Date: 2009-05-20
From: Maupin Field Shelter

To: Waynesboro
Miles today: 20.8
Weather: clear sky

Angels And Priests   It has been a Longhaul (a shout out to you my friend, hope you are hale and back on the trail) since Damascus. That was the last time that I was able to procure an internet connection for long enough to let all of you know how I have been doing. At that time I had just returned from a weekend in Maryland with Terri where I enjoyed fine weather for the first time in too long. That day bordered on sweltering and an after noon start did nothing to get me back into the groove. That day ended at the shelter with the Lorax Privy. Somebody had written out a majority of Dr. Seuss¢ Lorax (one of my favorite stories) on the walls. I must return with a marker and finish the job someday.    Terri¢s benevolence held for a few days and I was granted a period of grace. I passed over Whitetop on a gorgeous day and as I readied for lunch Topo reminded me that the side trail to Mt. Rogers, Virginia¢s tallest peak, was coming up. Hark back to him that we had done that two years ago when TMax and I accompanied Dawn (M&M) on her thru-hike, he chided me that I had dropped pack, and him with it before we had headed up. Not wanting to disappoint my good buddy a second time (he is at times the only thing keeping me from losing it during the long streak of bad weather), I dropped pack again, but clipped him to my belt and made the short side trip. When we arrived at the shelter for lunch soon afterward, there were two of the wild ponies that the Grayson Highlands are known for waiting for us. After a long lunch on a sunny afternoon, we encountered two dozen or more of the feral creatures before the day was through.    While my experience with trail magic before Virginia was marginal at best, things started to look brighter. The day after the ponies, I crossed a stream that held some bananas and oranges in its wake. Liberating a banana and gingerly securing it for a later date, I headed on up the trail. Lunch that day brought me into contact with Madelyn, a retired school teacher who has done more living in the last ten years than most do in their lives. She has run a marathon on every continent and topped out five of the seven summits, excluding one of the polar ones and the biggie. Not bad for someone who started adventuring at the age of 55. She was a great influence on all of us, especially the four young ladies (Newt, Miss Scarlet, Squeegee, and Rapunzel (chase that astrophysics degree girl!) who held close to her every tale. It was no matter that a torrential downpour visited me for well over an hour on my afternoon walk.    I had planned on doing some major miles for a few days, but the girls talked me into a ten-miler the next day, so we all ended up at the Partnership shelter where two dozen of us or so ordered at least a score of pizzas in an attempt to satiate ourselves for at least an evening. Needless to say, I also ordered a dessert pie (which I shared with the young ladies), since gluttony is not only accepted out her on the trail, but encouraged! The shelter is a large one with a shower, so the only smell to contend with was the gassiness from all the extra toppings. As I went to sleep there seemed to be enough room on the second floor of the shelter, but in the middle of the night I half awoke, and upon stretching encountered something strange. Looking up I saw that now there were bodies not only on either side of the upper loft, but a few that were strewn out down the middle between. What I had in hand was another hiker¢s bicep, which upon realizing the situation and becoming more coherent, I relinquished. In the morning it was a zoo trying to pack up in the press of bodies. Thankfully I was one of the first out.    From Partnership to Pearisburg, a distance of barely under a hundred miles, I covered in four days. In Atkins I stopped for lunch and had an exquisite burger and piece of chocolate pie for lunch, before paying 69 cents apiece for Ramen noodles at the only store nearby to bolster my food supply. By the time I arrived at the Knot Maul shelter, I was surprised to find that I had climbed 5500 feet that day. It was the easiest mile into the sky I have ever had. In fact I had three straight days of 5000+ feet, and a week where I averaged 4935 per day. Just before you enter Pearisburg, there is last vista called Angels Rest. It is a fine view, but the fun came as I started down. It dropped. And dropped. And kept dropping. Soon my feet fell into their mystical rhythm and before I knew it Johnny (my wrist computer) shown that I was approaching a hundred feet per minute in descent. Even on my best days in the Dacks it was hard to get past eighty feet. I kept my attention on the terrain, while sneaking a peak whenever I could at my wrist. Pounding away, I noticed 97, then before long an even hundred. It was the first time I saw that number when I was descending on two feet (as opposed to my ass, or back, or stomach down snow). Riding the breaks as hard and as delicate as I could, I hit 100 three times before the terrain allowed for the untenable switchbacks to crop up. I was now 800 feet below where I had started, and I had gotten there in eleven minutes. I was impressed. Before hitting bottom, Johnny even read 80 feet one last time, putting a final smile on my face.    