After a night of camping alone, I set out for a hopeful 18-mile day. When I was only three miles in, I realized the plan was too ambitious. I moved slowly, even on level ground. The heat and muggy water sources meant the bugs were out and ruthless. Returning to the hiking life was giving me whiplash and I only had myself for company. So I settled on 14 miles and camped behind the grave of Nick Grindstaff, a hermit who lived on Iron Mountain with his dog and pet rattlesnake for 40 years. If I was going to be alone, I might as well camp with the loneliest man on the mountain. On his tombstone, I left a token of good luck that I had been carrying since Franklin to make peace with Nick before joining him for the night.
Two nights camping alone was starting to get to me. I barely passed anyone all day. Being so close to Damascus, I thought everyone was already enjoying the day in the city and I was starting to think more and more about the B word… behind. Sunshine at Boots Off had told me: «we don’t use the word ‘behind’, you’re just on a different part of the road.» I tried to channel that mentality as I headed out into a foggy, eerie morning.
I decided that if Damascus was where the people were, that’s where I was headed. I had a 25 mile day ahead and used my phone battery listening to music and podcasts for fuel. I saw more animals than humans that day, including a large group of cows and my first black bear. After 11 miles, at a crossroads with phone service, I stopped for water and decided to call my mom only to hear a familiar voice. The moment I heard his voice, I started crying. The weight of my loneliness from the last two days collapsed and I began to have my first real thoughts of abandoning the path. There are so many aspects of my personality that I can’t explore on the road. Sure, I like hiking, but it’s not. all I like it. Do I have to do this every day for four more months?
I contemplated my options over the phone through tears. We decided that the best option would be to get to Damascus and see what happens. A zero in one of the most famous hiking towns would surely boost my morale, right?
When I hung up the phone, a hiker came down the mountain to his car and asked if I needed anything.
«Water? A walk into town? Need to get out of the way?»
Those seven specific words: Do you need to get out of the way? He slapped me in the face. Before I could even think, my mouth was saying «no, thank you.»
As I set off for Damascus, I thought it was funny that in my desperation to find an escape route, the trail immediately gave it to me. An outlet fell into my lap and my body immediately said no. Maybe it was a test?
I arrived at the Virginia state line still crying. North Carolina and Tennessee had taken me in many directions and now I had a new beginning. After a slow and emotional day, I was finally proud of myself again. I sped the last 3.5 miles to Damascus and arrived around 7:15 pm Walking along the main road, I saw a man with a backpack in front of me and felt a sense of relief. As I got closer, I saw two more familiar faces: Hungry and Ferdinand. He had met them at a shelter before Erwin and again at Uncle Johnny’s house. Some supposed trail math made me think they were path ahead on a different part of the road, but sure enough they were drinking beer right in front of me on a cool Virginia afternoon, sipping a double zero and enjoying good company. It was exactly what I needed.
I joined the bandwagon of staying at The Broken Fiddle, where I met up with more hikers I knew! As I was getting settled in, I saw none other than WB, the man who had driven me to Asheville a few days earlier, walk through the door. It seemed like a sign to get a zero the next day with everyone else and enjoy the company. My social battery was at E and the trail gave me exactly what I needed. Friends!
We all played darts, rode our bikes to the grocery store, played indoor mini-golf after we got rained on while riding our bikes, and then played more darts. My arm hurt the day after throwing so many darts! After a day of rest and rejuvenation in Damascus, it was time to hit the road again, only this time I had company.
When I got to camp that night, I took out my tent and discovered that my rainfly was still soaked. Incomplete tasks are the sign of a successful day off.
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