Date: 2005-03-26
From: Betty Creek Gap, NC

To: Rock Gap, NC
Miles today: 8.5

So this particular entry of Jess' is six pages long, sent in two separate envelopes from different points on the trail. It is a long, long behemoth of an entry. I just typed five pages of it before some mysterious computer evil occurred and the entry was gone. There are words, probably, to express my feelings at this point, but I think it's best to just start over before I explode in a fit of apopleptic rage and carpal tunnel. So here goes:Day 13, in which a very prolific Jess depends on the kindness of strangers, makes me think of the song "Dayenu," eats burritos in an oasis, cheats a litte bit, believes she can fly, meets a non-vegetarian hiker, engages in aromatherapy, is mocked for her hippie ways, takes so many breaks I wonder if she will be on the trail forever, goes home with the Easter Bunny, eats like a quasi-vegan horse, and gets karmic payback for a lifetime for bad puns: A day with no words, though that's never stopped me before. The morning was beautiful-- sunny and warm-- and after hiking an easy two miles what should we stumble upon but a small sign reading "Trail Magic" and an arrow pointing through the trees? A few steps later and we found ourselves under a tarp lined with Christmas lights, next to an RV, staring at a fire blazing underneath a tripod and a large circular saw blade filed off and rigged as a hot plate, holding large pots of rice and beans. "Welcome to Hiker Heaven," said Fishin' Fred. "Take a load off. Stay awhile." With little encouragement needed, we dropped our packs; minutes later, we were eating hot burritos and drinking cocoa. Terri and Barry, whose RV it was, had set up camp along with their 4,000 tortillas and were operating a sort of semi-permanent waystation for hikers, for no reason other than that it gave them pleasure to do so. They'd dug a privy (with permit) and set up an enormous tent (dubbed the Albert Arms) to shelter any hikers caught in inclement weather. I thanked them profusely that morning and will do so again here: Terri and Barry, what a wonderful way to start a day. Thank you both so much.Fully fortified with burritos, we headed towards the much-hyped Albert Mountain-- the highest point yet on the Trail, as well as being an extremely steep-- if short-- climb. There's a short blue-blazed trail running around the base of the mountain-- under half a mile-- and wehen we arrived at the junction I made my first total-purist-compromising decision of the trail: Weatherman and I ditched our packs in the brush at the base of the mountain, deciding we'd go up and over pack-free, then walk the (flat) half-mile back around afterwards to retrieve our packs. I figured I'd still be passing every white blaze, and I'd rather walk an extra .8 on a blue blaze, too, if it'd save some pounding on my knees. So into the laurels went the pack, and up the trail went I.And I swear I could fly. My pack's at a respectable weight, but the difference in climbing without it was phenomenal. I saw rock scrambles, nearly vertical, and instead of thinking "oof" I thought "hey, that looks fun!" My knees didn't hurt at all. When we reached the top and climbed the tower, we could see 360 degrees, miles into the distance. The peaks-- ahead, around, and the curve of the hills we'd come through-- spectacular. So was the wind. "I got a altitude headache," said Weatherman.After retrieving the erstwhile pack (no worse the wear for its nap in the sun), we continued down the trail, leapfrogging with Mother Goose, who was walking with a section hiker looking to get into town to satisfy a sudden craving for a McDonald's fish sandwich and an orange Crush. Not four miles from the road, my left foot cramped and I sat on a log by the stream to inspect it. "Uh-oh," I thought, "I'm getting a foot egg of my own." (Brownie, a fellow hiker we'd seen several times over the past few days, was nursing what she called her "foot egg," a swollen, painful lump on the instep of her left foot.) "Use some of this stuff," said Weatherman, waving a small bottle. "Essential oils. My own mix. Peppermint, spearmign, lavender, and teatree. Good for what ails you. Restore circulation. Relax muscles. Clears your sinuses right out." I rubbed some into my foot.Mother Goose came around the bend. "I smelled you all a half-mile back," she said. "What is that stuff? Peppermint? And are you all taking another break? I swear, every time I see you all you look entirely relaxed. And grinning. Every time I turn a corner I expect y'all to be holding hands and singing 'Kumbaya'... You sure that peppermint oil isn't covering the smell of something stronger?""E-ssential oils," said Weatherman, again. "Good for what ails you." He spritzed a little into the air.Just