Date: 2011-06-04
From: Darlington Shelter

To: The Allenberry, Boiling Springs
Miles today: 11.3

(In which I hike to Duncannon and ride back to Boiling Springs)Cayenne and I wake up early, since we both want to reach the post office in Duncannon before it closes for the weekend at noon. Cayenne leaves before me, and I stop to chat with a hammocker who appeared near the shelter sometime after I went to sleep. His name is Raisins, I learn, and in addition to being only the second Asian I've met on the trail, he is an April 7th starter, only the fourth or fifth I've met in what will be a long string of hikers who started after me, and I can't wait to meet more.The 11 miles to Duncannon aren't hard, but again run through active farm land, and this time the wheat is four feet tall and wet from morning dew, leaving me soaked and covered in bits of grass and wheat. When it becomes clear that I will make it to the post office in time, I slow down and take a break at the first view. With Cayenne ahead and everybody else still in their tents I have the first opportunity in days to hike by myself and listen to my iPod.When I get in to Duncannon I pick up the package with my new shoes from the post office and then head over to The Doyle, a bar, grill and hotel where Buffalo and I had tentatively planned to stay the night. I sit down at the bar to order lunch and the owner and bartender asks me to put my pack in the next room, an understandable policy to avoid crowding, but slightly annoying in the nearly empty bar since it means I have to pull out my iPod and Kindle. Raisins walk in and sits next to me, slumping forward in exhaustion with his head on his hands. The owner yells at him for having his head on the bar, then tries to take his order, though he's not sure what he wants yet.I chat with Raisins some more, knowing that this will almost certainly be my last chance to do so. Listening to his careful modesty -- I have to pry to get details like the exact length of his day yesterday (37 miles) -- I get a feeling of recognition, as if I am meeting a version of myself from just a few weeks ago. When he leaves, planning to resupply and then continue hiking, I say goodbye, wishing him luck since I won't see him again. "You never know," he says, using the exact same lines I used to, "we just may see each other again down the trail." Realizing that I probably will see most of the people I told that to again, I decide that there's more truth in the line than I had realized.The Doyle's hotel has a reputation that precedes it on the trail. Ghetto Sheep described it as being worth not a penny more than the $7.50 she paid to split a room, and said that she didn't take a shower because she was pretty sure that she would feel dirtier afterward. The price seems to have doubled since last year, and when Buffalo shows up he gets the same weird, unfriendly vibe from the owner that Raisins and I did, so we decide to pass on the Doyle and see what our other options are. Ghetto Sheep told us about a festival going on back in Boiling Springs, where we had breakfast yesterday, and we heard good things about the hotel there (Charlie took his second zero there, high praise), so we decide to try to hitch back.In Pine Grove we had met a women introducing herself as "Trail Angel Mary", who said that she lives in Duncannon and often gives hikers rides and helps them out however she can. She told us that she lives close to the Doyle and invited us to stop by if we needed anything, so we walk over to see if she's home. Her apartment is an odd mess of hiking related paraphernalia and Avon supplies, and seeing her in person the second time I notice her missing teeth and worn, tired looking face. Boiling Springs is half an hour away she says, and she can have her friend Duck Fart take us if we chip in $20 for gas money. This is cheap for a taxi, but expensive for gas money or trail magic. We accept the offer since it is likely the cheapest ride other than hitching and we want to see if we can make it to the festival before it ends. But the whole transaction leaves me somewhat let down, like finding out that what was advertised as a hiker feed was actually cheap food for sale, what would normally be a treat turning into a disappointment because of one's even higher expectations.Mary's friend Duck Fart also seems a little off, and drives Mary's old car with dubious proficiency, as if he hadn't driven a car in a long time. He talks non-stop for the whole trip, telling stories that go on and on, and Buffalo, sitting in the front seat for the leg room, gets the worst of it. Soon he switches to only vague, generic replies -- "uh huh", "yup", "mm hmm" -- inserted at regular intervals. We know that he is just trying to be friendly, but the onslaught of one-sided conversation is exhausting and we are both very relieved when we can finally leave the car.We arrive in Boiling Springs just after the festival has ended and check into the Allenberry, which turns out to be a fancy resort with a huge hiker discount -- $20 each for two hikers gets a double room that costs normal visitors $150. The resort is decked out with nearly every luxury imaginable. Our building alone includes a game room with foosball, pool tables, ping pong and air hockey, a home theater set up with leather couches, board games, and more. We laugh to think that we nearly paid the same amount for a slum room, and seriously consider spending the next several days here.