Date: 2003-07-29
From: Bake Oven Knob Shelter, Blue Mountain

To: Palmerton, Pa
Miles today: 7.5

My journal tonight is being written from jail in Palmerton. How could I have sunk so low? Well, I just couldn't take it any more, and mugged a day hiker. No, of course I didn't. Palmerton Borough runs a hostel for hikers in the basement of their own building on Delaware Avenue, the main street of the town. This was the town's jail at one time, and the Police Dept in the building next door take over the hostel facility when the Borough Council workers go home for the day. When you check in you are asked to give ID, name, address and SSN, something some hikers are curiously reluctant to do. We got to Borough Hall from the trailhead thanks to a ride from a very upbeat young woman in her early thirties, Megan. Her infant son, Egan, was strapped in his car seat in the back, and cast big blue eyes and occasionally wrinkled his nose (no wonder) at "Thistle" and "Two Speeds" on either side of him. Egan was premature and weighed only 1.5 pounds at birth, but is now a year old and looks a picture of health. Up front, chatting to Megan, I discovered that her maiden name is McCrindle, so we decided we might be distantly related. She couldn't wait to tell her Dad - what he might think of her picking up hikers might be another matter.We soon met up with "Chafe Master J" who got here a day ahead of us. Food was our first priority, as usual, and Bert's Steak House was quickly sampled. The highlight here was our server, an older woman, who had obviously graduated from the Julie Walter's School of Waitressing (Think Mrs Overall!). Then on to Tommy's ice-cream parlour where we spent a good deal of a very hot afternoon. Going into it was like a scene from "Pleasantville". In the time your eyes have taken to adjust from the hot glare outside, you have stepped back to 1950s America. A long counter runs from the front more than half-way to the back of the room. On our side of the counter is a long row of bar stools, all chrome and plastic upholstered swivel seats. On the other side of the counter is Tommy, in a white apron and a white corporal's cap. We are welcomed with a flow of conversation, banter and wisecracks, and in no time at all we are parked on stools anl ladling into Belgian waffles, ice-cream, sundaes, milk-shakes and coffee. Did we want all these things? Not sure, but it didn't matter. It was great. The conversation continued:Tommy (to me)   :"You're sitting in Bobby Niehoff's stool, our oldest               customer". Me            :"Really?"Tommy         :"He died yesterday". Me            :"Oh no, that's terrible! Should I be sitting here?".Tommy         :"That's ok".Me            :"But don't you want, I don't know, to retire his stool?                You know, with his name on it or something?"Tommy         :"Naw. Other people sit on the stool too. It's theirs as                much as Bobby's. Some people said Bobby talked too               much. He did talk all the time, about the war and                such. But, you know, in all the years he came in                here, he never had a bad word to say about anybody,                never talked anyone down"Me            : "It's too bad". Tommy         :(to a customer two stools along)"Old boy drove                into the bank yesterday".Customer      :"The drive-thru bank?"Tommy         :"Naw, the bank two doors along. He came off               the road. Right into the wall. Wasn't even                slowing up, foot still on the gas. Old fool".And so it went on. I could have stayed all day and nearly did.