When I arrived in town, I went looking for the church hostel (many hostels are run by churches, they are not pushy or do they usually demand payment for a first nights stay, but a donation to the donation box is always gladly accepted) which was 2.9 miles away. Halfway there I encountered a pleasant couple, one that reminded me of Terri and myself a bit, who were not only glad to answer questions, but Kathy also ordered Toby to drive me first to get something to eat, then to make sure I made it to the hostel and that they were indeed open (it was the fourth, and they had begun accepting guests the first).   This he did with a smile, but seeing that he was a bit deaf, I had to make sure to speak clear and loud. The hostel was a wonderful old barn with a perfect view from the porch. My only regret was not wearing my legs when I wandered off the third of a mile through the field to WallyWorld. On the way I hit a thicket that really did me in with numerous scratches. I did procure a Sony Walkman that day, which surprisingly picks up many an NPR station a fair percentage of the time, helping on the gloomier walks through the haze. The only bummer was the three mile walk out of town did not count towards my total. I must also say that going over those four hills in two miles or so upon leaving town, only to find myself at the same elevation as an hour earlier and less than a half-mile down the road from where I started was puzzling, but those things are starting to vex me less, since a lot of this trail makes little sense to one who is used to the no nonsense ¢here to there¢ trails found in the Dacks.   That night I ended up at a shelter that unbeknownst to me was very close to a road. I was informed by a drunken woman that she did not want me stepping on her sleeping bag when I climbed to the top bunk. It seemed the night before she encountered a man who not only trampled her bag, but had the audacity to snore and fart all night long. I guess you just don¢t get your money¢s worth at these rustic shelters anymore. When she spilled her medication her husband(?) attempted to help her recover her pills. It turned out that her doctor counts her meds. Enough said about her. I did meet a cool young lady named Maggie there, and an older woman called Yetter, who was finishing her last section hike, leaving only the point from Bennington north left undone. She felt she was beyond that kind of attempt not that she was getting older (maybe she should talk to Madelyn). The next evening I had to shelter again (did I mention it just keeps raining down here this year?), and this time I had the entire place to myself. I found it to be a fitting time to enjoy the love letter Terri had sent me a few days back. When I awoke, it was overcast, and the day vacillated from wet to warm and buggy. As I climbed to the Audie Murphy monument (the most decorated American soldier from WWII), the gnats came out enforce.    By the time I reached the Pickle Branch shelter I had had enough. The trip was not going anything like I had envisioned. Quoting a dear friend of mine (and recent 46-R), ¢the fun meter is heading towards zero¢. I came for the vistas. For long lunches during the warm part of the day as I stared at the majesty that Mother Nature had to offer. It was not working out anything like I had envisioned at all. In my mind I began to wonder if this was all a big mistake. Leaving my fantastic friends and the most wonderful woman behind was starting to appear a bit idiotic. I often eschewed lunch for a grab at some jerky or gorp out of my pocket since the ground was too yucky to sit upon and there wasn¢t a damn thing to see anyway. Who the hell wants to spend every mid-day meal at a shelter where the only thing to look at is some trees, three walls, and a picnic bench? Tonight¢s shelter was occupied by two other hikers, and my growling as I approached was like a clarion call. Nothing was going to make me happy but ten straight days of warm sunshine. My goal had been to average 22 miles a day in May and make it to Harpers Ferry by the time I headed north for Memorial Day in the Adirondacks. When I had been able to get a cell phone signal (Virginia is very unkind to Verizon customers) my conversations with Terri cannot be described as pleasant. She informed me that she was either going to leave me forever, or take a week off and join me on the trail. I had just found out that the latter was her preferred option, but until she was by my side, nothing was going to get better. As it turned out, Montana and Gutsy Rabbit were great shelter mates. They took my snarly demeanor in stride and we had a nice evening.    