Date: 2005-06-12
From: Jim and Molly Denton Shelter, VA

To: Washington, DC
Miles today: 1.1

In the morning I woke up and was confirmed in my decision; my foot wasn¢t about to go 19 miles, so I decided to walk out to the next road, find a payphone, and call Sara to see how she¢d feel about a visit a little earlier than planned. DC wasn¢t that far away. I stayed in the shelter that morning for a few hours, just resting my foot; luckily for me someone left a Spenser novel behind, which helped pass the time. Very peculiar, though, to read something set so specifically in Boston, while out in rural Virginia. A missive from the homeland, if you will, though I¢ll never be the crack sleuth Spenser is. I had thought that with the daylight the swarms of bugs might dissipate; fat chance. I was sprawled on the shelter deck with my foot propped up, Spenser in one hand, and my sleeping bag thrown over my head as bug protection when a group of day hikers walked up and looked at me a little askance. I took the sleeping bag off my head. ¢You¢re not waking me up,¢ I said. ¢I¢m, um, trying to get away from the bugs.¢ Eventually I packed up and headed out to the road. It was a beautiful day and the trail was lovely and all I wanted to do was keep walking. Internal dialogue:Me: It¢s really beautiful out.Me: Yeah.Me: Maybe I can keep going.Me: This is how stress fractures happen, idiot.Me: My foot¢s not that bad.Me: Yes, it is. Me: It only hurts if I rotate it.Me: Don¢t be such a tool.Me: But ¢ Me: Total. Effing. Knob.Me: All right, all right.So I made it to the VA638 road crossing, hung a left, and walked a mile down the road to the general store, this tiny dusty one-room store out in the middle of nowhere (but with a payphone out front), and called Sara. My voice was back to Black Lagoon levels, which, while not ideal, was at least preferable to yesterday¢s nonelective mutism. I was glad I hadn¢t gotten off the trail then. That would have been brilliant: calling Sara and whispering, ¢Can I come over?¢ while she said, ¢What? Who is this? Why are you breathing into my phone?¢ Crisis averted, then. If narrowly.Anyway, she answered, and she was all, ¢Where ARE you?¢ and I was all, ¢In the middle of nowhere with a torqued foot; how about if I show up at your house, like, right now?¢ and she was all, ¢Yeah, whatever, but how will you get here?¢ and I was all, ¢I dunno, I¢ll figure something out.¢ We hung up. I walked into the dusty tiny general store and up to the counter. ¢Can I help you?¢ said the woman at the counter. I pointed out the door, toward the highway overpass. ¢That¢s 66, right?¢ I said. ¢Yeah,¢ she said. ¢And it goes to DC, right?¢ I said. ¢Yeah,¢ she said. ¢In¢ - pointing again ¢ ¢that direction?¢ ¢Yeah.¢ ¢Kay,¢ I said. ¢Thanks.¢ I left the store, put my pack back on, and started walking toward the on-ramp. One step at a time.I got about a mile down the road when a van pulled over next to me. It was the day hikers I¢d seen that morning, when the sleeping bag was on my head. Kudos to them for stopping in the first place. I don¢t know if I¢d have stopped for me, if I¢d met me sitting in a cloud of no-see-ums with a sleeping bag on my head. ¢You still trying to get to DC?¢ they asked. ¢Have you got a ride yet?¢ ¢Yes,¢ I said, ¢and no, not yet.¢ ¢You want one?¢ ¢Do I ever,¢ I said. These guys were the best ¢ took me all the way to the metro, gave me a spare metro card, and wouldn¢t even let me give them gas money. ¢You have no idea,¢ I said, ¢how much easier you just made my entire day. Thank you so much.¢ Nor did they. Their kindness to a stranger was unbelievable, and I¢m so grateful.It¢s very odd to be in a city, especially one this far from the trail. In downtown DC, I look much more like an anarchist international come to protest the World Bank than I look like an AT hiker, simply because AT hikers aren¢t part of the cultural landscape here. I was slightly overwhelmed for a moment in the metro, waiting for my train to come ¢ so many people! Most of them showered! And wearing totally impractical shoes! Everything moving so fast! I¢d never gotten around to taking the bionic knees off that morning, either, and I caught a 12-year old girl trying to be really surreptitious about staring at the metal outlines underneath my pant legs. I made my way to Sara¢s. She gave me a hug. ¢Dude,¢ she said. ¢It¢s good to see you. Sorry about your foot. So what do you want to do this week, anyway?¢ ¢Can we watch TV?¢ I said. ¢You¢re going to be a really easy houseguest,¢ she said. ¢Damn straight,¢ said I.