Date: 2017-04-10
From: Whitetop Mountain, VA

To: Woodchuck Hostel (Damascus, VA)
Miles today: 20.6

Day 34: Whitetop Mountain, VA to Damascus, VA - 20.6 miles:A decent night's sleep due to no snoring from Freight Train or another hiker that shared the room. I would begin tossing just after 5am, though, and eventually wake at 6am when Woodchuck began moving around in the kitchen outside of my door. Freight Train was sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee when I entered. We sat at the table together and were treated to a great breakfast from Woodchuck which included cereal, hard-boiled eggs, bananas, and all-you-can-eat blueberry waffles. As we ate, chatted, and pushed back the sleep, Woodchuck worked away providing an endless flow of fresh, hot blueberries. As 7am approached, Freight Train and I stuffed our few pieces of gear needed for the day in to borrowed slack-packs, loaded into Woodchuck's van, and were heading towards the mountains in the light blue-grey of pre-dawn.A few minutes before 8am, after winding our way up and just below the summit of Whitetop Mountain, Woodchuck dropped us off on a gravel road where the AT crosses before skirting the summit, dropping down the other side, and again rising towards Mt. [Aaron] Rodgers. We stepped out of the van to a 180-degree view of the mountains of Tennessee to the south, having already hiked over a slice of them to reach this point. We thanked Woodchuck before quickly hitting the trail, nearly 21 miles of trail between me and another Coke in Damascus. We skirted around the mountain, first through an exposed stretch and then back into a light forest. No more than 10 minutes later we exited the cover of the forest into a large grassy bald that covers the southern half of the mountain. We climbed atop an outcropping of rocks, known as Buzzard Rock, and enjoyed a 360-degree view of rolling mountains in one direction, ridges and valleys in the opposite direction, and the forested summit of Whitetop Mountain behind us. Having visited this area a couple times before, I knew it'd be our only real view for the day, before dropping into the valleys and covered mountains below on our way back to town. After a couple of minutes of taking it in, Freight Train and I began making our way down back beneath treeline. Freight Train, like yesterday, had track to lay today and he disappeared from sight in only a couple of minutes, not to be seen again until I reached town hours later.With music in, I'd quickly find my 3mph pace, the weight of my slack-pack almost unnoticeable, as I worked my way down from Whitetop. It wasn't long before I stumbled across of boy scouts as they say on the side of the trail gulping down water. It was early in the morning, but the temperature was mild and they were heading up the mountain I was cruising down. I spoke with them long enough to learn they were closing in on the halfway point of their 50-mile hike in order.to earn their 50-mile badge.On the morning would go. Crunch, crunch, crunch of the leaves under foot. Tap, tap, tap of my trekking poles over rocks and roots determine to slow my progress. The sun climbed higher, the temperature grew warmer, and on I hiked. The first change of pace came when I reached the Creeper Trail, the second thing Damascus is known for other than being the home of Trail Days. The Creeper Trail is a ridiculously well-graded biking/running/walking path, running ~30 miles between Whitetop Mountain and Abingdon, VA, following the path of an old railroad, once used to haul lumber from the mountains. The AT essentially becomes part of the Creeper Trail at two points, once just outside the north end of Damascus, and the second time several miles outside of town, where I currently found myself. With the path so flat and free of obstructions, it was difficult to fight the urge of wanting to move faster. Unable to simply keeping moving at my 3mph pace, I picked up my trekking poles and began running. Carrying so little weight, it was nice to lightly run, feeling the new sensations that come with moving quickly. Anything other than slowly lumbering myself up and down mountains under the weight of my normal pack was a nice change. I'd run for close to half a mile before the trail cut back into the woods, continuing its winding and gentle inclines and declines around valleys and creeks.Continuing on I'd pass two places that brought up found memories. One, a tall stand of thick pines just off the trail was the location of one of my favorite campsites two years ago - cowboy camping in a bed of soft pine needles as the wind cut through the pines above. Spilling my alcohol while cooking and nearly setting my gear on fire also made for a good laugh. The second, within a few miles later, was a small, dark pond where the AT wrapped around it on three sides. I remember Burnsides, Moosehead, Safari, and me trying to bet the other to swim across