TRAIL DAY 136
Tue, July 5, 2016 I woke and taped up my feet inside the tent as I would do for better than 1000 miles and I decided to take a picture of my cozy abode. My depleted body is evident in my thin, veiny arms. A phlebotomist’s dream!
As I often did, I took photos of the vacant spot where my tent was – where the “foundation” of my home made its nearly 2×8-foot imprint on the surface of the earth.
Through the fog and haze Theo made a new friend as he did everywhere! The hiker sitting under a large tarp looked as if he were in his own living room. Well I guess that is literally what he was doing.
Pretty leaves and wet, pine-carpeted ground added to the miracle of the day.
Not so pleasant was the state of my bowels and feet. I think it was the bowel and general weakness from the bland diet Bonnie so lovingly constructed for me with competent advice that was running me into the ground.
There was a problem no matter how you sliced it: save your GI tract or feed your muscles. Both were making demands. The save-the-bowel diet was bland but not very nutritious. The nutritious diet, however, was harder on the system.
The conflict had me down as the AT came to Blue Mountain Drive. I read some of the bulletin board there and then sat on a large pale rock just off the trail trying to figure out what I should do. A neat old red pickup truck pulled into the little parking area nearby. The driver got out and engaged me in conversation. He was oddly dressed with a tan towel over his head and a baseball cap holding it in place. He was a little out of the ordinary – thank God! That’s why I was on the trail – for a good dose of out-of-the-ordinary and I was having it.
I must have told him something about my physical plight and that I was thinking of calling my wife to come pick me up. He offered to take me to his house which was nearby while I waited for her or maybe he could take me home. He was OK with my riding in the back of his pickup truck to his home but was a little concerned about doing that all the way to Lancaster. First things first. He’d take me to his house.
Now this was not just a cabin in the woods. Not far down the road, we turned off on to a very rough dirt driveway down a hill and around a corner to the left to a beautiful home at the far end of a wide driveway lined opposite the house with the kind of firewood I am known to lust after. The home was surrounded by about an acre of grass. I forget what my very kind benefactor had retired from but he had retired well.
His name was Roger. His wife was away but he had a crock pot of chicken and rice in the kitchen, both mild, and I was welcomed to as much as I’d like. I sat in the back of the pickup truck as he served me along with lemonade and I ate so quickly that my throat went into spasm as it does once or twice a year from speed eating. When it happens, I cannot swallow and I just have to wait for the spasm to stop. If it is bad, very thick, clear saliva will form and cause me to gag until I expectorate.
Now, ain’t that a nice kettle of fish for such a host. I explained and made my way behind his log pile 2-3 times to unclog my system and gradually my esophagus calmed down – and “Yes, I’d love seconds if you have enough.” More of that absolutely delicious fare and I was beginning to feel a little stronger. Was I strong enough for the trail or should I ask Bon to come get me. I called and told her my situation. As the loving, self-giving person she is, of course she’d come get me – even though it was not even 10 days since she drove to Pine Grove to get me.
Hey! I get it. She has a life and was getting used to managing without me and, while missing me, she still had a life – but that’s OK. “I’ll come get you.” This would be a lot of babysitting her man-hiker right after she nursed me and worked on my diet for 3 full days just the week before.
We chatted with just a little bit of tension until I resolved to carry on. Roger would drive me if it was critical – but I felt I should keep on. My doctor in Lancaster had cautioned me about going back on the trail with my diarrhea because dehydration could become a very serious issue – and, in fact, can prove fatal. I took my risk then and felt now, too, I could continue with my plan.
After a magnificent 3½-hour rest at Roger’s house, eating Roger’s food and having peaceful and comforting conversation, I was ready to carry on.
Roger had been such a friend and munificent benefactor that 2 weeks after I got home from finishing, I wrote this (with some exclusions):
Dear Roger:
You are the first person to whom I am writing about my finishing the Appalachian Trail. It took me from February 21st to October 27th to complete – and it would not have happened were it not for people like you.
You were extremely kind to me (and Theo) that July 5th when I was not doing well. I don’t remember if it was the diarrhea, the feet or a combination of things. But as I write, I remember you fed me some delicious chicken and rice which was deemed mild enough for my system – so I must have been weak from the diarrhea.
My good man, you were a great blessing to me at a difficult time on the trail and I am very grateful.
At hostels and diners and common AT haunts along the way, we’d see the pictures and thank-you’s from hikers who had preceded us. It is the rare hiker who does not realize that many people are responsible for his successful hike: people at home and people whose lives intersect with the trail. Perhaps next year I’ll lend my hand and heart to hikers crossing Route 325 east of Duncannon. Or, don’t know how we’d do this, but wouldn’t it be neat to be all set up at a popular shelter or campsite with all the home-cooked food you could want. Aaah, making me sentimental for how good that would be to hikers deep in the woods and far from home.
Back on the trail, we were back on the rocks. I noted somewhere in AWOL:
Pennsylvania is where the rubber meets the rocks.
I thought it was rather clever – and all too true.
I had called and found room at the only hostel nearby but I’m not going to use names because I don’t have much nice to say about the experience. Theo and I waited for our ride while I considered taking a zero the next day to gain strength. It wasn’t long before I was willing to crawl back to the trail, puking from both ends, to escape my confinement at the hostel. The owner was nice enough but totally clueless. Our bunkhouse was the cement floor of his garage. No problem. A hiker was just glad to have a place out of the weather to lay out his matt and sleep. A shower was a bonus and it was available.
The owner and his wife didn’t seem to talk much. The son was a drummer and dad thought he was God’s gift to the universe. He wasn’t around but his drums were the center of attraction in the sparsely furnished “living room.”
The bathroom was off limits in the morning for about an hour when it was the wife’s – fine!
There was a long tale about how Clueless was outside during a thunderstorm some months before and how lightning came through the ground and burned his calves – there were still bruises which we were sure to see. Son’s drumming; lightning – these were big deals – and indeed they could be – but he seemed intent on our knowing just how big they were.
He hadn’t changed his personality – but he was willing to take me into Kunkletown for supper to the Buckwha Inne “a small hotel with a big history” and I needed supper so I’d go. While he sat at the bar, I chose to sit by myself at a small table. Other young folks happen by and join him. I had a couple of chicken sandwiches and a couple of beers.
The clueless part really came home when we returned from Kunkletown and he introduced us to his two huge tan Dobermans, a breed not everyone feels comfortable with. He was their alpha dog and he made THAT clear – to them and to us – with demos.
One of my “fellow” hikers was a gal with a German Shepherd. One of the Dobermans and the Shepherd did not get along. Clueless was going to show his alphaness by assuring us that the Doberman and Shepherd were sure to get along under his protective sure-of-everything-I’m-in-control-ness.
They didn’t.
I’d had enough.
“Why don’t you take your Doberman back upstairs?”
After 2-3 I’m-in-control-nesses, Doberman descending with alpha into the garage, late in the post-bed-time evening, he finally – I need to say that again – finally – got the drift.
His I-am-master-of-all-I-purvey and no-one-on-this-earth-is-more-important-than-me-ness evoked thoughts of “You are the most self-centered, self-interested, narrow-little-world person I have ever met.” At least that’s the way Clueless came across to me. One thought:
Wake up and get back to the woods!
Day #136 Tent (thorns 1260) > Sams Gap Road (Kunletown) 9.4 miles