Date: 2017-09-15
From: Summit ledges, The Priest

To: Buena Vista
Miles today: 20.9
Weather: light rain

"Attending bible college has made me acutely aware of all the sins I've committed on trail. I've decided to enumerate the top three: * I confess that when I saw Sriracha and Sweetblood, I thought they were section hikers* I confess that I told EVERYONE on trail that Rolling Thunder snores. Really loud.* I confess that on one occasion I made a 'Human Centipede' reference to our massage train. Disclaimer: I was very drunk that night. I guess I ought to confess that too."Anonymously confessing one's trail sins in the log book at The Priest shelter is one of the most venerable of the many traditions on the AT. Seeing just what was written in it was one of the main motivators for getting going this morning and we sat around at the shelter, vacillating between amazement, revulsion, disbelief and a range of other feelings at what was written within."Professor Sprout and I have behaved quite inappropriately within earshot of others, at first delusionally thinking we were being discreet but then quite a bit since realising otherwise.""I have sinned. I washed my lady parts in a small spring in Pennsylvania -- and it wasn't a piped spring.""People ask us if we're married. We are -- just not to each other. Everyone involved is OK with it.""Forgive me father for I have sinned. I woke up one night and needed to pee but couldn't find my sandals and took GG's -- and accidentally peed on them. I've never told her."And so on. Switchback managed to get FIVE separate mentions from those who admitted having impure thoughts spurred by his thighs.All this left us squirming and laughing in equal measure, and variations on what we'd read -- including working out the identities of those who'd attempted to remain anonymous -- fuelled our conversations for the rest of the day.It helped the miles cruise by, which was helpful because the terrain was -- thankfully -- kinder than the previous day but also less memorable, involving for the most part a series of traverses through viewless forest. Progress was affected -- at first negatively but then positively -- by two factors. One was when the trail went past what was clearly once a hilltop farm that had since been entirely reclaimed by nature, with only the existence of an old apple tree absolutely covered in fruit showing people had once lived here.This had a particularly acute effect on Dirt, who scoured the apples and gathered up the best. Some were immediately eaten and more than half a dozen others were carried for later.At a shelter soon after, we were gently teasing her for having collected seven apples, which she'd placed in front of her on the shelter's picnic table. While she was looking away, I snuck an apple out of my pocket and put it with hers and then, when she looked back, asked: "I thought you said you had seven apples? You must have grabbed eight."She stared at the line of apples with a ruffled brow and was clearly thinking "Did I grab eight?" This might have bugged her for days if not for another moment of distraction, at which point some of the others added another two apples to her stash.This time she realised what was going on. Two middle fingers were raised, followed by a "F*ck you guys!" There was a smile in her voice, though, so we hadn't offended her too deeply. We hope.Also during this break, someone passed on the snippet of information that Buena Vista had a farmers market on Saturdays. Farmers markets, we quickly discovered, are to Dirt what catnip is to felines. "We have to go there."Buena Vista was a feasible distance and there was a campground in town. I'm always down for a town visit, because it means town food. Whether we were motivated by fresh fruit or stodgy diner food, the positive draw of this on our hiking pace more than compensated for any time lost at the apple tree. After crossing what seemed to be one of the first of the balds -- treeless areas on tops of hills -- for which the southern AT is renown, we descended 2000ft to the highway.I arrived last, half an hour before dark, to find the others trying to hitch into town. It was a slightly tough place, right on the crest of the hill, and made more difficult by there being six of us. Even with Dirt and Sweetblood acting as "ride brides", with the rest of us off to one side, the passing cars were showing us no love. But the established hiking culture on the AT meant there are shuttle drivers on call and after ringing around a few, we arranged a lift to town for a remarkably modest sum. An ordinary family sedan duly arrived and somewhat improbably, we managed to fit the six of us along with the driver for the nine mile drive into town. Sweetblood and Sriracha shared the front seat, which was a slightly scary because our young driver showed a penchant for speed that was at odds with the combination of the winding road and the laws of physics. His habit of starting every sentence with "Incidentally" also did little to instil confidence, but he was likeable enough and we arrived at the campground safely.A final surprise for the day was finding an ice cream shop next to the campground. And then finding that the owner, a former journalism lecturer, gave every AT hiker a free ice cream.Need I say it? Life is good.AT fact of the day: My own confessions? I could have filled an entire page. Forgive me trail gods, for I have:* relentlessly slagged off the AT as not nearly as nice as the PCT and CDT*;* suggested that the reason for The Priest's name is that it leaves you feeling sodomised; * on wet nights have sometimes slept in shelters even though I know I snore**;* once went four states (Great Barrington, MA, to High Point, NJ) between washing my clothes**; and * once joked that the unseen occupant of an unfamiliar tent at a recent shelter might be [notorious pink blazer] wearing a skin suit created from [notorious pink blazee]. Yes, I have sinned...* sorry, not sorry. ** actually sorry