Date: 2003-05-07
From: Va 635, Stony Creek bridge

To: Pearisburg
Miles today: 22.0
Weather: light rain

Out to the Trail early today, thanks to Chainsaw's shuttle. Very cloudy today, but that makes for cooler walking. Still, the sun perks up the spirits. Either one will do.Before long, the first shelter swings into view. Despite the "swamp" in its name, Pine Swamp shelter was on high ground, a lovely stone hut with fireplace and upper bunks reminiscent of the Vermont style-bunks on both sides, with a central "hallway".On the climb up hill, a branch of Stony Creek kept me company as it chortled through its rock-choked streambed. Going south, I see Raisenette and Two Dogs going north.My feet feel so much better now that the shoes have been stretched! It's just the usual hot spots and blisters now. How did I even walk before? The contrast is striking.The funny thing is, I am a Comfort Princess. At home, I avoid the extremes of hot or cold. I dislike damp, discomfort. And aches and pains, well, that's not acceptable.There is an Eagles song: "Would you walk on your lips through busted glass? ... how bad do you want it?..." The funny thing is, I can't tell you what drives me to get up each day and work so hard with such physical effort and discomfort.It's not a thing easily put into words, or measured, or wrestled into submission. It's intangible. Which makes it no less real. Joseph Campbell, in a study of myth and the classic "hero's journey", writes about individuals hearing "the summons" from inside and either ignoring it or answering it. The costs of ignoring the summons, and clinging to conformity are high, he observes, and lead to a deadness of affect, heart and spirit. Don't get me wrong. I'm no hero, that I know, but I am getting better at listening. At recognizing Something. Campbell's observation has resonance for me. There is no other way to explain the sudden intrusion of the AT into my life in January of 2001 than as a inner summons. And, in following it, there is a certain sort of continued resonance. A "rightness," if you will. It is a felt thing. But that makes it no less real. It is, by definition, irrational - a word that makes many flee. But in balance, I believe it is what puts meat on the bones of life.Maybe this resonance will go away tomorrow. After all, I have lots of energy today! But it is here today, this moment. I have no idea why it is here, and in acknowledging its presence, have no delusions of self-importance or grandeur. I'm not "chosen" or special. I think everyone gets a call of some sort at different times in their lives; it's not unique to me.It's just... there. Right now. And I am listening.I think back to the many hike-bending incidents in just two months - loss of cash, tendonitis, loss of wallet and ID, utter forefoot misery, a sick, aging parent - and wonder why they haven't derailed me. Not that they still couldn't in the future. It's just that they haven't, and that's a wonderment to me. It gives a small modicum of confidence. I am feeling a bit weathered - maybe seasoned is a better word.I run into Notes, he had a wonderful time with his girlfriend and is sill glowing. Then he tells me some shocking news - The White Brothers have gotten off the Trail. Their foot woes caused them to return to Georgia to reevaluate their plans. Now that I know how simple some foot fixings can be, this distresses me, and I write an e-mail to Chief, asking him to convey Phil's foot-tracing info to the twins, so they could have their shoes stretched.Also, the Whites have been hiking in my vicinity since NOC, and I hate to lose their courtly, low-key company. With them around I never felt patronized, yet always somewhat "watched over." What a comfortable feeling.Right after Notes come Tanglefoot and Proud Feet, a British father-son team. They are upbeat, infectious. "Out for a bit of a stroll, we are," says the father Tanglefoot.Later, I cross a high bald named Symms Meadow, and what views from that sward of green. A stop at Rice Field shelter to sign the register, and have a little chat with the hikers, who are now cooking.Feeling punky, I tease them: "There are miles to go yet, plenty of daylight yet!"One fellow turns his back on his hydrating Mountain House meal, and it slips to the ground, spilling half. He howls with anguish, and I can relate - I have been there. I offer him half of my cinnamon-raisin bagel, smeared with peanut butter; I am about to eat it for the final push to the truck.Him: "Naw, thanks tho..."Me: "You sure? I'm going down to a lamb dinner."Him: "What did you say you had...?"I am not a very fast hiker, pretty much the standard 2 mph. I thought this would improve with my fitness level, but that hasn't really happened. What HAS changed is endurance: I'll take fewer breaks as I walk, or fewer stops, if any, on a climb. I can also now go more miles in a day without wearing out. But faster I cannot go. So 22 miles will take a full 11 hours, plus an hour for breaks, lunch, chatting.And so it does. I come out of the woods on the dot of the appointed time, and there is Dave and his truck. He kids me about being compulsive. Ha! It was luck, purely.I have two more quick miles to do, and - I knock those out into Pearisburg. They are forgettable, save for two features: a stinky fiber plant and a bumper crop of poison ivy.Before long, I am across the bridge and into town.I am very weary tonight, sleepy and dirty. I can hardly walk, my little toe has blistered, but I feel it was a result of the fast, long hours more than just the shoes. The left foot is fine, and only one blister on the right - a ninety percent improvement. Chef Dave has prepared a fantastic sit-down dinner, and Carla and I seat ourselves down to a veritable Easter dinner: grilled lamb roast studded with garlic, roasted potatoes with tarragon, grilled onion, squash, homemade whole grain bread to die for, spring peas and butter, fresh garden salad. And a fine ale of Chainsaw's choosing. Yowza!Said Chainsaw: "I had two goals: see if your feet could be helped, and make sure you were well fed." Goals met, I'd say. Thanks Dave and Carla! I fall into bed, and right into sleep.