Date: 2017-04-11
From: Stealth camping, last time in Tennessee

To: Campsite about 5 miles beyond Damascus, S. Virgini
Miles today: 20.9
Weather: scattered clouds

When I get out on the trail each morning now, there's a period of assessment. I liken it to one of those Star Trek episodes when, after a Klingon attack the day before on the good old NCC-1701, Kirk bounds onto the flight deck after a good night's sleep, and calls up Scotty. "Scotty, status update?" "Aye, cap'n, well mysel' and the rest of the folk in Engineering have been up all night doing what repairs we can. Ah can confirm that the left foot second toe is no givin' any problems. The left Achilles and calf seem to be back to normal. The left quad, well we've patched it up as best we can, but..." "Yes, Scotty, and status on knees?" "Och, they're the least of the problems we're dealin' wi' down here. There's a wee bit of cavitation from the upper flexor on the left foot, but I think we can safely come up to Warp 5 from impulse power but only if you need it. Anything above 5 and you may be pushin' us beyond safety levels." So it goes. I hike on. Of course, invariably one or more of the starship Enterprise's engine parts breaks down in the course of the day and starts calling for Doctor McCoy. I am always amazed at the recuperative and restorative capabilities of my body after a good night's sleep, aided by Ibuprofen. Today was a milestone day. For one thing, I have now spent an entire month - 31 days - on the trail. And I crossed from Tennessee into Virginia. From now on, the AT is always definitively in one state (or commonwealth), leaves it behind to go to a new state, and doesn't inflict the North Carolina/Tennessee back-and-forth ambivalence on us again. I was on the trail at 8.00am. I would have been a little earlier, but finally it happened - I could not find where I'd hung my food bag. In the late evening, it seemed obvious, but then you wake up, and all trees look similar, and did you go east last night or was it west? I eventually found it of course. On other nights I've actually dragged dead trees in line to form a pointer to where my bag is hung, but I didn't do that last night. I had run out of water last night, but less than 200 yards on from my campsite was a road crossing and a stream. I was filling my Hydrapak when Redleg arrived, having done three miles in less than an hour to catch me. He's an ex-Army vet who did two tours in Iraq, once as invader, second as occupier. When I commented on his speed, he attributed it to his years carrying 100 lbs of body armor plus a 12.5 lb rifle, and several lbs of ammo, grenades, first aid, and assorted manuals. So a 30-lb pack is a breeze for him. I suppose I have to join the army. I quickly told him I was not able to keep up with him, and let him motor off. Several miles later, I came around a bend and there he was. This time I made a manful effort to stay with him, had to admit defeat, and then rue the attempt as Scotty reported major issues in the quadriceps. I limped across the state line into Virginia and made it to Damascus about three miles later. In short order I (a) resupplied on food at Dollar General; (b) visited two outfitters who, contrary to trail wisdom, would not swap out my large-frame backpack for a small-frame which would suit me;   (c) eventually found a drug store selling hand sanitizer; and (d) dined at Mojo's where I ordered the 8-oz hamburger and, when I'd finished it, ordered and ate a second (Bubblehead, please note!). Plus I had four Mason jars of their house lemonade. I also ran into Redleg reclining on the porch of a hostel, quaffing bourbon. He had told me that when he leaves a town, he always packs out five plastic pint bottles of his favorite tipple. Which reminds me - one outfitter, learning I was Irish, and as I was the only customer in the store, reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle of local moonshine, which he forced me to drink from. Twice. I escaped, but I did think when I was back on the trail that I should have bargained for the bottle. It was good stuff. I climbed out of town, my pack freighted down again with lots of food and water. I was amazed when, at Moonshine Man's store, he weighed my pack and it came in at 32 lbs (before I added about 4 liters of water at a spring outside town). I thought it would be more. Out on the trail, at precisely the point I had planned to begin looking for a place to camp, a footbridge had been washed away and the detour was very poorly blazed. I opted to ford the river and continue on the old trail. Of course my guide book and trail app were no help in finding a campsite since I was on the 2016 trail, it was getting dark, and then I came upon a teacher and his group of boarding school students who pointed me in the right direction and suggested a great campsite by the river. So here I am, having set up camp in the dark, bathed in the river, and downing my trail magic bourbon from a couple of days ago. Ahh. Not bad. Tipperary