At the next town, I was to call Enterprise for a ride so I could rent a car and shuttle TMax from the James River back to Catawba. Approaching the road, someone had left some awesome trail magic, a tin of brownies and a tin of cupcakes. SCORE! Re-sugarfied, I got the car and returned to Catawba where Gutsy Rabbit, Montana and me moseyed into the Homeplace Restaurant and enjoyed an all you can eat dinner. I must thank them for waiting for my gluttony to be fulfilled before we were able to enjoy dessert. Have I mentioned that you should never ask me to any kind of all you can eat buffet? By nightfall I was on my way to pick up Terri, who knocked on my window at about four in the morning.    When we were just about to get back on the trail, it was pointed out to us that the family right next door to the parking lot, Cara Joyce, along with her ex-husband but still good friend Bryon, were giving the town and hikers a little party, complete with a few fiddle and banjo bands to go with an idyllic setting and plenty of ham, turkey, soda, pies, and cakes for all. Terri, who would not find anything she might eat there anyway, went ahead, and I enjoyed some picking as I indulged myself once more. If there were to be no sun this spring, I had found my second love, eating all the crap I could cram into my body without throwing up! From this point, since she had brought back the sun, all went well. She has described as well as I could the wonderful views from McAfee Knob, tinker Cliffs, and along the Blue Ridge Parkway (BRP). We were able to stop for long breaks and her lap makes the most wondrous pillow. The sun was gracing me with its presence and all was well. When TMax¢s foot started to bother her, we would stop and either goop up her appendage with Bio Freeze, or call it a day. The days were long and the nights were fine (excepting the horrendous thunderstorm she spoke of that Thursday). At the Thunder Hill shelter, which is just off the BRP, the breakfast dinner was like manna from heaven. Now that is what I call trail magic! John Hasty, wherever you are, thank you very much. Maybe the reason I did not want to bolt to the shelter in the storm could be that my belly was so full that I could not move.    At Glasgow, Terri was getting off the trail, but even the rinky-friggen-dink Budget Inn Motel could not dim my spirits (coffee and a few Little Debbies is not what a Continental Breakfast consists of Mr. Innkeeper, and don¢t take our towels without replacing them (and don¢t steal the Hilton¢s towels for me to use) and how about replacing the burned to hell bedspreads someday?). Renewed, on Sunday, even with a late start, I all but sprinted up the 2300 feet or so to Rocky Row Run, enjoying the great vista it offered. At the end of the day, I did not want to camp by the road, so I reconnoitered 200 feet or so up the hill and found a spot. As it turned out, that altitude gain cost me a chance at my first 6000 foot gain on this journey the following day. That disappointment was made up by the trail magic at route 60, which consisted of some fruit juice, a Slim Jim, an apple, and some candy. There is something to be said about Virginians. Camping at a great spot, Porters Field, I had a great night until I cut my hand breaking wood for the fire and thought for a moment that I might be in need of stitches. The next day I did get my first 6000 foot gain day. 6440 feet in fact. And the best view of the trip. The Priest is a challenging, but gradual climb from the south, and the vista was memorable. Two hours for lunch (a hearty lunch indeed) before I tumbled down the 3000+ foot descent in four miles to the Tye River, breaking my own record for a drop in an hour. Like I said before, ¢she said she didn¢t think I could dance until she saw me falling down a mountain.¢ For the second time in fifteen days I went screaming down an incline that they could not find a way to ruin with switchbacks. Like a skier on a monstrous mogal run, I threaded that thin line between thrill seeking and insanity, somehow keeping my balance and watching every footfall as I thundered down the mountain. It was exhilarating. This is what it was supposed to be about. At the church hostel in Waynesboro, I walked in just in time for their weekly Wednesday feeding of hikers. Another score. Spaghetti and salad and bread and ice cream and cookies. Yum! Things are looking much better. One of the volunteers was even a Dack High Peak hiker and another volunteered to give me a ride to the rental car place in the morning.    I guess the fun meter has risen a few notches. Terri seems to have forgiven me somewhat for abandoning her and attempting the AT alone. She has left the sunshine that she ferried away when we last parted on the trail. Now I get to enjoy her company in the Adirondack Mountains where we met, and soon after I return I will be in Pennsylvania, many miles still, but only one state away from home.