Date: 2005-03-21
From: Deep Gap Shelter, GA

To: Dick's Creek Gap, GA
Miles today: 3.5

First off, a shout-out to Tammy (who I fear may be appalled by the term "shout-out") for uploading the pictures of Jess on the trail. Now we can all fall asleep at night with images of Jess and the dirty hippies fresh in our minds. Plus, you know, nature. Tammy is super.So when Jess anointed me her transcriber, she explained the whole pocketmail scenario to me, and I was all, "uh-huh, cut, paste, post, sounds good." As an afterthought, she added, "Oh, and I might send you my journal written out sometimes, if the pocketmail turns out to be a pain. Would you be okay with typing stuff up?" Sure, I thought, no problem. What else am I going to do, my job?Well, the other night I came home and was delighted to find an envelope in the mail from Jess. Looks thin enough, I thought, how much can there be to transcribe? Of course, the two pages turned out to be covered in print on front and back, with the ink to white space ratio all out of whack. Still, I thought, no big deal, I'll post them tomorrow. Of course tomorrow came and went and I was too busy freaking out about grad school choices to deliver Jess' message to the people. So I thought, great, I'll do it Thursday, before I leave for Iowa to watch my brother be a fake lawyer (mock trial: it's all the rage). And what do I come home to today? Two more envelopes from Jess, containing eight pages of the same disturbing ink-to-white space ratio. The feeling I have now is eerily similar to the one I got in high school when I'd have to fabricate four months' worth of journal entries for a project in one night, only now the entries are written and I'm only behind on the typing. So basically what I'm saying is, there are a lot of journal entries in my possession and I will do my best to post most of them tonight before I head out for Spring Break: Des Moines. It will be a lot of typing, but according to the battery of tests I once took in order to be a temp (oy), I am good at typing and knowing my alphabet. So let's get this party started.Day Nine: In which Jess has a trail buddy who talks like a women's studies major, finally comes face-to-face with her penpal for a battle of wits, meets someone "named" Butterfly Moon (really), has a guy with a fake knee tell her what's wrong with her, scores some bionic braces, experiences the relative proximity of cleanliness to godliness, and spots a trail-walking lothario macking on the townies: A near-zero day, and a much welcome one. Overcast, but dry. CuppaJoe and I left the shelter shortly after Mike/Freeze-Dried, who took off down the trail at top speed in order to catch the 9 a.m. shuttle to the Blueberry Patch Hostel, where he had a box waiting. I wasn't in any such rush. My knees were glad to have had the night's rest, but they were still tired and sore, worse on the downhills-- and it was all downhill.But Cuppa Joe walked with me, and we went slowly, and having someone to talk to distracted me from the pain. He played his own version of Twenty Questions, firing them off at me as we made our way down. ("Cold cereal: soggy or crispy? Favorite color? Opinions on the decline of matriarchal societies in prehistory?")As we came to the parking lot, I could see the two other hikers ready to head north: a dark-haired girl about my age and an older guy. I didn't recognize either of them. But as we approached them, the man said "Cuppa Joe!"-- and then, turning to me-- "and can this be BreakALeg?" Something clicked. Recognition dawned-- Longhaul, himself. "You're the rat bastard who's been leaving me messages all the way up the trail!" I said cheerfully, and he burst out laughing and gave me a hug. "Butterfly Moon," said Butterfly Moon (for it was she), and we shook hands. "I'd been hearing," said Longhaul, "that you'd been leaving me some unkind register messages in response to my gentle encouragement. I can't imagine why." "Register messages go in one direction," I said, "so I get the last word." "Yeah," said Longhaul, "but I have more hits on my journal than you do." Ah," I said, "but I haven't updated yet." "Point," he said. "Also, you're prettier than I am." "Yeah," I said, "I'm at my best when I haven't showered in four days.""You'll have to excuse us," said Longhaul to Butterfly Moon, who had one eyebrow raised and was watching CuppaJoe, who was laughing too hard to speak. "We knew each other in a previous incarnation. But--" --turning to me-- "now that we've met in person I'll only be able to write the very nicest things about you from now on. Really.""I just bet," I said, and gave him another hug, and he and Butterfly Moon disappeared up the trail.CuppaJoe and I caught a ride into Hiwassee, who deposited us at the Holiday Inn Express, where we found Scholar, Mike, James, Amanda, Wyatt, Jake, and Raz had all crammed into one double the night before. There, too, we found Weatherman, ankle much better, who whipped out, I kid you not, the largest and most insane-looking pair of knee braces I had ever seen. "Thought these might help you out," he said. "I've had seven knee surgeries myself and I know exactly what's wrong with you-- it's a strain of the medial meniscus; any doctor'll tell you to stay off it, elevate it, and ice it-- and I got an artificial knee now, so I don't need 'em no more. And if they help you, you can have 'em.""Wow," I said. "Thanks." I eyed the braces dubiously. Each one was larger than my head. I tried them on; he showed me how to adjust them. They were surprisingly light."Wow," I said again, looking down at my knees. "I feel like a robot. These things are bionic.""'Cept you gotta be careful to wear both at once," he said. "Else you'll start walking in circles. Hey, that'd be pretty funny, though. Hey, did I tell you guys about the time I was in Panama and I got a black eye from a f----n' monkey?""No," I said. "I'm pretty sure you didn't.""No joke," he said.Showered, wearing clean clothes, I rested and iced my knees. It helped-- and so did the fortunate arrival of Lori, a.k.a. Slickrock, a local hiker up for the weekend with her Pathfinder and her trusty dog Bonnie, for no other purpose than to feed hikers candy and cold drinks and take them to run necessary errands. She drove well out of her way to take me to get groceries and IcyHot and moleskin-- all making my day a million times easier. I was stunned by her generosity, as by Weatherman's-- and I continue to be grateful to both of them. (Thanks, guys!)A buffet dinner at Shoney's and an evening of rest later, things were looking up. I'd already decided to take a zero the next day and rest up some more. The highlight of the town visit, though, had happened earlier in the day, when Lori drove Mike/Freeze-Dried and me to the grocery store to resupply. On our way back to the car, who should we run into but Bones, cashing up a cashier on her cigarette break. "Hey man," Mike called, "You need a ride?""Naw," called Bones, smiling a little. "I'm good."Indeed.