Date: 2016-05-08
From: Boiling Springs, PA

To: Clarks Ferry Shelter
Miles today: 29.1
Weather: few clouds

I'm proud to say that, even after my wild, late night at the Allenberry bar, I woke up feeling sprightly and ready to hike- I had 14 miles through hay fields and sunshine in the Cumberland Valley ahead of me. But first, breakfast.Back at the same bar, I ate heinous amounts of carbs and bacon and listened to the wedding guests recount tales of late last night. Apparently there had been a fight around midnight, which I was disappointed to have missed. Such is life, I guess. I went to check out and the lady at the front desk gifted me a can of root beer. I had asked her if she stocked any of that sweet nectar of the gods the day before and been disappointed, but she apparently found the can in the back of the fridge and set it aside for me. The trail provides.The walk through the Cumberland Valley was glorious- sunny, flat-ish, with picturesque pastoral views for miles in every direction. I hit my 100 mile mark atop a stile, headed into a pasture full of horses (if you follow my on Instagram or FB, you've seen evidence). Because it was Mothers' Day, I called my own from the pasture and chatted for a while.There were quite a few day hikers out that morning, mostly Mothers dragging their begrudging children as a special Mothers Day treat. That brought back some memories... I chatted with some of them, but while thru-hikers tend to be happy to see other humans and eager to chat, day hikers aren't always able to shake that don't-talk-to-strangers mentality we all live with in our day to day grocery store, riding the bus lives. My favorite was a lady out with her lovely golden retriever, who sat politely next to me, waiting to be paid attention, while her own and I discussed solo hiking as a woman, ticks, and other thru-hikers. While we were chatting, Roller, a British hiker who started in Harper's Ferry, caught up to us. She joined the conversation briefly, we established that we were headed to the same shelter that night, and she continued on.My feet had been causing me problems for a few days, so the afternoon passed slowly and painfully, but Roller was the only person at Darlington Shelter when I arrived. Soon after, Timeout and WannaChair (who is from Springfield, Ohio) rolled in. We all chatted for a bit as we cooked dinner, then I went to set up my hammock. The hammock is so much more comfortable than sleeping in the shelters, but it's a pain to carry wet gear, so I haven't used it much yet. When I got back, ODB had arrived, just before hiker midnight. The next morning, Roller and I established that we were again headed to the same place, a shelter just north of Duncannon, PA. WannaChair was shooting for the same place, but he needed to do laundry in town. We all needed a resupply and to visit The Doyle Hotel, a hiker institution, renowned for its filth and colorful characters. First, we had nine miles over rocks and a staggering descent on rock stairs. I hiked for a bit with WannaChair, discussing the best places to hike around Cincinnati, but I promptly lost him on a climb. He moves pretty fast up hills! A few miles after I lost him, I found a lifesaver that he left for me sitting on a log in the middle of the trail. It made my morning.Duncannon is a tragic kind of town, past its prime and unlikely to make much of itself now. Situated on the Susquehanna River, the largest unnavigable river in the US and a busy railway that carts coal to the east coast, it clearly was not designed for the 21st century. As I passed one of the only operating businesses left in town, a laundromat, I was startled to see a middle aged man wearing a poncho-and only a poncho- waving enthusiastically back at me. It took me a moment to realize it was just WannaChair. I recovered from the shock and agreed to meet him at the Doyle as soon as he had some pants to put on.I dropped my pack next to the others in the decrepit lobby of The Doyle and entered into the diviest dive bar to ever dive. The walls were stained with years of grease and grime, so that the shapes of recently moved signs were clearly visible. Plastic aliens littered the bar, which held all of about 15 bottles of booze. A dry erase board congratulated Anish on her record setting unsupported thruhike the previous year. Scott Jurek, who broke the supported speed record last year, did not get a sign. Scott Jurek probably never stopped at The Doyle.Vicki, the legendary bartender greeted me by confiscating my almost empty bottle of root beer. I asked her how she was doing."Fat, old, and ugly." She responded with a straight face. The bar erupted in laughter, other thru-hikers who had stopped in for a drink or burger the day before and been sucked into the Doyle Vortex. "Let's see some ID, you don't pass the wrinkle test." I pulled out my ID. She walked away and didn't come back for five minutes. "Not a Scorpio, that's good. I don't trust Scorpios. My brother is one, I know how they are." She handed me my ID. I ordered a burger and waited for 35 minutes. In that time, a SOBO hiker regaled us with stories of his wallet and food being stolen, hitching 45 miles to get to his mail drop in Duncannon, and road walking along an interstate. Roller and WannaChair arrived. WannaChair had been given $10 by a lady in the laundromat to pay for a shower at The Doyle. He asked Vicki if ever in Duncannon was that nice."No, watch out for the crackheads."She IDed Roller, then scowled. Turning to me, she shook her head, "Remember that talk we had earlier?" Then she pointed at Roller and mouthed "She's a Scorpio, look out."I like going places with Roller because no one in Pennsylvania can understand her accent, so they call her Rola. She and Vicki had this back and forth, too, ending in us spelling R-O-L-L-E-R. Around this time, WannaChair came back from the shower and said he wasn't sure where to put his towel when he was done, so he left it on the footboard of the bed. "There's a bed in that room?" The bartender responded. "How weird."We barely managed to extract ourselves from the Vortex and went instead to an overpriced convenience store to get enough food to make it to Port Clinton, then stopped at the soft serve ice cream shop. Roller ordered a small and was given damn near a pint of ice cream. "I love America," she said in amazement.WannaChair, Roller, and I stuck together on the long climb up to the next shelter, arriving early enough for WannaChair to make a nice fire. There was a bizarre selection of discarded items in the shelter, neatly organized as if someone had a pack shakedown and abandoned half their gear there. I packed it all up, then enjoyed the fire and a novel gifted to me by the caretakers at the Ironmaster's Mansion.