Date: 2013-03-25
From: Standing Bear Farm

To: Asheville, NC residence
Miles today: 0.0
Weather: light snow

(In which I hitchhike to Asheville and dance)I linger in the cabin for a while writing before I get everything packed up and head out to the highway. This time I take the gravel road down the mountainside instead of retracing the Trail back up and down its switchbacks. It is a cold morning but I am pretty warm and am looking forward to going to Asheville. I set up at the beginning of the onramp to hitchhike. I would love to hitch on the interstate itself, but that is illegal and there is a good chance a passing police cruiser will spot me before anybody picks me up.The first car going my way actually isn't going my way. It is the hostel's owner. He tells me I could wait all day for a car to come through this quiet exit, and takes me a few miles away from Asheville to another exit where I will have better odds. Traffic is light here but there are a few cars using this ramp. It is still a while before a pickup truck stops to offer me a ride. The driver is a long-distance trucker heading home for a week's break. He is getting off the highway at exit 50, just a mile shy of my destination. We share unusual experiences we've each had on the road, although he has had many more years to collect those experiences than I've had.The trucker drops me off at the Arbys right near the exit. I figure I am about to get food with my friend Alison, who has moved to Asheville in the past year. That doesn't stop me from getting some food here to get me started. I get in touch with Alison, who says she can pick me up here in a half hour. Now that I am back in civilization and have a data connection on my phone, I catch up on my online communications and post some of the back log of trail journals I have. It had been too cold to take off my gloves and write on most recent nights and I have fallen behind on my writing. It turns out Alison is held up on picking me up, so I catch up further on my writing while I wait.An hour later than anticipated, Alison and Connel show up to bring me to their accommodations. I don't mind the wait, as I have needed some down time with no distractions to keep me from writing. I haven't caught up yet, but I am closer to being up-to-date than I have been for several days. The first order of business is laundry, so we go right back to their house. They live with a few other folks, so I mingle a bit while continuing to write. After I move my laundry to the dryer, we make a visit to Amazing Savings, a local supermarket. I don't really need anything, and could have easily made the three days to Hot Springs without re but fall victim to my desire to have more food than I already have. Specifically, I can get smoked gouda for way less than I usually pay for cheese. I cannot pass that up, and also get dried fruit and other snacks. So much for the pack weight I lost in the Smokies!We return to the house and I get myself as organized as possible for my departure tomorrow. I repack my food bag and set other things to air out around an empty room. Somewhat later we get dinner and go to the dance. Asheville is supposed to be a major contra dance scene in the south, just like Greenfield, MA is a great place for contra dancing in the north. The Monday night dance is at the Grey Eagle, which turns out to be a bar with a large hall for dancing and music. We arrive early, and I hang around in the corner of the hall continuing to write as Iz wait for things to get started.It is an enjoyable dance, and I force myself to stay awake through the last waltz. Hiker bedtime - 8:00pm - is when most dances begin, and I hope this doesn't prove to make things too difficult. I run into a couple more thru-hikers at this dance, one of those a '93 and the other an '06. There are also a few familiar faces at this dance. One of those folks is someone I saw at the Brasstown dance a week ago, and had offered me a ride to Nantahala if I could wait for the following evening. The second is someone I had encountered in Vermont at the Brattleboro Dawn Dance last year, and now lives down here. The third individual is someone else I encountered at the Dawn Dance, but when I ask if they live here or there the answer is neither. It turns out he is a fellow wanderer - I had encountered him while he was biking up to Vermont, and now I encounter him on another bike ride far to the south.It is well past my bedtime, so mercifully I get dropped off at the house before everyone goes off to the after-dance festivities. I almost fall asleep on the smaller of the two cats, Gypsy, who jumps onto the couch behind me when I sit up to zip up my sleeping bag. Fortunately for the cat, my lofty sleeping bag gives plenty of warning that she should run away. I apologize to Gypsy and immediately fall asleep.Peace,