Date: 2004-05-29
From: FILL IN NAME LATER

To: Walkin' Blues
Miles today: 12.8

I¢ve never been superstitious, but in uncertain times I always look for something to place my faith in. And, right now, the outcome of my trip as very uncertain. My back grew weaker as my backpack¢s straps dug deeper into my flesh, and my feet became more bruised with every step I took, because there were many stones in my passway. I couldn¢t believe I was in for nine more days of this punishment.        Then a good omen came. A couple doing passed me that morning. When they were a little up the trail the man turned and said, ¢Hey, did you lose your sunglasses back at the shelter?¢ Sure enough, I was reunited with my old shades. I also had a friendly conversation with them; they turned out to be two fine people preparing for a trip to Yellowstone.         The sunglasses may not have meant much, but it raised my spirits significantly. I had my first experience with ¢Trail Magic,¢ that phenomena unique to the Appalachian Trail where something goes right for you when you least expect it. A lot more magic, and I¢d be fine. Walkin¢ Blues"I woke up this mornin', feelin' 'round for my shoes,Know 'bout 'at I got these old walkin' blues.Woke up this mornin', feelin' 'round all for my shoes.But you know 'bout 'at I got these old walkin' blues.Lord, I feel like blowin' my, woh, old lonesome home," I sang with all the angst a white boy ripping off Robert Johnson could muster.                Oh yeah, I had the walkin¢ blues. Plus, I was going through withdrawal. There's no easy way to say it, I was strung out like Christmas lights.        I always considered myself one of the least addicted people I know. I kicked smoke, I can go mornings without coffee and months without alcohol, and I don¢t absolutely have to watch any TV shows other than the Simpsons. I¢m not on any prescriptions, suffer from no chronic ailments and have fewer obsessive-compulsive superstitions than most people I know. Nevertheless, I was withdrawing. There were many little things I was so used to I now felt truly deprived of.         I missed constant stimulation. I missed watching TV and changing the channels during commercial breaks. I missed browsing the internet with two or three windows open so I could read two or three articles at once. I missed listening to music. Most of all, I missed sitting down. I missed lots of things I never think about much.*        I was getting bored with the trip already. What was worse, I knew I had nine more days of this left. What did I get myself into? How was I going to get out of this one? I was sorely tempted to get to a road, call Grandpa, and spend the rest of the week watching Cartoon Network while sitting on the couch.         I decided the only way to make a hard decision like this was not to decide. If I reached Port Clinton on Tuesday, I¢d keep going. If I didn¢t make it until Wednesday or later, I¢d go home with Uncle Doug. Either way, I¢d have days et to make the decision. Curse You, St. Anthony!There¢s a l4-mile section on the map simply marked as ¢St. Anthony¢s Wilderness.¢ I had some concerns about passing through this part; after all, St. Anthony is the Patron Saint of Lost Articles. Well, all lost articles except lost keys; that¢s St. Zita¢s job. Regardless, seeing a section of dense forest named after someone in charge of the lost is a lot more ominous than going to a barbeque where the cook is named Donner. It¢s all in the name.         While walking through the wilderness - the part right after Route 325, if you¢re interested in pinpointing it on a map - the trail came to a fork, and my only clue was the tree in the middle of the fork had a white blaze on it. That was great, but it didn¢t tell me whether or not to go right or left. Mathematically, I had a 50-50 chance of going the right way, but if there¢s a 50-50 chance I¢ll make the right choice I¢m wrong 90 percent of the time.         I must have walked for about half an hour before I realized I was lost. I started thinking something was wrong when all I could see where a few sporatic blue blazes on the trees, but I really knew I was going the wrong way when I realized the trail was flat and going straightforward.         Getting back on the trail was easy; I walked back a half-hour and went left. Sure enough, the trail became curvy, rocky, and lined with white blazes again.         I¢d go on to get off the trail a few more times in my journey. This one was the most frustrating, though, because I went off the furthest. Plus, I wasted a good hour of daylight and the energy I needed to do a mile. Time and Matter"I got stones in my passway and my road seem dark as nightI got stones in my passway and my road seem dark as nightI have pains in my hearts they have taken my appetite," I sang as the sun disappeared behind me.I managed to prove one interesting metaphysical fact this day: Time really does move slower when you¢re bored senseless. I proved it by walking what seemed the same pace for hours, yet somehow clearing less distance with each hour.        I wanted to walk as far as Yellow Springs, a place that was once a coal-mining village but according to the map was now reduced to ruins. Hey, it sounded like a fun place to camp. I thought I¢d be there by six p.m. if I kept a steady just-over-a-mile-per-hour rate. When that time came, I found myself in a wide open clearing - it was the terminus point of the Horseshoe Trail, which meant I was still three and a half miles from it.         I knew if I followed the Horseshoe trail for 130-some miles, it would lead me to Valley Forge Park - specifically, to a spot only a few miles from my apartment. If I stayed on the trail, I¢d have about the same distance to go, yet no real idea what I¢d find when I got there. I seriously considered just switching trails. If there were shelters on the Horseshoe Trail, I very plausibly may have done just that.         Instead, I kept following the white blazes east. I walked until it got too dark to see the next blaze - Hillbilly said when that happens, drop down and make camp where ever you are because nothing¢s worse than being lost at night. I took his advice.         It proved wise in a way he couldn¢t have foreseen. I made camp just down from the site of Yellow Springs, and it just so happened that night a group of kids decided to have a camp party at the site itself. I could only barely hear them and was really too tired to care. Besides, I had a nice soft patch of earth to myself. I managed to drift to sleep, imagining I heard a skunk walking towards me every time the leaves rustled.         In these two days, I had hiked only 23 miles. That¢s the distance I drive to work every morning. And my boss wonders why I¢m always late.*Strangely, though, I had no opportunity to get lonely. I ran into the weekend hikers a few more times that day, as well as a few other people on the trail. Apparently, it¢s more crowded during holiday weekends than normal. Misanthrope I am, I found myself looking forward to Monday.