Date: 2003-07-07
From: Trout Creek, VA

To: We're Baaaaaaack AT2 4 Pines Hostel
Miles today: 7.0

After a comfortable night in the air conditioned Travelodge in Troutville, Va., we dropped off the Subaru Outback rental at the Roanoke airport and sat in the airport cafe to eat warm greasy breakfast bagels. Through the large second story windows the landscape rolled with leafy hills blurred by the hot, heavy haze outside. We wondered how we were going to get back to the out-of-the-way hillbilly backroad we'd left the trail almost a month ago.Erin finagled a shuttle to Catawba for 30$ which was a bit steeper than we'd hoped but the reality was we were stuck at a small airport in the middle of a foreign city, miles away from the one lane road we needed to get to.Our shuttle driver was an old stubble-faced black man with a sourthern accent that reminded one of buscuits dripping in hot gravy. I could listen to him talk about nothing all day. Erin and I both sat in back while he dorve. It felt strange, like someone should have been up there keeping him company but he didn't seem to mind. He just talked to us through the rearview the whole time...He liked to end his sentences in "Boy" alot. Like,"It's hot out there, boy" or "The traffic sure is thick, boy" You get the picture. But the way he said it gave the word more umph and dominance. The 'B' bounced sharply off his lips like a rubber ball hitting cement and he ended the word, not with a hard 'Y' but with his mouth wide open like it had been replaced with an 'A'. "BOA" I tried to mimic it under my breath for the rest of the ride but I just couldn't get it down. Anyway, he was great.He drove us all the way to Catawba, down a long grassy side road, and finally to the narrow strip of dirt that paralled Trout Creek. I wasn't sure if he'd do it. Erin hadn't mentioned the road during the shuttle negotiation, but when we signaled towards it he turned in without hesitation, offering to take his shiny armoralled city stroller off-road. We appreciated this greatly. If I were him I wouldn't have done it. I'd have dropped our asses off right where the pavement ended. The road was barely wide enough to fit the car and we had to cross a rickety, sad looking bridge that sagged close to the water and had gaps between the ties big enough to lose a child. But he went right over, his only comment, "I hope we don't fall in, boa."We stopped at the small footbridge that crossed Trout Creek, the very spot we had limped away from, and he helped us grab our bags from the trunk. We thanked him, slipped him the cash plus some extra, and before we could shoulder our packs he grabbed our hands, turned to us and said, "I'm a minister and I would like to say a prayer for you before you head on your way." And he went right into it. I can't remember what exactly he said, and I'm not a religious man, but I thought it was pretty humbling and nice. He ended it with an amen, shook our hands, and then turned down the way he'd come, leaving a trail of dust in his wake and our fading image in his rearview. And then it was just us. Alone with our packs. Again. But this time there were less bugs and more heat. We felt healthier, cleaner, and livlier, and at the same time there was a slight mix of hesitation and anticipation to shoulder our packs and step foot on the bridge. Because once we did there was the definite sense that we were leaving one thing and entering into another. But then again, there was a mountain called 'Dragon's Tooth' just ahead, and if that doesn't sound like a cool place to hike to, I don't know what is.Before heading up to pick the teeth of said dragon we left a bag of oranges and apples we couldn't take with us and tied it to the handrail of the foot bridge. A little 'trail magic' for any other tired weary hiker coming off the mountain in the mid afternoon heat like we had been a while back.Dragon's Tooth was a succession of gradually ascending peaks. The last one being the tallest, pointiest, and odly enough, the least windy. Once we climbed out of the lower, denser forest, the trail became loose and rocky and the vegetation dispersed allowing the full energy of the sun to fall on our shoulders and necks. It wasn't like beginning again. We knew what to expect. I don't want to sound cliche and say it was like riding a bike...but it was like riding a bike. We both quickly slipped into a rhythm and it started to feel like we had never left the trail. But of course things weren't exactly the same. It was ALOT hotter than we'd left it. There were less cicadas and more blueberries, and we both had clean,white, new shoes.We scrambled to the last 'tooth' around 4:00, drenched, smelly, and happy. I've never been in the South during summer and until now, at 3,420ft. I coudn't imagine any place muggier or more hot than my home town of Nashua, NH. On the way down I almost stepped on a 3.5-4ft Indigo snake basking across the trail. It was entirely black and about as thick around as a bat handle. It startled the hell out of me. Apparently I startled the hell out of it because it was gone almost as quickly as I'd come upon it. When she caught up, I told Erin about it and we both walked with a bit more cautionand purpose.We pulled into 4 Pines close to 6:30. It's semi-converted three car garage with the huge official looking AT sign out front. The entry door was closed and the inside dark when we arrived but we went in anyway and found the fridge full of Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, and beer. Nearby was a little tip jar with the sign 'happy hour' on it. Heaven.I found a beat up guitar, plopped down on one the old worn chairs circling a coffee table and played while Erin snooped around with a Dr. Pepper. Not long after, a tall, lumbering man dressed in working clothes came in, wiped his hands, introduced himself as 'Joe' the owner, and welcomed us to the hostel. He immediately offered to drive us to the store when he finished helping his elder neighbor with her tomato garden. (Which I took him up on.)He had two dogs, an 'outside only' dog, shoelace, who promptly let me know which seat in the garage was his, and a seven week old blue weimeraner(sp) named baloo who promptly and excitedly peed on the floor. They were great company.We fashioned our bed on the cement floor with matresses supplied by Joe and threw our bags on top. We had the hostel to ourselves. A real rarity on the trail. We spent the night listening to music, playing with the dogs, relaxing, strumming the guitar, reading, making food, sipping beer and red 'Catawba' wine, and watching a furocious thunderstorm pass overhead. It was a great way to start the trail.To all Thru-hikers....I recomend 4 Pines. They are both hiker and dog friendly.