A Limp in the Woods...or not (Day 9)

An Appalachian Trail Tale
Day 9: Tuesday, April 2nd, 2013
Hiawassee Zero Day = 0 miles (I’m unsure what this is metrically; kilometers are shorter than miles)
Miles to date: 69 (hee-hee)

Ruthless

And God said(1), “Let there be a day of rest.” 

And I, a god-fearing atheist, took it to heart. 

Elseways the passage becomes a passing.

After a Cereal Kamikaze* Ruth and I spent the day shopping and relaxing. I shopped for food for the next stretch of war--anything but cereal--whilst she, a church-attending astrophysicist, helped me relax. Today, relaxing was not my forte. I think I’m fearful of the hardships ahead.

(*Not a Serial Kamikaze; there can be no such thing. A Cereal Kamikaze is a dozen different cereals, all thrown in a bucket, drowned in milk--or milky matter--then boldly eaten. Three of them must be bland; three are to be children’s cereals; three must be muesli; and three are chosen by someone else, ideally an unsuspecting fellow shopper.)

Gaming at the grocer; I lost

Anyway, such a hiatus is known in hiking circles as a zero day. It’s a holding pattern of sorts, a vacation for the feet, since there is zero (on trail) hiking done. Sometimes, nothing is the best thing you can do. But zero days are frequently filled with more stress than a day spent hiking and can offer little rehabilitation. A relax tax.

This is because the hiker has much to tend to in town. There’s resupplying, e-mailing, Internetting, hobnobbing, laundering, choreographing future resupplies, showering (this one takes time), Scrabble-ing, eating, and other important considerations, like unclogging the toilet you just plugged. This last task serves reminder why some of us prefer pooing in the woods.

By evening it was back to the real, back to the arboreal. Into the thick of things. I thanked Ruth for putting up with me. Her friend Jill had driven from her home in Cumming (a name I just adore) to whisk her away. Jill drove us to Amicalola Falls when our journey commenced; it was good to see her again. I told Ruth I’d have the phone on and to call when they made it back.

Prior to this Ruth had never backpacked or camped, not for consecutive days. Her hobbies are reading, sex, and genealogy. (I studied my family tree once, but was stumped. And yes, it’s a nut tree, though it contains one fruit.) Backpacking means being comfortable with being uncomfortable, and Ruth dealt with everything with great grace. I have to hand it to her. Not many people can hack a week on the AT; fewer can handle me that long.

This was my maiden voyage with cellphone. (I preferred when phones had handles and didn’t come with cameras and were wired to walls. “Have you seen my phone?” asked NO ONE EVER in the 1970s.) I didn’t care to use it daily, but I was excited to randomly reach out to Ruth. It was hard watching her and Jill drive off, not just because it was getting dark.

I started up trail, but opted to stop. I’d been swallowed by a tangled mess that looked like trees. Night hiking--black blazing--would take some getting used to in woods so thick. I’ll save the exploration of the dark side (of this tunnel, of night, of mind) for another day. Or for another night, as it is.

Later still and the sky is as black as a bad bruise, as dark as death. Thoughts churn. You can learn a lot about yourself sleeping alone in the woods. In just one hour I’ve learned I still believe in the Boogeyman. And in saber tooth tigers. And definitely in Bigfoot. Of course it doesn’t matter if I believe in Bigfoot; what matters is that he believes in himself. Right now I wish I had his confidence.

"Faith"note 1: And no one has heard from him since.

Looking onward...