Date: 2004-04-04
From: Georgia

To: Maine
Miles today: 13.0
Weather: overcast clouds

Fontana DamMile 167Dinner tonight consists of tree bark shavings, hapless hibernatingcicada pupa (and a good a bit of the dirt I dug em out of), eye ofgnute, hearts of pine cone, oh and of course granola. Actually thereal ingredients are not much better. I started, as I often do fordinner, with a scant two tablespoons of rice in a cup and half ofwater. Chopped in one clove of garlic and diced up a handful of thosebaby carrots that keep so well in an unrefridgerated pack, then camecurry spice, pepper and a wink of salt. Surveying what all I have toeat over the coming week (all of it fitting in a nylon sack no biggerthan a lady's large-sized purse) I foraged for some dried berries -cranberries, raisins, blueberries & I think even one strawberry got inthere. Threw them in the pot. Then there's the teenie dope-like halfbaggie of smoked salmon jerky that I hoard like a squirrel onmethamphetamine. Crumbled a bit of that in there. Then went some soynuts, some sunflower and pumpkin seeds, and a bit of kamut to thickenit up. More water to make it go a little farther. And that's it. That's dinner out here on the trail for your author and friend. Actually, today that's dinner at the so-called "Fontana Hilton" akindof hopped-up big budget version of the usual rangy old sheltersfound along the trail. The "Hilton" overlooks LakeWhatever-you-call-it, probably Fontana and is full of all the amenitiesof an interstate rest stop, things like concrete picnic tables andtrash bins and a water fountain, simple things the Dam-visiting publiccome to expect but that we, the few, the proud, the AT thruhikers, findever-increasingly odd and alien and, well.. plush. I have to laugh atthe sign at the top of the road leading down here from the Dam:"Shelter 300 yards: Hikers Only." I feel like royalty.I say all this with surprising good spirits considering that myintroduction to Fontana Damn.. er, Dam, was hardly pleasant includingone more meal of humble pie, a brief fit of paranoia and theexpenditure of my very last dollar bill. The latter came first when Iexcitedly spent my last dollar on the $1 shuttle from the trailhead 2or 3 miles into town for a motel room and an ATM. A pick-it-up anddial zero airport-like convenience telephone at the trailhead made thiswonderfully simple and seemed to bode well. But I've had trouble withmy credit card already on this trip, and although I knew a few hundredbucks had been deposited into my account three or four days back, Istill went forth with apprehension. And sure enough I was turned awayat the Fontana Inn for insufficient funds. Embarrassed and upset, Ifumbled for small change in the various folds of my pack. Trouble is,constant "weight checks" on the pack had me fully aware of everythingthat was and wasn't in the pack, and I knew thus that very littlechange, if any, was. I managed to scrounge 75 cents and asked shuttledriver Laurie to take me back to the Dam. She kindly did. At thephone I used my calling card, only to learn that I had perhaps twocalls before it, too, ran out. I chose to call Rocky, my pillar ofstrength and optimism in the West, and keeper of a small stash ofbackup money for me in cases of emergency. Standing there alone on thedead-vacant Fontana Dam with not a thruhiker in sight and no one elseto boot, penniless and quite suddenly aware of how very far from home Iam, I pressed the emergency button. He wasn't home, but I left amessage: please send cash asap, 911, to me c/o General Delivery, HotSprings, NC, etc, etc. Then I called Paypal, keeper of my one sacredpiece of plastic money. Turns out it was just a matter of checkingaccount monies clearing in time, or not in time as the case is. The7th they told me. Okay. Today is the 5th. Tomorrow I walk into theGreat Smokey Mountain Wilderness not to reappear again for a week. Andstanding there, penniless and thousands of miles from home with nohope of money for a week, I realized that it just didn't matter. Iwould simply walk into the woods again. I'd light my stove, roll outmy bag, and live again as a king. -RSM **For the full story of Rick's journey - visit Jigglebox.com**