me I stink), and laying everything I own out to dry, I grab my laundry and walk the mile to the laundromat. Since it's far from the motel I'm out for the rest of the afternoon. I end up with twenty dollars worth of quarters at the laundromat thanks to giving my last small bill for gas money. But I'm fortunate to unload most of them on another patron headed for the change machine later. While the laundry churns I walk over to the small library in the old Main Street part of town. There is not much in town outside of a few school and community buildings, convenience stores, and a few mom-and-pop restaurants. One of them, Don Tequila's Authentic Mexican, hits the spot. It's a popular place for families at the dinner hour. I order an ungodly amount of food that requires two plates for only eleven dollars and eat it all while I watch Austria and Denmark try fruitlessly to break a 1-1 tie in the World Cup. My body was craving something smothered in cheese and it certainly got it. The Chile Pellena (cheese-stuffed hot pepper) was excellent if you ever get the chance.While the laundry spun I replanned the last two days of this trip. I've come 79 miles since Daleville three days ago. I won't make it to Black Rock Gap, which is 75 miles away, but I knew that from the first day when the humidity started melting me. I won't push for Rockfish Gap (Waynesboro) either which would require 55 miles in two days. There are major climbs and descents ahead. So I set my sights on Reed's Gap, 36 miles out, and arrange a shuttle for Saturday afternoon back to Waynesboro to get my car. I'll knock out the toughest terrain around the Priest now, and come back some other time for a couple easy days to finish the 39 miles around Waynesboro.Now I just need to find a way back to the trail tomorrow...Safe, cool, and dry at last on the Appalachian Trail!