Date: 2006-05-19
From: Pickle Branch Shelter

To: John's Spring Shelter
Miles today: 13.6
Weather: broken clouds

A cooler stood by the side of the trail, and the words "Trail Magic for Anyone Who Hiked Here From Georgia" stood on the cooler.A section hiker stood next to the cooler with a chocolate cookie in his mouth.He looked up sheepishly as I approached."Did you hike here from Georgia?" he asked.Yes, I say."Well, there's some food here for you", he says, even more sheepishly.He tells me this is his third day out and he's heading south for another two days. I can tell he feels embarrassed about eating food not intended for him, but it's all the same to me. I'm much more concerned at the moment with seeing what remains in the cooler. There are three freshly made sandwiches, a few candy bars, some gatorade, some crackers, and some home-made peanut butter chocolate things.With astonishing rapidity, I wolf down the three sandwiches, the packet of crackers, and the five or six remaining candy bars, and start on the home-made peanut butter chocolate things even though they're a bit dry. To accompany this I down two bottles of gatorade and half of a third.The section hiker, watching the vivacity with which I tackle these meager rations, seems a bit mollified, with a mixture of shame and amazement on his face. I don't say anything, after all, I've kind of taken more than my share myself, and as far as I'm concerned, we're partners in crime. But I think he's learned something. I think he's realized, by watching me, what a huge difference between his hunger and a thru-hiker's there really is. Anyway, speaking of food... The very best place to eat on the very whole AT, according to many, is at The Homeplace in Catawba, and it is at this crucial juncture that the lone expedition of Steech now finds itself. After a few minutes in the Rte. 311 parking area, I am joined by Piper, who convinces me to dine with her at the Homeplace (I didn't need much convincing), and then by a man looking for his thru-hiking son ("Have you seen my son Greg?" "We don't know any Gregs, what's his trailname?" "No clue." "Would you like to take us to The Homeplace", asks Piper. "Sure", says the man. And he does.) The Homeplace is one of the most wonderful institutions ever devised by the hand of man. The food is of the buttered biscuits, mashed potatoes, barbecued chicken, ham and beans variety, but every food has such fullness of flavor, such perfection of seasoning, such warmth of sustenance, that it is hard to equate these items with the mere earthly equivalents of the same name. The buttered biscuits, especially, were of a most godly nature. And as if that weren't enough, there are UNLIMITED SECONDS on ALL ITEMS. That is not a misprint. That is the honest-to-goodness truth. And after we ate the unlimited seconds, just before we were too full too enjoy it, came the blueberry cobbler with ice cream. And that is what I call a right good meal. Piper and I stagger the remaining mile to John's Spring Shelter with that giddy, happy, wildly content almost drunk feeling that only comes after such a stupendous feast. We don't even have to cook dinner! Ha-ha! Woooh-hooh! Three cheers for not breaking out the stove! Three cheers for going to bed full! Three cheers for the Homeplace! What a great meal... Wow.