Date: 2004-04-10
From: Georgia

To: Maine
Miles today: 13.0
Weather: overcast clouds

April 10, 04Mile 222 "Hell Ridge" The SmokysAccordingly to my calculations, I romped across 15.5 miles of th Smokysin six hours and 43 minuts ystrday.   Today so far th sun is on theeast side of the mountain and I travel the west. I walk thus throughdark corridors of evergreens lit mostly by the white of the snow. Theysay it takes 21 days to make a habit. I suppose then as of today I amhabitualized to the Appalachian Trail. The thought of habituationsends my mind to one habit I wish I had developed and stuck with overthe year: the saxaphone. I played alto sax briefly in college andloved it, absolutely enamored of the mournful echoing sounds of oneman's sax heard one night on LSD in the redwood forest behind Humboldt.As I walk today, I am suddenly charged by the conviction that I mustprocure a sax, either alto or perhaps preferably soprano, to carry andpractise here on the trail. I owned a cassette tape once that I playedso many times I wore it thin until the sound was barely audible. Itwas Paul Winter's Canyon Suite in which the sax player records deepdown in the Grand Canyon. Amazing sound. Walking the ridges of theSmokys yesterday I think I yearned, unknowingly, to send such soundsout into the vast wilderness cascading downward and outward around mein all directions. But I have no such sounds to make. Maybe soon Iwill.The boys of the Fab Five are just behind me, having been at the shelterI bypassed last night to make my mad trek to Tri Corner Knob. Theyhiked those 5 miles whilst I slept-in and lavishly moved slowly aboutthis morning. When I awoke, I proclaimed to Hendrick and Mumbles, thetwo men still there, "YES! I wanted to be the last one outa bed and Idid it!" But as I hefted my pack an hour later, the Five had caughtup. While they refilled at our spring, I bounded on ahead. But nowthey are quick on my heels. I can hear the tick-tick of their polesjust a way's back. I hear a chopper approaching, hot in pursuit. Itis me, making the sound with my mouth with a fast wiggle of my tongueback and forth between o-shaped lips. I imagine myself in somemountain chase scene. I pick up the pace and hunker down against thesearching chopper. "Get down! Get down!" Now I am Richard Dreyfussand the blonde woman, clambering up the rocky skirt of Devil's Tower. The choppers are spraying sleeping formula. The fields of rocks becomethe poppy fields outside the Kingdom of Oz. But it's too late. Kevin"KP" can't be more than 21-years-old and he's practically running thetrail. He catches me up and passes. The chopper stops chopping. Istop and sit silently, contemplating absolutely nothing. The woods are good for that. One simply can't think too much. Yourmind is always on your feet. When I stop I make it a point to lie flaton my back and stare straight up at branches and sky. A fast ATthruhiker barely sees the forest for the trees. He sees the pathahead, almost solely.Fifty-something Sunshine is one of the Fab Five. He catches up and Ifind that I can pace him for awhile. He tells about meeting BearBehind yesterday, a guy with a thick (he says) Connecticut accent. Sunshine says their conversation yesterday required the spelling out ofseveral words, so disparate are their native tongues. Sunshine saysonce last year in New Jersey he ordered a Coke at a diner and asked thewaitress for "lots a aaaaaccce." Ice, he meant, but that is not whatthe ticked-off waitress heard. Sunshine points out places on the trailwhere there are literal walls built beneath us. He points out that "noAT volunteer did that.. that was the CC back in the Depression." He'sright. And the stone shelters, too. Beautifully built, stout,aesthetically fantastic to behold. The Appalachian Trail is a miracle,really. The amount of work gone into clearing this for "us" isapparant at every fallen tree cut by recent saw, at every crossing wellsigned, at every tree with the signature white blaze to tell us theway. It's astonishing and I feel greatly honored to be walking it,honored and grateful as hell. ¢RSMFor the full story of Ricks' journey, visit jigglebox.com