A Maker's Mark of 30 miles

Part 2

Off i was again on the trail heading north, a small town stop at Boiling Springs PA keeping me focused and on pace. Although I was growing tired as the day went on I was determined to make the 30 mile mark. I decided to stop for dinner so I would be able to continue through the night, if needed, to finish.

Dusk was closing in when I arrived to the charming little town of Hot Springs where the trail passed right through town, around a pristine man made pond full of fish with a gazebo on the side until reaching the AT Conservancy. I took a little break looking at the pamphlets, weighing my pack (a cool 34lbs) and talking to Dancing Wolf who was a SOBO (south bound). We decided to have a beer at the restaurant/bar across the street for our general sanity and because it's about the simple pleasures opportunity gives you.

The restaurant was upscale for the small town with dark wood, a terrible carpet and old timers at the dinner tables drinking mediocre wine at high prices. We dropped out bags on the side of the building and went straight to the bar but Dancing Wolf was told he was not allowed in the establishment with the cut off T-shirt he had on. I was in my muddy gaiters, stinky clothes but passed the requisite dress code so ordered a beer and shot of bourbon only to be told there was a 1 drink at a time per person limit. Obviously, this place was trying to keep the fine dining appeal and I understood completely but could not hold in my immediate approval of Dancing Wolf's alternate shirt when he walked in with a tie dye peace symbol. Ends up the bartender was really cool, had worked in DC, took care of us, chatted when he had the chance and introduced us to a regular whom we ended talking to for quite a while. He was indeed as classy as the establishment he represented.

Now, I could attempt to recall the conversations we had with Tom the snake expert who collected American Indian artifacts and coached the Hershey Bears years ago or the how the regular we were introduced to (who's name I forget) was a divorce(eh) whose daughter was the hostess etc etc. The point is I had a great time talking with all the fine folks who were there; the 3 pilots even showed up. I inadvertently waited out a thunderstorm while sipping on my 3rd Maker's Mark and Ginger. Everything was working out well.

Although I did have beers a few times on the trail I never got drunk; having a beer was like eating all the things you missed, a craving for the taste of things unavailable. Well, on this night I was drunk and enjoyed every minute of it. The bar closed at midnight, Dancing Wolf and I walked out laughing the whole way about nothing in particular. Since he was Sobo and I was Nobo we parted ways with a drunken slap in the face as though we had a long standing childhood friendship that allowed for such intimate and violent contact. Dancing Wolf headed to the gazebo for the night and I headed up the road to find the trail but I doubt I will ever hear from him even though I passed on my info and he said he would email. Passing friendships on the AT are momentous and minute.

At this point most would have given up on making the 30 mile mark but I was still ready to continue the 8 miles needed. The rain had passed, my mind was made up, my legs fueled with Maker's Mark so I started into the night with headlamp lighting the way into the woods and fields of PA. I sang and stumbled my way through the wet leaves and high grass until my shoes had soaked up all they could. I was now squishing past the cow pastures and crossed the PA turnpike in the dead of the night losing track of how far I had to go to break the 30mi mark. So I hiked some more until I got to a foot bridge near Carlisle PA.

This was were I was going to stop for the night no matter if I had accomplished my goal or not. I was exhausted, the Maker's Mark fueled drive had worn off and the rain was beginning to start up again. Although I knew I should put up a proper camp, change out of my hiking clothes, brush my teeth or, at least, take off my shoes I simply put my ground pad down and layed down with my sleeping bag.

The few hours of sleep I got were torture. I was never comfortable, cold and wet, tossing and turning, down right miserable. I could have changed all this easily but did not have the energy to devote to the effort. The morning was worse. My feet were completely shriveled and white with pain. All I wanted was a shower, a nice breakfast and a couch to lay on. What I had was a dirty little strip of land between 2 large roads with trucks roaring past, a booming headache and little else to ease my achy breaky self. Even the realization that I had made the 30 mile mark gave me little comfort.

It took me hours to get moving again. All my gear was wet and strewn around the trail. Luckily I only had 10 miles to go until I would get picked up in Duncannon. The day was tough and I was ready to call it quits at every step. Still I persevered and told myself this was part of the good, the bad and the ugly of trail life. It makes for a good story but I learned an important lesson that day: Hiking and drinking don't mix.