Date: 2014-04-03
From: none

To: Little Laurel Shelter
Miles today: 20.0
Weather: overcast clouds

Some Hostel Situations...A few people have asked me where I sleep, as though incredulous that I might dain to sleep alone, on the ground, in the middle of nowhere. The reality is that sleep is natural and if you are tired enough you will sleep just abut anywhere. I'm not trying to sound profound or like a know-it-all. It's just truth. You're body gets what it needs and if you are lacking it then it will take it. Under normal circumstances, aka school, work, normal environments, I would worry about getting enough rest to survive. Out here it is what it is. My body rules my choices: hike more or less, longer, faster, shorter, slower. It's easier to understand what I've invested in my own upkeep because the results are tangible manifestations of my choices. I can tell when I've slept and I can tell when I've eaten. It all becomes fuel. And, being a rather chunky individual, this is a rather pleasant change. Results are easy to understand. 1+1=2, right?So when people get worried about how I'm sleeping I get rather touched and slightly worried. Touched, because they obviously care about me. But worried because I realize that these folks must never have spent a night outside of a secure environment without fear. I'm not trying to sound like I'm talking from a high horse. My horse is in fact very low. However, I have rarely spent more nights where I have felt more safe. Don't get me wrong. There are certainly things out there to avoid. Mice being not the least of my worries- but even so, I have slept better here than my entire college experience. You get used to sleeping on a mat and in the confines of a sleeping bag. You get used to dirt and snoring and stinky men... And women, 'cuz come on, we ladies are pretty stinky too. It is all a matter of acclamation. So, it really means something, when a thru hikers says they were so skeazed out that they were afraid to take their stinky-ass boots off. Per norm we stay in either our tents (which smell like mold and rotting feet) or shelters (which are overrun with mice and fleas... Which incidentally we're ok with because it beats getting rained on). Our choices are limited, so we're usually thankful for any change to the norm. But the changes, though welcome and certainly interesting can occasionally be... Well, slightly less than the average tourist is willing to stomach. For instance:When you exit the Smokies you are a desperate individual. If you planned you exertion correctly then you are probably out of food and every last pair of your socks are on the edge of gangrene. So naturally you are looking for somewhere to shake off the last vestiges of Smokey-Mountain-Funk. The first place of civilization that offers itself up to the desperate hiker is a hostel on the northern side of I-40. And wow, what a place. It makes a killing on hiker resupplies (1$ frozen pizzas marked up to $10) but more than that it is just a jumble of fun and dual purposes. When a place uses a clothes drier to both dry clothes and heat a kitchen space you know you have stumbled upon something interesting. Seriously. Everything has a dual purpose. The shower doubles as a laundromat. Beer bottles are recycled... Not to save the planet, but to become a lighted wall in the shower. Books become toilet paper. Etc. I know I'm making light of this... And no, I would never go barefoot in this joint...but even so, the place had charm. The man in charge (not the proprietor, but the general cruise director), Rocket, has almost as much character as the hostel itself. His unkept red beard mirrored the rusted metal roofs of the multi-building establishment. And his whirlwind tour, which I listened to him give 4 times, always ended with the beer shack; a separate building of uncertain stability. It was fascinating. The place worked as a well oiled machine and had obviously been well thought over (there were signs telling you where light switches were and reminding you to put things back where they belonged) and yet you couldn't help walking away with a faint tinge of filth clinging to your body... Even after you'd showered twice. The privy was a hole in a wooden stall and you threw a handful of cedar ships into the hole after you'd finished your business (needless to say the entire compound smelled like a hamster cage). The kitchen had a gas range that could have been used by Jeremiah Johnson's fifth cousin who came out to the frontier on a whim (everyone was constantly asking to borrow a lighter or randomly running over to the bunkhouse to find their matches last minute when the flame randomly extinguished itself). The wood stove in the bunkhouse required more loving to produce heat than all the brothels in Amsterdam. The minimal statement is: the place needed some work.Along this note of unfathomable sleeping conditions my motel in Gatlinburg came preprepared with a dirty dish in the sink and a VERY used condom in the trash can-along with a moldy shower curtain and some unsavory bed sheets. I showered in my shoes there and slept on my mat and in my sleeping bag on top of the bed. Yikes!!Yet on the flip side, I have also stumbled across a few gems to compensate for the odd housing arrangement. Elmer's hostel in Hot Springs could equally be called home. It is an old Victorian house than he inherited from a previous generation of trail angels. It has everything a hiker could possibly need. (With the exception of Internet which is easily found elsewhere) and has the added benefit it of cleanliness. He insists you check your boots and poles at the door; an immediate signal of hygiene. And your sheets are so white and crisp that snowflakes dull in comparison. It's heaven. Elmer himself is rather quiet and unassuming (unless you ask him to feed you meat or question his lack of Internet access) and seems to prefer remaining undisturbed on the porch with his dog, Jimmy Carter (nope, not joking). He possesses a pleasant personality and I found myself innately drawn to the serenity of his presence. He is a good soul. And his waffles are da bomb!!! Two "yums" up for his breakfast making capabilities. The younger fellow that helps out around the place, Jesse, is also a calm and welcoming presence. He gives the initial welcome and house-rules-intro and his key lime pie is probably the best dessert in town, bar none. So, to answer the initial question of "where do you sleep," the answer is: wherever I can. I'm thankful for whatever shut eye I am allotted and doubly thankful when it's offered in a place like Elmer's. As Napoleon is constantly reminding me: "you can sleep when you're dead."