I woke, eager to be back on the trail. I had dolefully watched the last of the familiar faces leave while I stayed an extra day in Waynesboro to let Firefly close the gap. It was extremely frustrating to wait, but for some reason I wasn't completely ready to write her off.
Compared to other parts of the trail, the Shenandoahs are relatively flat, so many thruhikers blow through them, putting in 20-30 mile days while the going is easy.
I resentfully opted for a 13 mile day to give Firefly a fighting chance to catch up and reclusively lay in my hammock at the shelter, watching a whole new bubble of hikers come in. I didn't feel like getting to know another group only to watch them leave. I was bitter at Firefly for putting me in this situation, though it was hardly her fault. Over all, I was confusing myself. I could no longer switch back and forth from eagerly hiking solo to stopping and deciding I should wait. I needed to make up my mind. Either I should stop completely until she caught up or continue on for good.
"Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other is gold." I remembered singing this song at Girl Scout camp. But they never told me which one was silver and which one was gold. There was an internal battle going on. Should I wait for Firefly or catch up with the group that had just passed? Which friends were the gold? After lots and lots of thinking I decided I would wait no longer. After all, hadn't being solo been one of the best weeks on the trail? I still wanted Firefly to catch up, but I would no longer intentionally wait for her. That figured out, I felt at peace again, and prepared for a 20 mile day.
The man ahead of me turned and put a finger to his lips. I stopped hiking and tip-toed toward him. There was crashing off to my left and I figured it could be only one thing: a bear (cue intense music).
We watched silently as a large bear stood, wrapping his massive paws around saplings and folding them down to reach the tender leaves. Two other hikers soon joined the show. Twenty feet from the trail the black bear stopped and sniffed the air. He clearly knew he had an audience, but he minded his own business and soon lumbered on in search of more food. Following suit, I lumbered on in search of a good place to eat lunch.
I made it to the camp store just in time. No sooner I had I stepped under the breezeway than it started to downpour. I went inside to grab some ice cream, and joined some rowdy weekenders on the benches to watch the rain pour down. Thruhikers trickled in, hair plastered to their heads, water dripping from their clothes, boots squishing with every step. I was delighted to see them, though I didn't yet know them very well.
Soon thruhikers had taken over the breezeway. We squeezed together on the three benches. Our packs and wet gear lined the walls. All of us had gone into the store at least five times to buy various food items. Some random guy (not a hiker) pulled out a guitar and started singing songs. Conversation was lively and the feeling of camaraderie floated in the air. This is what thruhiking is all about.
"I'm not leaving," one of the thruhikers said, peering out into the pouring rain, "I am sleeping right here." As the day grew later, it looked like that idea would be more of a reality for me as well. I was hesitant with the idea though... was that against the rules? There were no signs. "The laundry and bathrooms are open 24/7," the kind store owner had said, winking, as he closed up shop and we showed no signs of moving. We decided our story for the rangers would be that we were all waiting for laundry.... all night long. One of the women set up her bed in the laundry room. Many of the guys set up in the breezeway.
I setup my bed in the bathroom for more privacy. Okay, I know what do you are thinking: that is disgusting. But let me defend myself. This bathroom was brand new, recently built, and according to the sign it had been cleaned only a few hours before. The floors sparkled.
The handicap shower stall was very large; the perfect spot to set up my bed. I even had a locking stall door and toilet. If I heard any ruckus from outside, my plan was to pretend I had hiked through the night to come take a shower. I knew this plan was lame, so I hoped I would not have to use it as an excuse. I was not used to breaking the rules, but it was exhilarating. The night past without incident, nobody came and kicked us out, though the guys did get a warning to be out by sunup. I remained hidden in my little corner. Ha.
It is still a long way to Maine. The reality of the distance I have yet to walk is starting to hit. It seems like once I get to Harpers Ferry, the halfway point, I should be almost finished. Everything North seems to be just a fuzzy haze... unthinkable, unreachable. I've come so far, so much has happened... I can't fathom a whole other half. What adventures await?
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