Date: 2003-06-14
From: Niday Shelter

To: 4 Pines Hostel
Miles today: 7.0
Weather: few clouds

Craig says...It's sad but I must say that Erin and I have made the decision to take a week or two off today.....I was up early while Erin continued to nurse her increasingly painful wounds inside the tent. The bugs were out already, humming and buzzing and clinging to the mesh windows and rainfly. The cicadas had started their chorus earlier and with more vigor than I'd ever heard previous. Even at 8:00AM the air hung heavy and humid and the sun's early rays felt curiously strong. It was the first dry night we'd had in a while but still everything lay soaked from the sodden days before. My socks and shoes continued to raced neck and neck in a steady ascent of the smell chart. I swear you could bury them a foot underground and although they would probably compost in minutes, the smell would linger like radioactive sludge, seeping into groundwater and the smell permeating the area for generations to come. As for my shin, no worse no better. But my legs felt sturdy and limber and ready to tackle whatever swollen streams, fallen logs, steap ascents, or sharp rocks that most certainly lay ahead I gingerly, using the least amount of flesh possible on my thumb and forfinger, put our socks and shoes on a sun soaked stump in hopes that they would dry and perhaps have some of their scent baked out. While waiting I brewed up some coffee on the dirty floor of the shelter and watched Jimbo, Crowdog, Prariechicken, and Free Radical stuff their bags while I split my time reading a Reader's Digest, watching the coffee and pondering what the hell we were going to do¢¦What choices did we have? Could Erin continue on in such obvious pain? Was going day in and day out healthy for my shin? After Erin rose we sat over coffee, listening to the undulating whine of the cicadas and decided to walk on. Maybe it would get better.It didn¢t.Within hours we were both hobbling at the speed of say, someone 4 times our age. Which would come to about¢¦104. That's old. It had taken us over 5 hours to hike seven miles which to anyone who hikes in New England would know as ¢wicked slow¢. I could see tears in Erin¢s eyes as we stumbled slowly down off of the mountain towards Trout Creek. Eventually we both had to stop and face the facts¢¦Things were getting worse. There was no way we were even going to make it to Pickle Branch Shelter 3 miles away, never mind 4 Pines, another 9 miles. We had to get off and we had to get off now. And that was that. We unfurled the map, looked at the roads, and found an old dirt road called 620 that ran parallel to Trout Creek. This road led to 621, a busier, paved road, which in turn led to 311, an even busier road, which led to Catawba. From there we would decide what we would do.Through gentle strokes of luck and one huge red pickup truck with a rusty horseshoe screwed to its hood manned by a modern saint named Ron Sachs we made it all the way to Daleville. (Daleville is 20 miles beyond Catawba and is where we had had our things forwarded to from Catawba days before.)   We got a room at the Econolodge that turned out to be a spitting distance from the trail and holed up there to nurse our wounds and continue pondering our options.After two days of sleeping in beds and eating AYCE Chinese food we decided that we could spend wads of cash recovering in a hotel room and eating out or bite the bullet and just rent a car and go home. Atleast there we could see our families, eat real meals (for free), have a dry place to stay (for free), and see Erin¢s brand new nephew Rory for the first time. We chose the later¢¦..See you around July 2nd! Thanks for reading!