Date: 2012-04-15
From: Max Patch Road

To: Grassy Fork, TN
Miles today: 3.5

April 15, 3.5 miThe next morning I walked into the living room to find Daniel passed out on the couch in front of the TV. He looked so cute with his mouth open, chin thrown forward on a pillow. He had a chissled nose that would make him look more manly than cute later on, but for now his tousled black hair and long closed lashes, lanky build, made him look very beautiful. I took a look at what was on and it was some skater show. I went to the kitchen, found some Doritos, opened a few plastic easter eggs worth of pastel-wrapped kit kats, then sat down side saddle-like on a comfortable leather chair next to the couch. My legs are too short to hit the ground. I woke Daniel up with my laughing. The show, which was some sort of ¢Jackass¢ ripoff, was pretty hilarious. ¢Oh, goodmorning,¢ I said apologetically. ¢Mrrrmph.¢ That was all the recognition I got. For a minute I wondered if it had registered who I was, but only for a minute. I felt comfortable in the baggy clothes just watching tv with a boy in a beautiful house. I'd have clean laundry and everything. Hell yeah. ¢You lazy brats!¢ Josh was up and stood in the hallway. Clean white t-shit and he'd slipped on some plaid boxers. He looked good. Very tan and disarming. He tiredly walked over to the couch, swatted Daniel's limbs out of the way, then leaned on his son with all his weight in morning greeting. ¢I'm groggy as hell.¢¢Dad!¢ Daniel was awake now. ¢Moooove!¢ He squirmed under the weight and laughed. They shoved and elbowed each other around a bit, negotiating space on the couch.¢And how are you?¢ Josh asked me. ¢I feel fine.¢¢If you woke up you're doing better than me, I can't party like that anymore. I'm too old.¢¢Yeah right,¢ I laughed. ¢How old are you?¢¢Forty-three.¢ I'd thought he was no more than thirty based on his slight, fit build. No beer belly. He was so handsome that even now with the morning bright coming in strong through the glass door, I wasn't at all surprised I'd left with him on a whim. I was drawn to him. I eventually decided that his age was irrelevant or sublimely stilled in what I'd recently started to recognize as the alcoholic way. Angels. ¢Do you want anything besides Doritos and candy for breakfast?¢ Josh asked. ¢Not really. This is hiker dream fare.¢¢No, no, that's not right. I'll find something. We have, uh...¢ -¢Nothing!¢ Daniel interjected - ¢We've got to have something.¢ He made us hotdogs on the porch grill, slightly charred just how I like 'em, and Daniel warmed up to me because I kept cracking up watching his show. ¢You've never seen this show before?¢ total disbelief in his voice. ¢Not really. I don't watch tv much.¢¢Freak.¢¢Yep.¢ In the moment I could appreciate the ease of it all. Every Sunday morning could be just like this. I even got to play with his three-year old daughter, Kylie. Daniel's mother stopped by for a bit with her boyfriend and dropped her off. Her mother wasn't able to take care of her. I'm very imaginative and can engage children easily, but it's only about the present moment for me. In awhile I'd be gone. I soon tired of her repetitive requests to say the same things, to put the toy stethoscope to her heart and listen. I had an obsession within me to see more. And I'm not heartless, because I feel so much passion in the discovery of nature, in my memories of the past. Nothing about thru-hiking, about walking over two thousand miles across fourteen states, is natural. Believe me, I realize that. But I am a thru-hiker. ¢I don't understand you,¢ Josh said to me sadly. That's OK. I finished my second bottle of Bud and put on my pack. Josh's eyes twinkled as he grabbed the glass from me and threw it in the back of his truck. He kissed me good, we held each other for awhile, then he was waving goodbye to me through his car window as I climbed up away from the dusty road into the trees. I wasn't relieved at first to be back on the trail. I'd been loaded down with extra pounds of Little Debbie cakes, peanut butter, and Easter candy from Josh's kitchen. I'd also foolishly accepted a large dispenser of hand sanitizer and a heavy cotton sweatshirt from Daniel. Lazy, in limbo between everything being handed to me in the passenger seat of a pickup and then the Appalachian Trail, where I had to carry my own shelter and food in a now 41 lb pack, I caved and made an easy mistake: I unpacked the black Addidas sweatshirt and the stupid tub of liquid and left them on a log. I hadn't littered much heretofore (and ¢littering¢ is what they call it out there) mainly because I felt so guilty about all the ramen packages I'd hurdled into the woods during my one month section hike in 2010. I'd been hyped up day and night on the strongest dose of a poorman's Dexadrine called Vyvanse, racing across the plains of New York like a displaced lioness, stopping only to grudgingly wait for unheated water to soften the noodles, ¢broken up for more surface area, access¢ I told myself. The only food I could afford to carry with me during most of that month, the noodles I prepared in their own packaging, slobbering them up into my face when I was done, with no utensils. I didn't have them. And I still didn't have many things, but I swear you pick up a plastic spork and you make a bid for having a conscience. Although I was temporarily weary, I knew that regret was far heavier to carry than any material thing. Upon seeing one candy wrapper on the Trail one day, Thin Timber had picked it up and brusquely stowed it away in one of those ingenious side pockets he had on his pack. ¢That disgusts me!