March 17, 2008

Wonderful day. Blood Mountain was tough, but my legs and my lungs are noticeably stronger after 5 days on the trail. Made it up to the top a full hour before I expected to. For some reason, I was thinking today was Sunday, so I had a little Church service up on the peak - I figured I owed it to Johnny Cash to let him sing a few hymns since he'd been a huge help getting up the mountain. "Solitary Man" gets the testosterone pumping for those 45 degree uphill sections.

From the peak, it was a steep 2 miles into Neel's Gap, where my hike ended for today. Neel's is home to a combination outfitter and hostel located directly on the trail - in fact the trail runs right through the breezeway.

Re-met many people here that I'd run across over the last few days, including Corkscrew, who I'd been with on the peak of Springer (I need to explain about Trail Names sometime). I arrived at Neel's at about 4. Within an hour my clothes were in a washing machine and I was in a shower. Oh, does hot water feel good after 5 days of stink.

Within another hour, I was en route to a free meal. Cloud 9 is another hiker hostel, located 40 or so miles farther up the trail, and they held a St. Patrick's Day party. 35 or so current thru-hikes, past thru-hikers, and locals all eating potluck, and anybody invited. Since the folks who run the hostel also own a trout farm, that was pretty prominent on the menu and since this was my first real meal since Wednesday I ate pretty huge.

I drove us back to Neel's by about 9:30 (the hostel having loaned us their van for the drive over - how cool is that?), and collapsed into bed not long after. Alas I'd had 2 cokes at the cookout and the first caffeine in a few days has me up at 2am writing in my journal in the hostel's lounge area! Which is fine, as it gives me a chance to finish a story.

Three days ago I mentioned spending a few hours over lunch with a guy named Frank. He was one of the first people I ran into when I arrived today. Frank looks to be about 30 or so, with a stubby half-beard and multiple ear piercings. He damn near chain-smokes Camel Wides. You look at him, and he might be the guy working at Jiffy Lube and spending every weekend getting hammered.

But talk to him, and you get a guy who is sincere, considerate...really, the word that comes to mind is "sweet," if that doesn't sound too gay to say. When I arrive, he tells me that after I fell behind him three days ago, he was worried about me. From anyone else, I'd call this bullshit; I haven't been out here long enough to make friends - we're all just acquaintances here. I'm sure as heck not worrying about anyone else; I've got quite enough on my own plate, thank you. But from Frank, I really believe he means it.

Not, I should hasten to clarify, that Frank is some kind of softy. His pack weighs 60 pounds, and he moves pretty quick with it. He started out from Amicalola Falls with a pack that weighed 90, and he got that up Springer Mountain. He started out with his brother, but bro. dropped out after a couple of days. With pack weights like that, I'm not surprised.

Frank is only planning to hike to Damascus, VA, about 1/5 of the whole AT. He couldn't get longer than that off work. He is a househusband, and spends his days taking care of his two daughters, ages 3 and 9 months. He enjoys his work immensely, and I do not doubt for a minute that he is a terrific dad. It's not his first career choice, though; he's doing it because he's legally disabled.

Frank is going blind. He has a form of Macular Degeneration that already blocks parts of his vision, and is getting worse. He can see enough to hike, but to read a map, this strong, sweet guy in the prime of his life has to hunch over and hold a magnifying glass an inch away from the paper. It's not just the cigarettes and the 12 pairs of socks that make that pack so heavy - he's also carrying daily doses of a non-FDA-approved experimental medication that they're hoping can arrest the deterioration of his sight. It's too soon to know if it will work.

When we were talking in Hawk Mountain Shelter, we discussed our reasons for hiking the AT. I explained my mid-life ennui and need for a challenge; Frank simply said that "I wanted to get out of here and see what I could see before..." He didn't finish the sentence.

When you're out by yourself or the trail, going hours without seeing another person, it's natural to think primarily of yourself. If you have a flair for romance and drama, which I most certainly do, it's easy to start thinking of yourself and your hike in noble or poetic terms. But the reality is that there are a thousand stories out on the trail tonight, and every one of them is important.

Frank pulled out this afternoon, about 3 hours before dark. He'd hooked up with another heavily-pierced (I saw 6, including the tongue) and tattooed nice guy going by Mike the Wanderer. Mike also has a huge pack, partly full of dog food for his beagle, Shiva. They wanted to get a few miles in before making camp up on the ridge tonight.

Frank is manifestly more capable of taking care of himself out here than I am. And yet, as I sit in a warm well-lighted room at 3am on a cold night, I can't help but be worried for him.