Date: 2003-06-11
From: Darlington Shelter

To: Duncannon
Miles today: 12.2
Weather: moderate rain

I'd planned to breeze through Duncannon, picking up my maildrop and having a meal at the infamous Doyle Hotel. After all, Duncannon was only 11.5 miles away.But today was Turnaround's last day on the Trail, and she wanted to celebrate and share a room. Itchy Foot, Crow, Commander in Chief and Just Do It were going in too, and my hair was sticky from sweat. Overnight at the Doyle it was. Plans on the AT are subject to change.Turnaround has walked almost all of the Trail north of Duncannon. She left Springer March 17 this year to knock down the southern half, which she has done in style. Now it's on to Caratunk, ME and up to Katahdin, to summit the final peak - the journey's end.I ask how she would feel if she was doing it all in one pop, and was at the halfway point like most of us. "Oh," she said, making a groan. "My body really feels like it needs rest. I don't know how you guys do it." Me too and me either, but we are, we are...We walk in humid clouds as we drop down from the mountains again and into vast, grassy fields. The light is smoky and gorgeous as it rises above the clouds. As we climb the final ridge before Duncannon, down falls a light rain. The humidity beads on my eyebrows and runs down the sides of my nose and into my eyes. We walk a rocky ridgeline for about two miles. Turnaround warns me not to walk with headphones in the next 100 miles or so. "You'll need to hear the rattlesnakes. They're bad in this section."We think we see the Susquehanna River down below, but it is only a feeder river. The real Susquehanna "looked like the Mississippi to me," said Crow, who came down the final flank into town with us.At the Doyle, Hoser shows us his feet - they are bright red and rubbed raw."They were perfect feet before yesterday," he says. "But the constant muck and the sand went in, no matter what I did - changed socks, washed them out, washed them out again. It has been the worst part of my journey so far."My feet are cracking between the toes, and Commander in Chief suggests I slather them with Bag Balm, a greasy lotion that would act as a water repellent. I'll try anything. If it works for chapped cow teats, why not my waterlogged toes.Do you know it's rained 54 of the last 83 days? Itchy Foot read us this enlightening fact from the local newspaper.The century-old Doyle was once a grand thing, with four floors and a central wooden staircase. Now it has, um, character. But it is clean and the hot water is plentiful.The windows in this old hotel actually open, and there are old- fashioned transoms over everyone's door. There is a large, columned porch on the second floor, and an old bar beneath. It is a noisy town, with trains, motorcycles, lawnmowers, beeping equipment. Electrical lines spaghetti across the streets in a tangle. The houses on Market Street come right up to the road. There is a notable absence of huge, lit modern signs, and the Mobil sign on the edge of town stands out.Inside, Notes the photojournalist sits down on the end of Turnaround's bed to interview her. The old-fashioned iron bed collapses and hits the floor with a crash. Whoa! says Hoser.We all collapse into hysterical laughter, which Notes collects on his tape recorder. Welcome to the Doyle!I'll be sad to see Turnaround go. She has an infectious laugh and a positive attitude. Itchy Foot calls her Happy Face. We'll all miss her good spirits.For her last night with us, we take her out to eat, then stroll down the streets of this small town for ice cream. Who does that anymore? We're all in the air-conditioned house, in front of the TV. The June moon is coming full.