TRAIL DAY 61

Thu, Apr 21, 2016 A zero in Damascus.  MOJO’S.  Where else?  I got the table by the window, set up and did tablet stuff all day, Theo at my side.  There were many welcome interludes.

“How old is he?” asked one of the three women at the nearby table.

“Eight,” I replied.

“I have a Golden back home” said another.

“We lost ours to cancer a year ago” said the third.

They were in their late-50s to mid-60s.  I had been aware of them near me conversing like old friends.  They seemed sophisticated and on the classy side.  We introduced ourselves.

“Sojo,” I answered and so I would be known by what seemed a most unlikely group of hikers on the AT.  I had no idea I would see these ladies “down the way” but indeed I would – and one much farther down.  I never would have guessed that this encounter at MOJO’S would be refreshed in my recollection again and again.  A lovely surprise each time.

At some point during the day I ordered coffee from the short, slightly terse owner and I reached for my credit card to do their pay-as-you-go and, not knowing, I handed over Theo’s Service Dog card by mistake.  Because of his original uncertainty about Theo, he thought I was pulling a fast one on him.  Some good laughs on both sides.  Seeing how calm and obedient Theo was, he had come to accept him completely.  Another happiness of the day.

MOJO’S came to be my home-and-office in Damascus and, of course, I made many trips to the large nicely appointed bathroom at the back.  The whole feel of MOJO’S was relaxed and comfortable – businesslike for sure but pleasantly so.

“So,” as people like to begin an answer in conversation today, I was out a bear bag, some food bags and a spoon, right?  They needed “replaced” as they’d say back home in Amish-based Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

There was SunDog Outfitter next to MOJO’S but they were too expensive and didn’t have what I needed.  I went down Laurel Avenue to Mount Rogers Outfitters where I met my needs.  It was here that I opted for the long-shanked spoon that seemed long indeed compared to the one the bear was now using for his porridge but its purpose was to make it easier to dig down in the bags of freeze-dried foods that steeped in boiling water for 8-12 minutes before being consumed in situ.  I would be glad I opted for long.

I purchased the spoon and a heavy, yellow bear bag along with 3 lighter bags for my meals.  Liking symbols, which for me ad meaning and ease to life, these were my meal-bag choices: GREEN for breakfast – fresh, new-life, new-day kinda bag; BLUE for lunch – midday, sun high in a bright blue sky; RED for supper – sun setting in brilliant reds.  YELLOW: that didn’t have any particular meaning but it could suggest caution.  This bag was heavy and closed by folding over its thick strap around the opening at least 3 times and then clipping together extensions of the strap to complete a circle.  This clipping mechanism enabled many ways of fixing the bag to a bear pole or a rope loop or even the handle atop Theo’s saddlebags.

As it turned out I was not a regular food hanger but I found other uses for this bag.  On occasion, I would close it up with only air inside and use it for a cushion but the air would slowly bleed out.  Over a 1000 miles or so, I learned to use it for water so I’d need only one trip to the source.  It was a very sturdy bag and was lined in a nice clean, sheer white, thin canvas material.  It leaked but very little and could hold a nice water supply all through the night.  The closed empty bag also became Theo’s food dish.

I love getting a lot out of little.

I got some power bars at Mount Rogers Outfitters with my other purchases and then crossed to a Dollar General store at the corner of West Laurel Avenue and North Reynolds Street for resupplies.

Favorite stores for price and suitable supplies were:

1. Dollar General
2. Walgreens
3. Wal Mart (super)
4. Town supermarket
5. Corner grocer

I stocked up on what I needed, making do as one always did.  It was rare that you walked away with exactly what you wanted in size and substance – you’d make it work.

Back at the Inn, so to speak, I asked Paul if I could use his dining room table to work and charge my tablet.  He seemed reluctant but said OK and I could help myself to the coffee.  At some point I learned that when Paul hiked the AT, he did not – that’s did not – lose weight.  He was an avid road biker and marathoner.  He told me one of his secrets: every morning he’d have oatmeal with pecans and raisins and brown sugar.  He gave me some these additions to take with me.  His breakfast hints would soon get incorporated into my morning rituals and add to what became my favorite meal of the day.

At one point, Paul, another hiker and I sat in a darkened living room while the other hiker discussed some large coffee table book about the trail.  He had read it that morning.  I was flabbergasted – and jealous!  I’ve never been a fast reader and this was a BIG BOOK.

This hiker and his wife whose names are on the tip of my typing fingers had slack-packed that day.  Sitting around outside I told husband about my 32̊ bag and how I’d sleep in all my clothes inside.  He opined that my sleeping bag was doing nothing for me in that situation.  This comment would resurface periodically (you have a lot of time to think while hiking over 2000 miles) and I’d evaluate its merit and my you-read-so-fast-and-quickly-speak-your-mind-so-you-must-be-a-lot-brighter-than-me assessment of the speaker.

I disagree.

The point, I suppose, was that, with all my clothes on, I was so insulated that my sleeping bag was ineffectual.  While we might think that cold penetrates, it does not.  Cold is simply the absence of heat.  So, keeping warm is keeping the heat in.  If my clothes were sufficient to keep in all the heat my body generated then perhaps the bag was unnecessary.  But to the degree that any heat at all escaped by clothes, my bag was functional.

The simple, hikers’-wisdom answer would merely reference the merit of layers in the cold.

Back at the bunkhouse, I got to know Pop-tart and Farel.  Pop-Tart had one of the double decker bunks along the left wall as you entered.  You could pass his bunk, enter a short hallway with laundry and coffee stations to a single room in the back.

I liked Farel and Pop-Tart.  They were closer to my age and stage in life than the average 20-something hiker.  They were both from the south somewhere.  Farel was tall, rugged-handsome and friendly.  Pop-Tart was not as tall and a little more reserved.  His wife had sent him a package of supplies and he was going through them extracting what he could carry.  If you were uptight and stingy like me you’d bother to pack up the excess and “bounce” it forward.  But Pop-Tart, to my great delight, opened his excess storehouse of food to me.

His wife had vacuum-packed items in thick, rough plastic bags: oatmeal with different dried fruits like peach or berries; macaroni and cheese; and other stuff.  Each sucked-in, lumpy package had a white band where Pop Tart’s wife wrote instructions in handwriting now wrinkled-but-legible giving the number of calories and the amount of water to be added.  When the time came, they were very, very good!  Thank you Pop-Tart and Mrs. Pop-Tart!

It was at MOJO’S that I planned the next leg of the hike so I was ready to go.  After a stroll around town in the moon light, I laid out my gear for morning and turned in.

Day #61   Damascus > 0 miles