Date: 2004-07-03
From: Georgia

To: Maine
Miles today: 18.0
Weather: overcast clouds

Harrisburg International AirportJuly 3, 04Mary Parry is a trail angel. She drives hikers the 15 or so miles fromremote Duncannon to neighboring big city Harrisburg for trips to theoutfitter or perhaps even the airport. Mary makes it very clear thatshe doesn't do it to profit from the hikers and will take only gasmoney. Unfortunately, Mary wasn't available this morning.   Heather, the cook at the Doyle, offered me a ride to the airport twodays ago. Heather does profit from hikers. No problem, I say. Justbe up front that this is a fee ride, not an act of kindness. Heather,however, neglected to tell me that it would cost me $20 until lateyesterday. I slept on it. After three nights at the Doyle at $17.50/night, meals in the bar andtwo good nights of swilling Pabst Blue Ribbon, I just don't feel likeforkin' over $20 for a 15-mile ride. I decide to hike it, or hitch, orboth.. What the hell. I hike 20 miles a day now! I'm a frikkenmachine. And I've got all day to do it. My flight isn't until 7:30p.m. I heft my pack alongside my weekend romance, Miss Pegasus, and togetherwe walk North out of Duncannon and over the bridges of the SusquehannaRiver. There, the trail is once again a portal, half-invisible, in thevaulting forest canopy beyond the freeway and the railroad tracks. Iwatch Pegasus disappear into the AT. I turn then and face my daysadventure. It isn't looking good. To my right, the river. To myleft, the forest. And the only passageways heading southwest towardHarrisburg are the unwalkable freeway and the illegal but doablerailway easement. I walk the tracks. It's hard walking railroad tracks with the roar of a nearby freeway anda giant pack on your back that makes looking over your shoulder a fulltorso-swing thing. I walk about a mile to the nearest hamlet and awidening of the heretofore thin corridor between forested mountain andriver. Here at least there are exit and entry ramps for the freeway. I don't stand long at the onramp before the absolute lack of trafficreminds me that I could be standing here a long time waiting forGrandma or Grandpa hamlet dweller to come out of the house and hit thefreeway for their monthly pilgrimage to Wal-Mart. I begin walking afrontage road fairly sure that it will soon end and I'll be forced backonto the train tracks. I walk on with faith in the best outcome.I am quickly rewarded. Jumping ahead a moment in the story, let metell you this. Just north of here a few miles farther up the AT than Ihave yet traveled, there are buried the ashes of a man who long dreamtof hiking the AT from end to end. He managed to section hike parts ofit, but fate cut his life short before the fruition of that "thruhike"dream. Where Mark Noel's ashes rest now grow wildflowers from seedsplanted along the trail by his brother Richard. I know all this because the one car, the only car, to stop (and at thispoint I didn't even have my thumb out) and inquire if I neededassistance, was a car carrying Richard and his son Andy. I know thisbecause Richard picked up me up. Or did he?"It was Mark who picked you up," said Richard. "I haven't pickedanyone up in 30 years. But you had that AT hiker look."Richard introduced himself and his son, and told the story of hislate-brother Mark as Richard, or Mark, one or the other, drove mestraight to the airport. "Hiking the whole AT was a lifelong dream ofMark's. This is Mark's doing," Richard said, repeating his sense ofhis brother's intervention in what might have been an impossiblejourney for me across Pennsylvania's capitol city.Saying my goodbye's and stepping out into the airport world, there wasa wide smile on my face as I shook my head with wonder. On a journeyfull of seemingly endless favors and kindness and hospitality andgraces and trail magic and angels, this one was a new one. I'd beenhelped out in time of need by many a trail angel, but this one beatall.Thank you Mark Noel, wherever you are. ¢RSMFor the full story of Rick's journey, visit Jigglebox.com