past Albert Mountain at Big Spring shelter, we ran into yet more trail magic: an '04 hiker was shelter-hopping, leaving bags of Easter candy behind. When she introduced herself as Swiss Miss (the Chocolate Bandito, Yo), I was excited: I'd read her journal on Trailjournals. She was a little startled to be recognized, but such are fame and Trailjournals: not a confluence I've dealt with myself really, but hiking with AT superstar Cuppa Joe has been a trip and a half-- every time we meet someone new, they say, "Oh! You're Cuppa Joe! I know about you!" Somewhat odd, but not unpleasant.In any case, Swiss Miss offered us, both generously and entirely unexpectedly, dinner and a roof for the night if we cared to come home with her when we reached Rock Gap, which was about three miles south of Winding Stair, our intended destination. It didn't take long to decide. "Rock Gap sounds good to me," I said. "Uh-huh," said Weatherman.We caught up again with Swiss at Rock Gap Shelter, just short of the road, and were pleasantly surprised to find not only Swiss there but also Jax, Brownie, Souleman, Runaway, Mother Goose and friend, and-- back again!-- Lori/Slickrock, the ubiquitous trail angel. Brownie had a few things to say about our pacing: "You all don't just take breaks," she said. "I mean you take breaks. The packs come off and you all lie sprawled on the ground like corpses." "What's your point?" I said.Swiss had offered to take Mother Goose and her fish-sandwich-craving companion into Franklin, and then return to take Cuppa Joe, Weatherman, Scholar and me home for dinner. (Mother Goose's friend, as we have established, wanted his fish sandwich; Mother Goose herself wanted to make it into town for Easter Sunday so that she could "go to services and ask forgiveness for some of the cussin' I been doing on these hills.") "I'll take them into town, then come back here to get you four," said Swiss. "I can take them into town," said Lori. "I've got my Pathfinder." Mother Goose leaned forward with interest. "Y'all gonna fight over us?" she asked.Lori took the other two into town, and the rest of us crowded into Swiss' car for the ride home. The roads wound around the hills and past fields, through spectacularly beautiful country; we arrived eventually at an equally lovely house, set high on a hillside with the mountains rising all around, and a passel of cats lounging by the doorway.A shower and laundry would have been wonderful enough in and of themselves, but the Keely family-- Swiss Miss, her parents Sherrie and Paul, and her younger brothers, the Harrison and Marcus Keely Photographic Comedy Duo-- treated us to a wonderful dinner as well, peppered with the repeat phrase (thanks largely to Harrison), "I propose a toast!" "Eat more veggie burgers!" said Sherrie, motioning to the platter. "There are more in the kitchen!" I looked at the platter, and at her. "I've already eaten three!" I said helplessly. (I may have neglected to mention it thus far, but the end of week two has marked a sudden and noticeable spike in my appetite.) "Dessert!" trilled Marcus. "You want the big jello square, right?" I swallowed. "Smile!" said Harrison, and took a close-up shot of my face with his digital camera.After dinner, divine justice smote me down like a thunderbolt from above, by which I mean I received providential payback for every bad joke I have ever inflicted on anyone, ever (and oh, there have been many)-- Harrison had an encyclopedia of bad jokes stored on his ipod. Twenty minutes later, he showed no signs of slowing. "How far can a horse go into the woods?" he demanded. "Halfway!" I croaked. "Then he's going out of the woods! A man walked into a bar and said ouch!" "Hush," said Harrison. "Who's bigger, Mr. Bigger or Mr. Bigger's son?" There was silence. I was defeated. "Mr. Bigger?" I said weakly. "Why?" barked Harrison. "'Cause he... is?" I said. "No!" said Harrison. "Mr. Bigger's son is! 'Cause no matter how big Mr. Bigger is, Mr. Bigger's son is always just a little bigger!"Then I went to bed. And slept like a rock.The day was an extraordinary one, not simply for the sights (which were breathtaking) nor for the weather (of which more could not have been asked) nor yet for the company (entertaining as usual): it was remarkable for the sheer kindness and generosity I encountered the whole day long. It touched me in a way I cannot express, the willingness of strangers to provide, unasked and with little incentive, such grace and bounty to passers-by. I am inordinately grateful to Terri and Barry, to Lori, and especially to Swiss Miss and the Keely famiyl for their hospitality and goodness. Who would have thought that taking to the mountains could restore such faith in the goodness of humanity? Not I. My heart goes out to all of you.