¢ he sighed. ¢I mean, one person on the edge of being a slob could see that and think it's OK to be a litter bug the rest of the way.¢ I almost turned around and went back. Almost.¢Hey!¢ A male voice yelled from behind. ¢Hey, uh...excuse me!¢¢Yeah?¢ I turned around, drunkenly switching feet out from underneath me as the front half of my boots rebalanced on the same strategic rock which jutted out slightly from the otherwise incessant upward slide of this Godforsaken mountain. ¢Did you just leave a sweater and some hand sanitizer back there?¢ The speaker was a (you guessed it) bearded man followed by another, and he was actually taking me to task here. I threw back something lighthearted about how ¢someone else might need them¢ and I let the two pass me.These items were worth zero (negative, actually) on the trail, and I knew it. Cotton, while warm and comforting, doesn't dry easily and is very heavy. And hand sanitizer? If eating fowls with their hands is good enough for the Gentiles, the hiker I aspire to be would just deal. I'd also learn the hard way that a resupply consisting entirely of Little Debbie cakes is a bad judgement call, even dangerous.When I saw the sign that said it was .6 mi to the top of Max Patch, I was frustrated and worn out. I decided to take a break. I was in no hurry and rarely felt any pressure to do more mileage than my body walked naturally. I sat on the rare wooden steps and caught my breath until Spam from the Wolf Pack showed up and sat beside me. We warmed up for awhile talking about theatre until Spam asked:¢So what's going on with you and Thin Timber?¢ He raised his expressive eyebrows and leveled with me by turning towards me. Even though it didn't occur to me that there could have been missives sent by others looking through Spam's eyes, I was still tactful and kept my guard up.¢I don't know. I just got a feeling we didn't jive.¢ It was true, I judged instinctively. Leave the reasons for my conclusion to be gathered at a later date. By this time it had dawned on me that the slanted eye glare thrown at me by Peach at Fontana Dam might have meant something. Whereas my facial expressions rarely reflect upon the present situation or company, other people are purposeful and keen. ¢Yeah, Thin Timber is a bit of a control freak,¢ said Spam. ¢Why do you say that?¢ ¢Classic Thin Timber, OK: he'll tell everyone at the campsite that we need to gather firewood, then he'll sit in his hammock and watch everyone else do it without helping.¢ I thought of that strange laugh he'd extinguish a cackling mob with sometimes. It didn't seem to come from the same place as his speaking voice. Maybe he really was just an asshole.¢Where were you this whole time?¢ Spam delicately raised a splay of tan fingers to the side of his face. I felt more comfortable due to his own ease of movements and charm. I couldn't help but to brag at least a little. ¢Oh it was a great time, tried homemade wine and everything! Delicious. Went out with some locals for awhile.¢¢Tony Hawk?¢¢What?¢ ¢Your sweater, C.V.¢¢Oh, I got this at the house from somebody's son. Hey, do you want to keep moving? I can't believe it's another .6. I just want to be at the top.¢ ¢Why not?¢ He moved far ahead in the flat stretch before the hill. Brittle trees arched over me and the leaning piles of golden tallgrass could be seen to form a bumpy surface for miles on the left and the right. As I trekked up the large green hill I heard Spam trying to carry on a cellphone conversation. ¢Can you hear me? Now? Yes. I'm on Max Patch now in Tennessee. Yes. Oh, hey C.V.¢ Feeling awkward, I threw out a ¢Hey, what's going on?¢ before realizing his was one of those interjected ¢hey's,¢ he was on the phone, and I had just as well not said anything. It's not like he would respond. ¢I'm retarded,¢ I thought to myself as I passed him. ¢Oh, C.V.is a girl on the trail, another hiker,¢ I could hear Spam relating as I made the crest of the hill. I was delighted to find the perfect area for my rest. Max Patch was more than the name given to the summit, for the whole top of the large hill was a vast flat space. The view was the best I'd seen so far, with a full spectrum of rainbow colors, from the green and purple hues of the hills in the distance to the vibrant, out-of-place reds and oranges of fall foliage which could be seen on clusters of trees far below in the valley. The farmland was sparcely populated with a few farmhouses. The remnants of old wooden gates had been erected at one end leading off to another, unknown trail. Thankful for the whole of it, unsure of where to set down, I kept walking about taking in Max Patch from different angles. I curved my way about the edge of the flat circle, then threw my pack down and leaned up against it. After some minutes I heard happy screaming behind me. ¢Gumby! Hey Gumby, over here!