it, knowing a huge snapping turtle was basking on a downed log nearby. We all failed that day; even though no snapper was present today, I would've failed again if bet.With just under four miles remaining until reaching Damascus, the last little climb of the day was up and over Iron Mountain. As a mere bump in comparison to other mountains, it would've normally been smooth sailing into town. However, over the last couple days of increased temperatures and more body sweat, my body's salt buildup has equaled chaffing in my buttocks region. I huffed and puffed my way up and over, walking with my legs spread slightly more apart than usual, trying to prevent any additional rubbing than is already necessary for w guy with a bigger butt. At 1:45pm, I exited the woods and returned to the Creeper Trail, running parallel to a creek that'd lead me into Damascus. I made my way directly into a Subway, purchased a Coke, and downed it before refilling it and exiting.I exited the Subway and made my way across town, returning to the Woodchuck Hostel. On my way back I counted six churches in this small town, two more than the total selection of eateries. A lawnmower purred in the distance of some unseen overgrown yard, shuttle vans zipped by carrying passengers and bikes to/from the Creeper Trail, a few hikers mingled around the small downtown, and I chatted with the only cop I've seen in Damascus as we walked down the sidewalk together. He wished me well on my hike, unknowing to the fact I'll soon be concluding mine, and I asked if I could hold his gun in return. He said no. Joke.I briefly returned to the hostel to get out of my salt-covered clothes, briefly running them through the sink and hanging them on a close-line to dry. With a sleeveless gray t-shirt being the only thing in my size, I threw it on and returned downtown, back to Bobo McFarland's. I'd sit there in some kind of wasted state, downing another club sandwich, chips, and three Cokes. The lunch atmosphere was quiet, the voices of waitresses and golf on TV the only things passing through the otherwise nearly vacant restaurant. I briefly chatted with my waitress, Bonnie, who also owns one of the hostels in town, the Broken Fiddle Hostel. I swing by after finishing with lunch, only to find four hikers I hadn't met before playing cornhole in the yard. A fifth, a girl, Pudge, sat on the ground watching, a cold beer in her hands. I looked around the hostel and said a quick hello before heading back across town to the hostel I've called home for the previous two days.When I arrived I saw Freight Train sitting in a wooden rocking chair on the small front porch. I would join him and we'd spend the next couple hours chatting about the trail, football (he's a Cowgirls fan), and making tentative plans for the next few days. He'll be meeting a friend in Marion, VA on Saturday and, like me, can easily put in miles and be well passed there come Saturday. Instead we've decided to take our feet off the pedal, average around ~15 miles a day over the next few days, and end up in Marion together where I'm scheduled to return to Indiana on Monday. As we chatted, we were joined by a couple of Hostel cats, Andy and Fat Cat and a couple of dogs, all looking for a little attention. As the evening set in, Booty returned from the store with an armload of food. Within a couple hours he had prepared a feast that easily fed 10 hikers, asking nothing in return. With a spread consisting of grilled chicken with Ritz crackers sprinkled over, grilled cucumber and squash, broccoli smothered in cheese, salad, and sweet potatoes, the hostel ate very well tonight. As conversation flowed freely and belt buckles were loosened, Booty, Bubbles, Jedi, Freight Train, Woodchuck, and a couple others sat with me in the backyard of the hostel as the surrounding mountains glowed a fiery red as the sun set. With homes being in California, Indiana, Maryland, Minnesota, and Texas, we all found happiness on two picnic tables in Damascus, Virginia.After dinner hikers gradually disappeared to chat or spend time on their electronics, catching up with family, news, etc, but I'd spend the next hour cleaning all the dishes left behind in the kitchen. It was the least I could do to give back. Following a quick shower, I've seen been wrapping up this entry. Booty is asleep in the loft above my room, and either Freight Train or the hiker next to him is in the beginning stages of snoring, but I can't determine which through the darkness. I can say for certain, though, Freight Train has dropped some decent farts, whether he's aware of them or not.Tomorrow, Freight Train and I will be shuttled back to the top of Whitetop Mountain where we'll continue north. We'll be standing in the Grayson Highlands within a couple hours of starting, my favorite section of the trail. Here's to reaching 500 miles and hopefully attracting some cute wild ponies in the process.