I think the hiker hunger is finally catching up to me. It is inevitable, the hunger. Some get it sooner than others. For me it took five weeks, and became apparent when I realized I needed two of everything instead of one. A minute after I finish snacking I realize I'm hungry again. When I polished off a pint of ice cream and a large pizza in one sitting without feeling sick, I knew the appetite was real. Currently burning at least 3,000 calories a day, and stuffing my face in towns, thruhiking is the ultimate diet.
The climb up Roan Mountain would have been easy but for my Achilles tendons giving me troubles. The summit was empty aside from thruhikers, as the road hadn't opened to summer business yet. Apparently there had once been a hotel at the top with the state line painted down the middle. Guests could drink legally on one side of the room but the sneaky cop would catch them if they crossed the white boundary with a drink in hand. It was torn down after 20 years. I suppose people got tired of the alcohol rules.
As we descended down the mountain we met two men coming up. "You guys thruhiking?" the first asked, as we stepped aside to let them pass. "Yup!" We told him. "Oh, then we should be stepping aside for you! Please, please go!" he said, stepping off path. We laughed and accepted the offer, passing the second man who was mock bowing, saying, "Make way for the goddesses of the trail, we are not worthy!" "No, no, no, not true," I giggled, and thanked them.
Finally we made it to Overmountain shelter, a barn that had been converted into a shelter. There were 2-3 boy scout troops there, but we had been warned. I had wanted to sleep in the barn, and although there was plenty of room, I didn't want to intrude on the all-boys experience. I'm not exactly sure what boy scout troops do at night, but I was certain a girl being present would throw off the dynamics.
The bald looked like an African savanna, with tall grasses and large pointy rocks, small trees. I half expected to see a giraffe wading through the grass. Hills are made much easier when there is a constant 360 view. It gives one a good reason to stop. The savanna gave way to a boulder field as we made our way downhill and officially finished North Carolina. Bucky was waiting with trail magic and I enjoyed an orange to celebrate our accomplishment before heading downhill to a road crossing.
An unexpected resupply and milkshake later, I found myself back on the trail, angry. It was so hot. The sun offered no mercy and the leafless trees cast little shade. Stupid guidebook, it didn't say there was a hill here. Stupid hill. Stupid sun. Stupid trail. Stupid feet. Stupid pack. Stupid stupid stupid. I knew my bad attitude was because I was dehydrated. My feet burned as we finally fell into the shade of a forest, taking a side trail to a waterfall to soak them in the cold water. As I peeled off my socks I was appalled at the damage done. Somehow I had acquired tons of hot spots and blisters in the most random places: in between my toes, on the top of my foot, my arches, my heels. Firefly's feet were in no better shape. How had this happened so suddenly? I yelled in pain as I plunged them into the ice cold water and let them go numb.
The water did little to ease the pain as the hot spots intensified when we hiked the remaining miles to our campsite by the river. We camped alone, falling asleep to crickets and frogs, planning on an easy day the next day. Little did we know what was in store for us.
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