¢ Spam had made the hill and Gumby had come back from visiting with her local boyfriend. I guessed that's who she had with her. Even from far away I could see her steady smile, the bright green Northface shirt she always wore. ¢The hills are aliiiive, with the sound of music ¢ AhhhhuhahAAAHHHHH!!¢ Spam twirled as he sang in operatic abandon, arms stretched out in a strange Maria. He immediately reduced me to wild laughter. I hugged my pack to me for support as I rocked back and forth. ¢That's good, that's really good!¢ I managed to call, tears coming from my eyes. ¢Stop it, Spam,¢ Gumby met him in the center and caught him by the shoulders. And, in a stage whisper: ¢You'll scare the little kids!¢¢I don't see any little kids around heeere!¢ he shouted and panned to each side of our company.¢Right over there, look.¢ Gumby pointed to the far side of the flat from us. Sure enough, there was not so much a family as a portrait of a family scene being painted over there where the sun still shone brightly. The mother was dolling out water or tea or something to the two small children. She wore a large sunhat, father sat across from her, and the two children (I imagined there was one boy and one girl) sat peacefully and upright waiting for their portions. ¢No shit?¢ Spam turned his back on the pastoral scene and sat down where he was. The four of us relocated to the center where he sat and lay in the tufty grass, sharing whatever we had. Gummi worms, Marlboro blacks, sympathetic looks. Spam told a long and entertaining story about being lost in Berlin and how he ended up being in the throng of a moving protest. He'd had no clue what it was about but got carried away with marching movements and shouting ¢Nein! Nein! Nein!¢¢Can I die now?¢ Matress Pad, the fabled last member of the Wolf Pack, had joined us. He'd been struggling to keep up most of the way and I'd seen countless scrawled notes from Atlas telling him to catch up. He collapsed into our circle, his long black hair blowing in the wind, perpetual triangle smile with his lower lip drawn down and an unquestionably friendly demeaner about him, but what he'd said lent a sullen air to our company. Even the clouds ahead seemed to swarm together in darker clumps across the sky. ¢Oh, c'mon, it can't be that bad,¢ Spam advised. He sat balanced on the balls of his feet in a squat, elbows resting on his legs. ¢Cheer up.¢¢I don't feel like it,¢ Matress Pad answered simply. Quiet and peaceful, he stared at the ground for a good two minutes before looking up. His eyes fairly shone. I stared in wonder. After all, wasn't this the voice of reason? A prophet to our mere philosophies. Spam produced a plastic bottle of peppermint snapps and threw it over to where Matress Pad lay, but he just picked it up and, with a disgusted look, tossed it right back. Spam sighed and with little hesitation dished it across the circle at me. I remember well the slits his eyes made and how he didn't look at me directly but instead pushed at an object which would presumably have a domino effect on the other objects and we could get this party started already. Drink up, hiker trash. ¢Jesus,¢ I thought, ¢This is the perfect time to take a drink.¢ The overall tenor of our party did change but I remained silent. Saw people come and go with little interest in what they said. The bottle of horrible-tasting stuff got passed around until it was gone and soon Spam stood up to rally us onwards towards wherever we were going. Gumby and her quiet boyfriend said their farewells and walked back to his car in the parking lot. Squatch, who had shown up for only ten minutes, was off at a pace which is difficult for anyone without his long legs to match, so I followed Spam and Matress Pad down the hill towards the AT on the other side. ¢High on the hill was a lonely goat ho leighee yodelehee yodelei HEE-WHOOO!¢ Spam was at it again, piping up in a happy melody which was totally absurd. ¢He yodelled back to the loney goat ho yedlee yodeleihee yodulooo!¢ I wondered why Matress Pad would follow that madman, or follow anyone for that matter. An unspeakable heaviness overcame me. It might have been strong aversion, it might have been empathy. Whatever it was, it sent me veering off onto an unmarked trail to the left without a word. Panting, I set up my tent out of view of the trail, got inside, and there remained for four days.