Date: 2019-04-11
From: Walnut Mountain shelter

To: Hot Springs
Miles today: 13.1
Weather: overcast clouds

It's very windy overnight, high on Walnut Mountain. The shelter has lots of cracks so the wind cuts right through. I'm up early. The dogs stir in Bernard's sleeping bag. Clammy pokes his head in to say he's hiking out already. I follow soon, foregoing hot breakfast (no fuel anyway). It's 13 miles to Hot Springs. I cover it in four hours, mostly downhill, but starting with a 1000 foot climb up Bluff Mountain. The trail since the Smokies has been beautifully well-maintained. Few blowdowns, eroded trail, or rocky sections. As if to prove the point I run across Joe Myers, a volunteer with the Carolina Mountain Club, removing invasive plants along the trail. The morning is clear and warm and makes for a pleasant hike. I've gotten tan lines on my hands from my trekking pole straps thanks to two days of sun. I pass a few stealth campers. Mark, a thin middle-aged thruhiker who needs a trail name. J-stroke, who hiked out of the shelter just before dark to meet his friend hiking up from Hot Springs who didn't get as far as he hoped.I catch up with Energizer Turtle, the Quebecois. He grew up speaking French but sounds like he's a native English-speaker. He credits watching lots of Seinfeld and Friends. He has traveled the 3 winter months each year for 24 years. For his 25th adventure, a thruhike, he started on his 50th birthday and will take as long as needed.Further on is Andrew, who is unhappy with his trail name Doctor Farts, given by his friend Puke-y. I sense a pattern. He's a plasma cutter with Hypertherm in Lebanon NH, near Dartmouth where I attended freshman year. He's looking to move to Asheville to escape the winters.Soon the Broad French River valley appears below through the trees, dotted with farms. Rounding the hill, I see Hot Springs below, still 30 minutes away. Sounds waft up - barking dogs, lawnmowers, voices, chimes. It feels good to be walking towards town.At the trailhead I shouldn't be surprised to see Crazy Korean and Guardian of the Vortex greeting hikers and passing out PBRs. It's the fourth time I've seen them in as many days. Apparently there was another gathering on Max Patch last night, a little wilder than ours with a younger crowd. But I bet they didn't have a blue man. Ha!The Laughing Heart Hostel is right here and Tigger, a graying, cheerful woman shows me around. Shower and laundry are first on the agenda. Sea Legs just checked in and I piggyback on his laundry load while we sit around and, uh, drink beer. Sensing another theme here. Tripod is here, along with an Oklahoman named Tulsa Time, a vaguely Asian-looking small guy named Spruce Lee and his wife Shiitake (as in "she-tawkie-a-lot", named by her husband). Indeed she does.Time for lunch at 2pm. I haven't eaten anything since sirloin last night (poor hiker!) The Smoky Mountain Diner has the cure. A 12oz burger with a pile of tater tots. Clammy and Fast Lane opt for the 20oz monster instead. I am, however, able to walk afterwards, a definite advantage.Hot Springs is small, three or four blocks in the downtown. We walk to the river, crossing railroad tracks. Blue Eyes is walking towards us, tenting just north of town on the other side of the river to eliminate lodging costs. The Hot Springs Resort and Spa is by the river. Tripod plans to soak in the hot mineral springs. I agree to join him. But first we have to go get, um, beer, oddly enough at the tobacco shop. It's a very relaxing hour-long soak in 104-degree water piped from the natural spring into a whirpool tub in the open air. I get a little muscle massage from the jets and feel very relaxed afterwards.The town is so small that everywhere I look I see hikers I know. Tiny is walking to dinner at Iron Horse, Energizer Turtle is chatting on his phone at the Welcome Center, two guys who gave us trail magic yesterday are eating on the deck of the Spring Creek Tavern. Crazy Korean and Granite are hanging out on a porch. No one has seen my tramily so I walk the mile to the hostel. No sign of them. Womble and Morph think they went to get a burger. Mark is here, and conveys a message that they went to Room 2 and I would know what that means. Huh? Then I realize they went to the Alpine Court Motel where Scrub-a-Dub and Go-Gurt are staying. I walk back to town. Knock on door #2. No answer, but door #1 opens briefly and slams shut. Okay, then on to the Tavern instead. Clammy has been eyeing their wood-fired pizza oven for the last two days.Sure enough they're all here along with Puke-y, Doctor Farts, Yellow jacket, Food Truck, and soon Guardian, Crazy Korean, and Granite. I get the pizza, and it's just how I like it - thin crust, lots of cheese, and molten hot. But no beer. Enough for one day. Doc Farts gets a new name - Bash. Some Oregon Mighty Ducks reference. We hit Dollar General on the way back for dessert. There's a campfire outside the hostel when we return. A perfect log cabin-style fire courtesy of Spruce Lee. Aquaman is here. He fell in a creek trying to take a picture and UNICEF, master namer, baptised him. He's a muscled tattooed guy, but doesn't quite like the name. He wants it to be more organic, and is willing to wait 1600 miles to get the right name. To each his own.Tomorrow was supposed to be a zero day. I've already arranged to stay at Elmer's Sunnybank Inn tomorrow night, where the owner is renowned for his gourmet vegetarian meals. And I'll be staying in Room 4, where the first thruhiker Earl Schaffer stayed during his 1948 thruhike. The guys are now talking about hiking a few miles out of town. That's not how I roll! Either I'm in town (eating), or I'm twenty miles down trail, getting closer to the next town. Hey, I y'am who's I y'am, as the great philosopher Popeye once said.