An Appalachian Trail Tale
Day 139: Saturday, August 10th, 2013
Highway 2 to Gentian Pond Shelter = 11 miles
Miles to date: 1,899
Day 139: Saturday, August 10th, 2013
Highway 2 to Gentian Pond Shelter = 11 miles
Miles to date: 1,899
A Thru Story, not a True Story
My feet, both the left and the right--though no others--have been subjected to seven different pairs of shoes during this elongated stately relocation. Thems fourteen shoes in all, bad math notwithstanding. (MATH = Mental Abuse To Humans.) Today I started hiking in my fifteenth and sixteenth shoes, both new. They’re the same inexpensive but effective Wal-Mart specials I’ve employed from the onset. Same model; different pair(1). Same feet too, though you’d hardly know that by sight. In a word--grotesque. In other words--malformed, deformed, fugly. Anyway, total cost of said footwear thus far: one hundred and one dollareenies. Not bad. Not bad at all. But the best news of all is that my normally frangible feet are holding up in fine fettle. Holding up, holding me up, and yet not holding me up, if that makes sense. If all goes right, this eighth pair should see me through to trail’s cessation. I’ll then wear them back to syphilization before a ceremonial burning.
Footwear afire
No more mire!
Footwear aflame
No more GA-ME!
In attaining the farthest ends of the AT, some hikers are known to spend on footwear close to ten times what I have. That’s damn near a thousand dollars, bad math notwithstanding. I myself (note: redundancy as its finest; but then I yourself makes no sense either) could not afford to walk many long trails at that great--or not-so-great--rate. Thankfully, my feet have never cared what they’re in, or whether those coverings cost a fortune. They just continue to do as I tell them, with no help from me. At least so far. Further age may enrage.
Today was a superbly felicitous day, free from the recent epidemic of weather-related worries, but the trail itself (note: redundancy as its finest; but then the trail not-itself makes no sense either) was an absolute abomination. Pure slop, with only slippery roots and rocks to intervene. A Hall of Horrors. New shoes no more. If it’s possible for the hiker to be a complete wreck--and believe you me: it is--so too is it possible that the trail can be. Can be, and in 2013, is. Especially the day after a biblical torrent. I would not mock a man manufacturing an ark out here. (I would, however, plead with him to forgo loading the mating mosquitoes, if his plans had included them.)
After hitching out of town on my own, I (myself) would cross no familiar faces, striding alone unaccompanied the entire day. This left me with little printed ammunition to record or store, though plenty to conjure. Indeed, a lot happened--bear sightings (...I’d paws during each), mountain lion run-ins, copulation with an actual human being (one besides I myself)--but then the events were all just products of the imagination: a thru story, not a true story.
I assure myself that it’s got to be wholesome to still possess imagination as we age, but, much like the AT, it leads us nowhere. As previously mentioned, a lot of what happens on the AT is...nothing. In fact, most of what happens is nothing(2). Still, when given the time and space that the trail provides, the mind churns and yearns and learns, and that’s a nutritive thing. Few things ever get settled in such an unsettled setting, yet it’s all so settling. So highly settling.
I assure myself that it’s got to be wholesome to still possess imagination as we age, but, much like the AT, it leads us nowhere. As previously mentioned, a lot of what happens on the AT is...nothing. In fact, most of what happens is nothing(2). Still, when given the time and space that the trail provides, the mind churns and yearns and learns, and that’s a nutritive thing. Few things ever get settled in such an unsettled setting, yet it’s all so settling. So highly settling.
And of settling, by evening I reached a vacant structure a quarter mile off the AT, the Gentian Shelter. Rather than roof myself in, I decided to lay down my groundsheet and astro camp in an adjacent clearing, part of the gutted forest, sharing the very mattress our ancestors slept on for eons, the one that has never required a DO NOT REMOVE UNDER PENALTY OF LAW tag (but perhaps should).
As it was somewhat windy I pinned down the groundsheet with some heavy rocks, so I could unfurl everything without worry. I was pleased I’ve been smart enough to carry said rocks for the past nineteen hundred miles for this very purpose. It pays to be prepared.
Happily, I could detect no manmade light pollution, just some intermittent sun-reflecting satellites that could’ve easily remained unseen, had I not been looking for them. A sublime panorama, it was obviously the bullseye of the universe, with the strobe-like luminescence of a few million stars from a few million years ago accompanying me. It felt as though I was inside a humongous pincushion, with a larger universe shining its daylight through each pinprick, each leak into our nightly universe.
As I gazed upward I peered inward; shimmering distant suns frequently force this unto us. Same old existentialist bosh, you damn stars! A fragment in the flux of forever, I watched in hopes a star might explode or fade away before my eyes, but not one would. Then, as the minutes oozed by, every one of them began to fade.
Happily, I could detect no manmade light pollution, just some intermittent sun-reflecting satellites that could’ve easily remained unseen, had I not been looking for them. A sublime panorama, it was obviously the bullseye of the universe, with the strobe-like luminescence of a few million stars from a few million years ago accompanying me. It felt as though I was inside a humongous pincushion, with a larger universe shining its daylight through each pinprick, each leak into our nightly universe.
As I gazed upward I peered inward; shimmering distant suns frequently force this unto us. Same old existentialist bosh, you damn stars! A fragment in the flux of forever, I watched in hopes a star might explode or fade away before my eyes, but not one would. Then, as the minutes oozed by, every one of them began to fade.
"Shoe"note 1: Eventually, every pair of shoes will turn on you.
"Foot"note 2: The dramatic seldom occurs on the AT, but when it does, we're there to witness it and value it. The timing is always perfect.
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