Date: 2017-04-14
From: Chatfield Shelter, VA

To: I-81 (Marion, VA)
Miles today: 5.0
Weather: clear sky

Day 38: Chatfield Shelter, VA to I-81, VA - 5.0 miles:Sleep didn't come easy last night. Not due to lack of comfort or gas, but simply the thought of it being my last night in the woods. Around midnight I finally turned off my music and would begin what has become a typical night of tossing and turning over the past month plus. Removing my glasses, the blanket of stars transitioning into a giant out-of-focus smudge, I'd allow sleep to slowly overtake me as the sounds of a babbling creek flowed nearby.Freight Train, having been a little hesitant in trying cowboy-camping for the first time, was awake and packing by 6:30am. I immediately asked him how he enjoyed his first time, to which he replied in a positive manner. I'm sure he'll be spending several more tent-less nights on the trail as he continues on his journey. Quickly packing and skipping breakfast since we knew The Barn was only five miles away, we were soon hiking down and through a shaded valley, the sun yet to crest the small mountains above. We'd follow along a shallow creek, crossing over it several times as we continued the gradual descent over the first couple miles. The morning was slightly cool and our fingers were numb as we we gripped our trekking poles, clinking and clanking over the many small rocks that lined the trail.We soon arrived at the Lindamood School and Settlers Museum, tucked in a small valley along VA 615. The valley was drenched in the early morning sun and we were able to warm up as we entered and approached the old schoolhouse, still standing since the mid-1800's. I knew a local church used the schoolhouse as a trail magic cache and was happy to reach it. Despite being a cool piece of history, my stomach was turning due to skipping breakfast, and I was banking on a cooler of soda. I walked in and glanced behind the door, finding several tubs of items desired by hikers: toiletries galore, snacks, and, as I'd hoped, a cool of cold soda. Freight Train opened the cooler and, floating in water amidst many Pepsi cans was one single can of Coke. I took this as a sign from the AT, a thank you of sorts, for returning and enjoying her for a bit once more.With only just under three miles remaining, we continued through two small grassy fields before climbing up and over a series of small hills. After reaching the top of the last one, we were treated to a view overlooking a lush green valley, running from southwest to northeast, a steady hum of traffic rising from I-81 below, a large ridge rising on the western side of the valley. We dropped down, admiring what seemed to be perfect farms, what you might expect to see in a calendar. The red wood of a barn standing atop a lush rolling hill, the green of a ridge rising behind, all held together beneath the deep blue of the sky above.Crossing over the middle fork of the Holston River, we noticed a railroad track, as well as the deep whistle of a train still somewhere out of sight, but gradually growing louder. We reached the railroad tracks, the tracks vibrating and lightly snapping, boxcars rounding a bend several hundred yards away. Within 30 seconds of us crossing the tracks, the train was thundering by, the conductor releasing a few extras blows of the whistle as we stood within a few feet of the tracks. It would take nearly five minutes for the train to completely pass, Freight Train and I gradually climbing a small rise in the opposite side of the tracks in the process.Within 20 minutes later we were walking into The Barn, a favorite eatery of hikers, sitting on a side road at a junction where the AT crosses over I-81 before continuing up and northward along the opposite ridge. We sat at a booth in the corner of the almost empty restaurant, one thru-hiker the only other customer, finishing up the last of his coffee as we arrived. Minutes later Van Grizzle, the Andrew Luck doppelganger, appeared and I asked him to join us. Freight Train and I enjoyed a similar breakfast of two eggs, two pieces of bacon, two pieces of sausage, two pancakes, grits, and a biscuit.Complemented with what seemed to be endless amounts of hot coffee, it was an all-around solid conclusion to my brief hike as we chatted, laughed, and thickened up. Van Grizzle was soon back to the trail, while Freight Train called a shuttle drive from Marion whom was recommended to us by two people the day before. Another 15 minutes after placing the call and we were being returned to Marion, VA by Jim Sparks, a kind gentlemen who's called Marion home for 40 years and has been shuttling hikers free of charge for years.Freight Train and I originally planned to stay at the Economy Lodge, but once finding out they didn't provide on-site laundry, we instead went across the street to Travel Inn. Although we sacrificed an included breakfast, we decided laundry was higher on our list of priorities. Entering room 65 in the corner of where the building L's, we concluded it was nothing to write home about, but would be a very enjoyable home for our time here. Clothes were quickly discarded and thrown into the laundry, showers taken, Freight Train shaved his head after driving him crazy, having become one centimeter long over the last couple weeks, before setting off to walk to Walmart nearby.We passed through a couple quaint neighborhoods, every house appearing to be the home of a professional landscaper, driveways and flowerbeds filled with the brilliant reds, yellows, pinks, and oranges of tulips, the trees freshly bloomed, still a couple weeks ahead of the higher elevations. We roamed the rows of Walmart, Freight Train gathering a cart of enough snacks to reach Bland, VA, still a few days ahead, and me rounding up enough travel-sized toiletries to help in my transition of returning to a human again. We momentarily returned to the motel with our goods before immediately walking back to Sonic. We enjoyed our burger and chicken sandwiches, tots, and the beauty of the day as we sat on the outside patio watching traffic zoom along in one one of the busiest small towns I've ever seen. It's almost as if everyone is out driving, but with nowhere exactly to be.We have since returned to our motel where we've been vegging out for the past few hours. The TV has been running since we returned, the most I've seen in over a month, rotating between baseball, rugby, the weather channel, Cops Live, and a series of outdoor-related shows. Although we've both actively been watching, it's remained mainly a way to fill the quiet room as we split a six-pack of beer, peanut butter pretzels, and chat as things come up. One hiker we last saw in Damascus recent arrived and was chatting with us in the parking lot just outside our room. Two locals rolled up in their car and told him to come get the Walmart buggy he left in their driveway. He replied that he'd be there soon, and they countered with him coming now or they'd contact the law. Such silliness. I told him he better get moving because it's smart for hikers not to piss off the locals. He headed off.It's now nearing 6pm and Freight and I will eventually head back out to enjoy a lighter meal of some sort. When tomorrow arrives, Freight Train will eventually be meeting up with two friends from eastern Virginia who traveled here to spend a couple days hiking with him, and will gradually continue his journey north. I will be figuring something out in regards to how I'll spend the weekend, my bus ride back to Indiana not beginning until Monday afternoon. So that's that, another much-to-quick adventure comes to an end. Despite returning to Indiana and continuing in a direction that has yet to reveal itself to me, my heart will remain in the mountains of this special trail. I've met a handful of special people that I plan to continue to follow and support, offering tips and advice if/when needed.In conclusion, I'll simply quote a summary I can only wish were my own words, but are instead those of author and PCT thru-hiker, Erin Miller, in her her book "Hikertrash: Life on the Pacific Crest Trail" that best describe why myself and many other aspiring hikers are drawn to life on the trail:"Whether they admit it or not, every single hiker is searching for something. We're all pilgrims searching for something, searching for our place, for a sense of being, for a way to rectify the past, for a means to right wrongs, for consolation, for closure, for meaning, for purpose, for something bigger than ourselves. You don't hike this far, spend this much time in the present, this much time in your own head and not realize you're searching for answers to questions you never even realized you'd asked."