Date: 2005-07-02
From: Pennsylvania

To: Ligonier
Miles today: 0.0

Greetings all! A hearty hello from the great state of Pennsylvania, more specifically, from good ol' Ligonier. Yes, I'm back home, but only for a brief respite and pitstop. I'd been planning on trying to make it back for the annual 4th of July Schultz family picnic, w/ Mom's typical (but only typical for her) feast and spread. With a menu containing such delightful delicacies as "Herbed cheese beer bread" and "Ginger balls with melba toast" and "Bittersweet chocolate terrine w/ vanilla custard" (I don't know what the heck "terrine" is, but, by golly, doesn't it sound _tasty_?) -- well, w/ a menu like that, what hiker could even _dream_ of refusing? Not me, that's for certain. And, I believe that I've talked at least three fellow trekkers to join me -- Poet, Feelin' Free, and Serenity. Wahoo! I love these little off-trail detours that we take... Anyway, I wasn't planning on heading toward Ligonier 'til today, but my feet had other ideas. Nothing serious (knock on wood), but they'd been growing consistently sorer and achier by the days end, to the point where they never seemed to stop hurting. What had been a minor inconvenience was becoming increasingly problematic; you know, feet are kinda important when your avocation is walking all day, and when it hurts to take a step, well, that's not exactly a good thing. So, w/ the stubborn (il)logic of a thru-hiker, I blamed my sandals. They have, after all, around 1200 miles of Appalachian Trail on their soles, not to mention the countless miles I put on them over the past winter. So, it seemed reasonable to conclude that they were nearing retirement. Or were, perhaps, even overdue. I refused to even entertain the idea that the problem could lie in my _feet_, rather than my foot_wear_. Fortunately, it seems that my over-used sandals _were_ the root of the problem. I called home on Monday, from Caledonia State Park, and described my foot issues to Mom. She, in typical Mom fashion, was prepared to jump in the car that second and come get me. And, I have to admit, the offer was extremely tempting; I didn't relish the thought of another 5 days and 80 miles in those sandals. Feelin' Free's been wearing trail runners that should have been replaced 200 miles ago for the past 2 weeks, and I honestly don't know how she's done it. So, the offer to go home then and there and get some new footwear certainly appealed to me. But, at the same time, at Caledonia we were a mere 20 miles from Pine Grove Furnace State Park, the halfway point of the AT, and the site of the half gallon challenge (more on that later). I, somewhat illogically and definitely stubbornly, really wanted to hike to the halfway point w/ my trail family -- Poet, Free, Serenity, Freedom, Thatch, and, of course, Cuppa Joe. Getting there is a huge milestone, a trail event that I dreamed of last year but never realized, and, gosh darnit, I was going to be there this year, w/ my friends, sore feet or no sore feet. And that's exactly what happened. We (thankfully) split up the distance into two 10-mile days and, around 9:30 Tueday morning, I walked into Pine Grove Furnace, sore of feet but light of heart. Cuppa Joe was already there, downing his third (!) cup of coffee -- it was already, mind you, in the mid-80s, and would hit 90 degrees before noon. Around 11am, I decided to take the plunge and attempt the half-gallon challenge, a somewhat idiotic tradition begun by either a very hungry thru-hiker or a clever marketing strategy by the folks at Hershey Ice Cream. The objective: to consume one (1) half-gallon (1/2) of ice cream, of the flavor of your choice, in one (1) sitting, in whatever duration of time, at the General Store of Pine Grove Furnace State Park, to celebrate your arrival at the half-way point of the Appalachian Trail. Although I doubted my ability to successfully complete this challenge, I gamely decided to at least _try_. I, rather foolishly, I was later to discover, opted for Chocolate. Vanilla is just too...blah, and Cookies 'n Cream and Cherry Jubilee seemed like there's just too much...stuff...for it to go down easily. Well, the thing is, a half-gallon of ice cream is not _meant_ to go down easily. A person is not _meant_ to consume that much ice cream in one sitting. Or in one day, for that matter. By 2 o'clock, when Poet, Free, and Serenity had rolled in and were about to embark on _their_ challenges, I had already conceded defeat. I had managed to down perhaps 1/3 of 1/2 gallon (meaning I ate, what, a pint and a half?). But I, unlike my more successful counterparts, at least was not ill. I did witness Free