TRAIL DAY 120
Sun, June 19, 2016 Lisa culled the rides needed. Mine was back to the trail. The clouds out the SUV window this brilliant morning were irresistible.
I was underway around 8:15 a.m. It was our 51st wedding anniversary and I don’t think either Bonnie or I remembered it the day before.
The trail continued on what was, at 15 miles, probably the longest flat section of the entire trail, passing through glorious farmlands. The rich greens and golds poured out in bright sunlight a soulful elixir. A gift beyond knowing, given in superabundance.
Here there were no cars named Spirit or Infinity mocking in metal the deepest hungers of the heart. No four-wheelers tearing up the turf in a show of sadistic domination. Here were crops, food, goodness, the precursor of the harvest. Bountiful blessing. A single leaf a treasure.
We would cross a few highways as civilization moved in on the AT or, more likely, as the AT cut close to civilization. Eventually we came to the walkway over US 11 into Carlisle, Pennsylvania. My youngest, Marian (Mare), and her fiancé, Zach, were going to meet me here to hike a couple of hours with me and then turn around to head home.
I arrived before they did and climbed down the steep bank north of the highway. I thought to hitch a ride to a nearby deli or diner and call Marian to let her know where I was.
It soon became apparent that Carlisle, as expected, was not a trail friendly town. They were not accustomed to hikers showing up. I noted several low-lying, high-ceilinged buildings west of the trail toward town. They looked like warehouses and probably had forklifts running inside. I figured the workers had to eat somewhere so began walking on the wide berm on the north side of the road, urging Theo to stay on the grass and praising him continuously for doing so.
In about ½-¾ of a mile, we came to the Middlesex Diner – the happenin’ place in town.
I said Theo was a service dog and was seated at a booth. I took off my backpack and pushed it far in on the bench seat and leaned my trekking poles against it so they extended under the far end of the table. I directed Theo under the table at the far end and I assured a waitress who came by that he was a service dog. That was OK.
Since I was there a good bit earlier than Mare and Zach, I ordered and when they showed up, after enthusiastic hugs hellos, I asked the waitress to put their meals on my tab. She said, “Oh, your tab was paid by the gentleman behind you.”
I felt blessed and a little sorry. I imagined the kind gentleman took one look at this bedraggled hiker and thought, “He must be homeless. I’ll bet he has all his worldly goods in that backpack. And he’s probably legally blind – he has that service dog.”
There was a twinge of guilt. Should I have worn a sign:
SEMI-RETIRED ATTORNEY
THRU-HIKING THE APPALACHIAN TRAIL?
After Mare and Zach ate, we paid the tab and drove back to the trail, parking just east of it on the south side of the road. Mare and Zach each tried on my backpack and then we hit the trail, passing through golden fields, over fence stiles and along a boardwalk through a swamp.
At the north end of the swamp, we saw offset blazes, the top to the right indicating a right turn. We turned right but could not find the trail so came back. We looked everywhere with no luck until it dawned on me that the blazes which were readily visible to northbounders were intended for southbounders who were directed to turn right there. So we needed to turn left.
The trail led across a bridge and on the far side I took Mare-and-Zach’s picture and we bid an always-a-little-sad farewell. My goal was so well fixed like a steel rod pounded into the ground with countless sledge hammer blows. It wasn’t going to change. I hugged my first family hikers and bid farewell.
Before long, I came to a sign warning that the spring at the Darlington Shelter was unreliable and that we should fill up at the piped spring nearby. We were at the foot of nearly a 1000′ foot steep climb but we would carry all the water we could.
I filled every water container we had: a large and 2 small Gatorade bottles and two 2-liter Platypus pouches – one with handles and one for the dirty water above the gravity water filter. I put the latter in one of Theo’s saddlebags and the large bottle in the other, arranging his dog food to balance his pack. I carried the two small bottles and hung the pouch from my chest strap using some zipped clothing to keep it from swinging.
As I finished filling the water, along came two southbound hikers. We chatted and they had apparently been partying up at the shelter. They offered me two large Gatorade bottles of orange juice and Vodka which I reluctantly accepted adding to my liquid load. They said they had no use of them anymore and they were simply left over. Why not?
We hauled our liquid and our bodies up the steep climb with never a hint of displeasure from Theo. He never lay down on the job or refused to move on as some dogs had, forcing their owners off the trail.
Scientist was at the shelter with a few other fellows and some gal tenting off in the woods. Scientist was the only one to imbibe with me. We had maybe ½ a bottle of OJ and Vodka and threw the rest out. It tasted OK if wanting ice.
After supper, we turned in. This would be the night that I had my first bout of a 2-month battle with diarrhea.
The shelter had a double-decker bunk on each side. I was on the top-left looking in. On the wall side of the bunk there was a ledge, created by sections of 2″x4″, which was not continuous. In the middle of the night the revenge hit with force. I scurried quietly and quickly down and whisked off to the privy, not too far away – thank God!
I had knocked some of my items through a space in the ledge by the wall and they had fallen all the way to the floor beneath the bottom bunk. I retrieved them carefully so as not to wake my bunkmate and slept well the rest of the night.
There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the orange juice and Vodka. Nothing tasted bad. Could it have been germs from the mouth of the bottle? Did Scientist also suffer? It is only on revisiting this night that I realized my costly error at the foot of the final climb.
Day #120 Boiling Springs > Darlington Shelter 14.3 miles