Date: 2003-05-01
From: Garden Mountain

To: Helveys Mill Shelter
Miles today: 17.8
Weather: scattered clouds

Well, it's been two months on Trail so far, starting my third month. I've done one fourth the trail in one third the time allotted. Ha! Actually, that's not strictly true - I've given myself as much time as necessary to finish. But half a year sounds so huge, and seven months, luxurious. Eight months, well, that's over the top.We are all starting to bump up our miles, although so far Virginia is not the flat-ridgeline Promised Land of rumor. With bigger miles, our physical vehicles are starting to come apart in little ways - a bolt or hubcap here, a muffler there. Still, we putter along.The young fare better. I asked Notes how his feet were doing. "Pretty good," he answered. "I went to bed with broken feet and woke up with new feet. I used to go to sleep with broken feet, and wake up with broken feet. So I consider that progress."Weather is nice today, a little hint of rain, but not yet. It gets downright hot before noon. I filled my water bottle from a little waterfall in a rhododendron glen, and ate my lunch in the cool green cave, sitting on the rocks.THIS is how I imagined thru-hiking would be... endless, beautiful, natural leisure. I'd love to linger another hour. But alas, the trail calls. Miles to go, and all that...We meet two groups of southbounders who warn us that Little Wolf Creek is flooded, and that we should take the high water route. All that rain of yesterday is draining down the mountain. The AT crosses this watercourse 12 times in 2 miles. One group said the water was up to their thighs.The highwater trail is straight forward, an old road and a little boring. But fast. Before we know it, we are at a road crossing, on the other side, a cooler from a local church. In it is a chest of ice, and three V-8 juices. We are invited to drink one, and leave the can.Vegetables in the woods! Excellent Trail magic! Who gets enough vegetables on the Trail?Notes is in no hurry today, as his girlfriend is coming to Bland on the weekend. He keeps me company, and I enjoy this bright, gentle young man. He's a photojournalist, as I've said, and is helping me figure out my digital camera.In return, I teach him the names of the birds, plants, shrubs and trees that I know. On a downslope, we spy a tame deer. It does not bother to hide itself, though it will not let us approach close enough for a good picture. I snap one anyway. This deer has the strangest ears - little round, white-tipped nubs, not the usual broad, flat deer ears. We hang out for awhile, absorbed in the observation. It is nibbling browse, baby leaves.On a climb, my feet begin to burn. I stop to change my socks and Gold-Bond-powder my feet. In the process, the bandage on my little toe works its way off and I gross Notes out with the look of it. All the skin of my little toe has worked free due to blisters, and is starting to slough. When it does, my toe will be as naked and raw as a skinned baby rat. Part of it is already pink, juicy meat.Sorry. Hope you weren't eating.I treat the toe and wrap it up again in Second Skin, tape that down, and swallow two ibuprofen. And start walking. It's what we do out here.In time, we stumble upon free soda and water in the woods. It is very late afternoon, and we are low on fluids so we choose a soda. As I grab one, I get a prickle. On each six-pack is a sticker: "In memory of Ted "Soleman" Anderson, who died three days before his thruhike," and an e-mail address.Whoever put this out is probably someone I know. I take the e-mail address to inquire.As we exit the Trailhead above the road, a blue van pulls up and hovers on the road below. "This could be our benefactor," I tell Notes.As soon as he gets out of the car, I point and say "I know you!"It is George Fisher, Ted's friend and fellow respiratory therapist. We had e-mailed after Ted's death. He'd invited me to look him up when I came to Bland.After my e-mail crashed and all my addresses and data were lost, I had no way to connect with him. Yet, here he was.* He'd been coming out in the evenings to look for me. He'd already met Hotdog and Wench, had his picture taken with Ted's flag.Despite the eu de hiker, I gave him a hug. Despite that, George still offered to take us into Bland, since there was a DQ and a phone there. We stuff our packs in the van, and meet his funny, spotted dog Gina, a terrier and dalmation mix. "A damnation, my wife and I call her," said George fondly.Before we pull out, section hiker Whitewater comes out of the woods and George stuffs him in too. Turns out he and his wife have been putting treats out and doing Trail magic for years at this spot. If you ever got a treat here and want to thank George, his e-mail address is w4of@hotmail.com.At the DQ, Puff-puff and Snappy roll into the parking lot, and we rap on the window to let them know we are inside.I collect my pocketmail and learn my dad is sick. I call home and Randy, a caretaker, answers. Dad has a wheeze in his chest and is feeling weak, but is eating well and has no fever. Upper respiratory, he thinks. A doctor is coming to the house on Tuesday. Randy promises to keep me posted. I also learn that Dave Hicks, my AT-L hiking list friend, has made me an appointment for 2 pm Monday with his orthotics doctor in Pearisburg! Now, THAT's a thru-hiker's friend! His wife Carla also made me a hair appointment for Monday at 10 PM, so I can tame this unruly mane.The community of hikers continues to impress and move me.I come back to my root beer float and notice I am way behind - Notes has already eaten three cheeseburgers and two DQ Blizzards.After our supper, it's 8:20 pm and we still have three miles to walk to the shelter. George swings us back after giving us a tour of town, and dropping Puff-Puff and Snappy off at a pavilion in town where they can sleep. It has only been a short while, but it is hard to say goodbye to this good man. You can tell how much he liked Ted. Ted, the Florida temp transplant, "used to come to work 15 minutes early," he recalls, "and just walk around the parking lot looking at the mountains."We hug good-bye, and walk off into the growing dusk. We hike over I-77, our third intertstate crossing of the trip. The diesel trucks roar below.We cross the creek and I notice some jugs of water and soda. George again? Notes and I trudge up the mountain. I should add, the profile maps for this section are wildly optimistic. The topo showed flat, and it was steep. And now dark. Notes switches on his headlamp, and I use my photon, since my headlamp is in my jacket pocket, which is now in Damascus.We hit the shelter about 9:45. We made great time in the dark. I set up my tent by photon light, and turn in. * If you wrote to me about a plan to connect along the Trail, I've lost most data and phone numbers. Send me a SHORT note to LiteShoe@pocketmail.com