polish off her half-gallon (and it was Vanilla too!), in an amazing 40 minutes. I also witnessed Free afterwards, moaning and groaning and clutching at her stomach. Hmmm... As I said, people are not meant to eat that much ice cream. But, congrats to Free, for the (dubious) honor of completing the Half-Gallon Challenge! And kudos to Poet as well -- I ended up leaving w/ Mom before Poet had finished, but she was on the home stretch. And Serenity? I have faith that you, too, joined the half-gallon club. (But, if not, you are more than welcome to join me, in the Loser's Lounge...) Cuppa Joe wisely refrained from even participating in the competition. Smart man. So, Mom arrived in the midst of all this chaos and competitive ice cream consumption. Fortunately, she's aware from last year's experience that all hikers are somewhat off-kilter, and thus she wasn't (I hope) _completely_ overwhelmed. Although, I have to admit in our defense, that on that specific day, that specific place is somewhat atypical, even for us. But, Mom gamely watched the downing of the dairy; I think she was slightly sickened by the sheer quantity and volume and rapidity of ice cream consumed. I confess that my stomach gave a sympathetic gurgle as Free decanted the melted dregs of her half-gallon box down her throat. And then she proceeded to eat a handful of wasabi peas. Groan. Following that display, well, really, what can top that? Mom and I headed back to Ligonier. And that's where I've been, since Tuesday evening. My first order of business was resolving this whole issue of pain in my feet. A few phone calls to the nearest outfitter, and I had found a Chaco retailer, expecting a shipment of brand-spankin' new sandals in on Wednesday. I asked them to set aside a pair of size 8s (a duplicate of my current pair), as well as some 9s. I was curious as to whether my feet had actually grown, as trail rumors purport they do. I was asked "What color would you prefer? We have 'Lupine' in both sizes, as well as 'Black' in size 9, and several other options in 8s." Being the fashion-conscious hiker that I am, my reply was "I honestly couldn't care less about the color, as long as it's a size that fits." By Wednesday afternoon, I was sporting a pair of new sandals (size 9, lupine), and my feet could already detect the difference. When I picked up the new pair and looked at the half-inch tread on the bottom (specifically in the mid-sole), and then picked up my old, much-beloved (_too_ much loved) ones and saw where the tread was _supposed_ to be, well, it was pretty obvious why my feet had been hurtin'. And, indeed, my feet have grown, to the point where they now fill out a size 9 quite nicely. (My original pair of 8s, I had deliberately bought a half-size too large, out of concern for having extra space so as to not stub my toes.) So, my feet are, once again, healthy and happy in their new homes. Who can say how far they'll travel in this pair, how many new sites and adventures they'll carry me through. Wherever they take me, it'll be an amazing journey. It's been really great, if somewhat surreal, being back in Ligonier. I hesitate to call it 'home', b/c the Trail is where I consider my home to be right now. But, it's wonderful to be back in the familiar embrace of this place, w/ all of the memories it holds. And, as much as I long to be back on the Trail (I haven't yet been able to sleep in my childhood bed, but I have progressed from the floor to the couch, so that's something, right?), I'm certainly looking forward to seeing many friends on the 4th (and eating some scrumptious food...). Today, I (rather cleverly, in my opinion) stumbled across a hornet's nest in our yard. How does one 'stumble' across a hornet's nest? you may ask. A very valid question. It's actually remarkably simple. And usually goes something like this: Someone (ie, me) pushes a lawn mower. The lawn mower runs over the underground hornets nest. The hornets? None too happy about having a giant machine attempting to vacuum up their home. They swarm and attack the perpetrator of the disturbance (ie, me). Yep, three of the little buggers got me before I realized what had happened. At which point, I ran. Fast. Nothing serious, but my right foot's a little swollen. Ironic, huh? I come home to rest my feet, and what happens? Figures. Anyway, I seem to have rambled on epically, perhaps to atone for some of my briefer updates. Thanks for all of your support and letters. I can't iterate enough how much I enjoy hearing from each and every one of you. And, hopefully, I haven't bored you too greatly w/ the rambling length of this [entry]. Wishing you all the best...