Date: 2011-05-23
From: 4.9 miles past Rock Spring Hut

To: 0.6 miles after Gravel Springs Hut
Miles today: 24.1
Weather: clear sky

(In which I tent off the trail for a fourth straight night)The rain eventually comes, but not before the clouds give a heat lightning show, silent flashes illuminating the landscape. My tent is set up under a pine tree, and when it does start to rain the boughs of the tree stop most of the rain, letting only a few light drops through, and I decide that trees are really some of the nicer tent rain flies.We both wake up before six, pack up and start hiking at seven, before the resort hikers appear. The morning hike takes us up a mountain and gives us a view, the best so far in he park, of the cloud filled valley below. Already impressed, we round a bend to see clouds flowing off a nearby peak and rolling over the parkway. It's one of the unexpected, special moments that makes hiking so rewarding, and River Rat and I stop and stare, amazed at our luck in being at the right part of the trail at the right time of early morning.Neither of us have quite enough food to get to Harpers Ferry and River Rat doesn't care for the camp store prices or selection, so we decide to hitch in to the town of Luray for a light resupply and lunch. The road isn't very well traveled on a Monday morning, but River Rat's magic thumb works its wonders again and in a few minutes we're riding down to WalMart. In addition to food, I pick up new headlamp batteries and a new, brighter but heavier headlamp to try as well. A Taco Bell / Pizza Hut Express serves as lunch, and then River Rat's thumb whisks us back to the trail, the entire town stop having taken less than two hours.The short stop means that we reach the second-to-last wayside in the park before 5pm. Having hiked ahead, I arrive just before a brief but powerful downpour, and watch dry from inside as River Rat and German Shepherd run soaked to wait under the bathroom building's open but roofed area. Eagle and two section hikers sit with them in the shelter from the rain, and when it has relaxed to a drizzle I stroll over, still dry and with my blackberry milkshake in hand. In a matter of minutes the sun comes out and it becomes a beautiful day once again.Eagle, who was at the shelter with Notamoose that we stopped at for dinner at last night, caught up by walking on the road rather than on the trail for most of the day. On sections of the trail this would be a maneuver designed only to save time, skipping potentially scenic trail for the flat monotony of black pavement, but in the Shenandoahs this move makes perfect sense. The park is, I have come to understand, far more scenic and interesting by the roads than by the trail. Other than the availability of food and the one view this morning, the Shenandoahs have been, from the trail, the single least scenic and interesting part of the entire long state of Virginia. It baffles the mind to think why there would be a national park here and not anywhere else in Virginia, until you step on Skyline Drive, which seems as picturesque and open as the trail through the Shenandoahs is dull and viewless. The only way to fully appreciate the park is from the road, and I envy Eagle's roadwalk. Only the prideful, personal-challenge part of my motivation prevents me from following suit.Having not had easy access in the Waynesboro hostel, my clothes are beginning to smell. I use the wayside break to wash my socks, the most critical pieces of clothing, in the bathroom sink, letting them dry outside in the sun as I wait for my iPod to charge. Two tourists sit at a nearby picnic table, and I watch and listen as Eagle, German Shepherd and River Rat tell them stories. In the tourists eyes they become adventurers, wild and fearless with unbelievable tales from months in the wilderness. I listen to the stories I've heard several times by now, noticing how their telling has been improved and embellished over time. The three hikers have grown in to their role as storytellers, which is, perhaps, one of the values that thru-hikers bring to the rest of society. To live among nature for months at a time is good, but to bring back and tell good stories, the wilder the better, gives others hope that somewhere another world and another type of life can still exist.The wayside stop is restful, but leaving after 6pm I have to hike at a quick pace to make it the six miles to the next shelter. When I arrive at the shelter, River Rat and Eagle, who had not yet left the wayside when I did, are already there with their tents setup. "Didn't you see us pass you?" they joke, and I play along, finding that I don't mind their presumed yellow blazing, even though it means that they grabbed the last available tenting spots by the full shelter.The tenting spots they took were rocky and wet anyway, so rather than try to tent at a new and even worse site nearby, I decide to go back to the AT and look for a spot off the trail. Eagle's tent spot is bad enough that he decides to follow me, and after walking a half mile in the fading dusk, we both find decent spots well off the trail. I'm glad for the powerful beam of my new WalMart headlamp as I set up my tent and hang my food and Eagle's. I marvel that I've done more dispersed camping in the Shenandoahs, despite their tenting restrictions, than I have for the whole rest of the trail combined, and that tomorrow I will leave the park without ever having stayed at or tented near an official hut or campground.