Date: 2013-04-30
From: Jerry Cabin Shelter

To: Rector Laurel Road
Miles today: 9.1
Weather: broken clouds

We were motivated to get moving, and set out on the trail excited to put in big miles. It is amazing how rejuvenating a beautiful day is after dealing with the dreary, cold and wet. We were covering miles so easily, just enjoying the weather and the spring blooms. We climbed over a lovely grassy bald, and conquered Big Butt Mountain and still were filled with gusto. We decided it was best to stop for lunch before the biggest climb of our day, which happened to be about nine miles into our hike. We knew there was a parking area, and were trying not to get our hopes too high, but as always wanted some trail magic. The roadside was nothing like I expected, with rolling grassy hills, and blossoming trees surrounding the neat highway running through. Unfortunately there was no trail magic, but I was excited to take a break lounging in the soft grass, eating my lunch. Apparently Dan had a different idea, he insisted that the rolling hills left us with no place to stably set our stove to cook. We came to our stop beside a barbed wire fence, where we could almost see the grassy regions behind us through the trees. I grumbled about Dan's choice as I plopped to the ground. We had acquired this powdered orange drink mix from a hiker box, and the past day and a half I'd replaced the majority of my water intake with it. I was done with the drink, and was blaming a sort of indigestion I was having on this. I figured I needed to eat regardless of these pains I was having, since I hadn't eaten much and had hiked something like nine miles, so I forced down some of the mac and cheese we cooked. Immediately after eating I regretted my decision. As Dan was getting prepared to continue on, I had to confess my stomach woes. Connecting not only his own illness, but also whatever disease we'd heard was running rampant in the area with what I might be healing his response was, "Uh oh, that's not good...not good at all..." I nodded shamefully, not wanting to have the plague I'd been fighting against. Had I not been anal about using hand sanitizer? Had I not insisted that we not stay in shelters? Most of all, I'd avoided all of the privies while Dan had gone ahead against all warnings and used them. I lay there, easing in and out of cramping stomach pains. I'd feel better and start to convince myself it was nothing and then it would cycle back again. I didn't want to stop for the day, and more importantly I didn't want to have to head into town because I was sick. I had started to stand up abruptly when I felt ill, and wander around a moment before returning to rest on my pack. I was in another of these rotations when I knew what was coming, I bent over and heaved up all of my macaroni. Of course I was feeling better after letting out everything that was inside of me, so I figured the best idea was to push on, if anything, there was another road ahead of us shortly. Walking seemed to feel better, or maybe I was convincing myself of that, or trying to. By the time we reached the next roadway, I was ready to throw my pack off. Dan wasn't sure what to do, and the promised water source here was flooded with trash. I sank onto a rock, curled up and hugged myslef as I felt my stomach churning. Dan decided perhaps whoever was living in the house we could see in the distance might be able to drive us into town. He told me to hold tight, and headed down the road. He approached the home in anxiety, broken toys littered the front yard, alongside decaying lumber, but he eyed thentwo vehicles parked out front with hope. He knocked on the door, and the response was an immediate holler, "I'm in the bathroom, come on in!" He froze, refusing to accept the invitation he stood in the doorway and waited. His discomfort was for nothing, the large woman, who had elected not to put on her bra that morning, informed him that neither car out front worked, and town was about seven miles down the road. He walked back, seeming a bit dazed, and awkward from his experience. He kept asking me what he should do, or if I thought this or that was a good idea, and I was certain I didn't know. He was wandering back up the hill now, seeking service for his cell phone to call Miss Janet. When he came back again, I was up and trying to push out the little remains left in my stomach with loud heaves. He had gotten through, but Miss Janet had cut out before he had gotten the number he needed to call for a shuttle. Seeing my condition, he pulled his phone back out and headed back up the hill. I had retaken my huddled position on the rock, and hikers were coming down the path. I watched them cross my path, in good health, and carry off down the trail. I watched through my watery eyes, which had filled with more and more fluid with each heave. Dan came back, good news, we had a ride. The bad news was it wasn't for another hour. My mouth was dry, but I was determined to avoid vomitting in this man's car. Dan spent the hour trying to comfort me as I sat crouched in misery. I was overjoyed, but anxious when our ride showed up. He drove a shiny truck, and we tossed our packs in the back and climbed in. I had prepared for an emergency with a gallon sized ziploc gripped in my palm, and was grateful that Dan had forewarned the man of my current state. The road into town was weaving in and out around the mountains, and the kind driver was frequently apologizing for taking the turns too quickly. I tried to focus on my breathing, but it wasn't long before I interjected his conversation with Dan to plea for him to pull over so I could toss my cookies on the side of the road. I was never so excited to see a cheap motel in my life. Our driver carried my pack in for me, and I weakly thanked him for his troubles. I spent the rest of the evening sipping pediasure and water before finally passing out.