The Kid and the Stoners

The moment my eyes popped open, I knew I was awake for good. I was instantly filled with anxiety. We were too close, packed in the shelter. I was trapped in my sleeping bag, it twisted around my upper body and arms pinning them to me and then around my legs in the opposite direction. I struggled to free my upper body to roll over - my left side aching from too much time in contact with the wooden platform below me. I lifted my body to roll onto my right side, the way you do when you have to change directions without exceeding your existing footprint…not so much a roll as a lift, flip and re-lower. As my head moved to face my opposite neighbor, I gasped. The Kid’s face was literally IN my bag! He had scooted himself over in the night and his annoying little sleeping face was now inside my bag. I pulled my bag out from under his head with little concern for his comfort and scooted myself the other direction, now infringing completely on Ayub’s space. I could feel his daggar under me. I flipped back over to my left side and the ache immediately set back in. Urgh. I was up, and there was no point in laying there thinking about it. I looked at my gps…it was 2:30 in the morning. “Fuck it,” I thought, “what does time matter to me?” and I began the familiar dance of packing up my stuff while minimizing the disruption to my neighbors. 

I put my headlamp on and turned it to it’s “red” mode. This mode is used while you are in camp so your light doesn’t shine on others and wake them up. I made a mental note of where bodies where…and that was everywhere. I would have to get myself out of my little space and get all my stuff packed and down from the platform without touching the ground. If I dropped anything, it would inevitably bounce off someone’s nose. I moved like a cat…a cat carrying 50 pounds worth of stuff through a field of land mines. I knocked over my water bottle and held my breath as it rolled toward the edge of the platform and then disappeared over the edge, followed by the sound of its soft landing and a muffled “hey!” from within a bag somewhere. “Sorry,” I whispered. And so it went, one item after another fumbled and dropped, like I was on stage in a comedy act. “Seriously?” I whispered to no one in particular.

Finally, I somehow managed to extract myself and my things from my spot and make my way to the bar at the front of the shelter commonly used to prepare food. I looked back at the platform and my spot was already being absorbed by the surrounding bodies, the way the dry spot under your car disappears as you back away in a rain storm. The night air was cool and refreshing after my hot bag and the combined, heated breath of too many strangers. I made some coffee and oatmeal and prepared to head out. Just as I was finishing my oatmeal and cleaning up, I heard a scratchy voice from within the shelter. “I’m coming with you.” I looked up to see The Kid emerge from the shadows of the shelter fully clothed and loaded up, ready to go. And so, at about three in the morning, we pulled out of the shelter under the light of a full moon.

The Kid hikes fast. He was instantly ahead of me and I stumbled behind, breathing heavily and breaking that “it’s too early and I didn’t sleep enough and I am going to feel like shit in a couple hours” sweat. The first mile of hiking in the morning is always rough for me. Maybe it’s my age (I remind you, The Kid was less than half my age) or just how I am wired, but I am fairly miserable for the first 30 minutes every morning. I also have to pee…a lot. I am quite certain that, if timed, I stop to pee every 15 minutes and I keep that up until 11am. I refuse to time it for fear that I would find it’s even less and would be forced to face the fact that I drink WAY too much coffee or something is really wrong with me. I prefer denial.

I must admit, I was feeling a little pressure to keep up. After last night’s bravado about my 25 mile days, my pride would not allow me to fall off The Kid’s heels. It also forced me to mask my heavy breathing as best I could. I took deep, long breaths through my nose or silent, quick and shallow ones through my mouth. The Kid was ready to chat from the start so I let him do most of the talking, occasionally lobbing a question his way to keep him going while I worked to keep my breathing under control. He was young, not yet out of high school (though he could not be nailed down on either age or grade in school), he did not have a girlfriend, or friends in general, he carried no phone or tracking device, he had no money and had been living off a meager few dollars and the kindness of others. His mother was his entire world – but they were fighting at the time. He talked about his mom endlessly. He was odd to say the least. He mentioned that someone gave him some money back at Nantahala and that he had bought clothes and supplies and I noted he was wearing a Nantahala shirt now. I also recalled watching him have a conversation with a stuffed beaver in the shelter the night before and without thinking I blurted out, “Is that where you got the beaver?” “Oh, Stuffy, yeah. Stuffy is a great friend!” Oh good, I am walking through the night with Norman Bates from Psycho. After this little exchange, everything about The Kid began to unravel. I concluded he was full on nuts and the only thing I wanted in the world was to not be talking to him anymore. I fell back and relaxed my pace without saying a word, hoping he would charge on into the dawn without me. No such luck. He waited and without hesitation, the second I would emerge from the darkness – the very moment he could see the glow of my headlamp, he would begin talking again. 

We did share a few self-congratulatory moments. We patted ourselves on the back for “seizing the moment” and hiking at night. When would we ever do this again? How would we otherwise have known the beauty of the moon lighting the trail, bouncing off the leaves and giving just a hint of the terrain around us? When ever in our lives would we see the sun rise minute by minute over the horizon with nothing else to do but witness it? We thanked ourselves aloud for getting out of bed and making this happen. He thanked me for prodding him…said he would never have done it on his own. As the sun rose to it’s rightful spot above us and night turned to morning turned to midday…I realized what was happening. I was “mommy!” This Kid was not going to leave me or shut up because he had found a surrogate in me. I softened momentarily toward him, feeling my maternal instincts to care for the child in need…and then I came to my senses. This guy was a freak and I was not interested. 

I dug deep and found a whole new gear. I went up the next climb ahead of The Kid with one sole purpose on this earth…to reach the top without him. There are many moments in my life when my former life as a competitive cyclist come in handy. Most are less linear, lessons in how to build a team, how to be generous to those who help you win, how to push yourself or others beyond limits and how a good team trumps the talented solo rider every time. But today my prior experience served me in a very direct way – I knew how to go fast, just fast enough that I would break the spirit of my rival. They would give in to the sting of acid in their legs and the burning in their chest and let up. So, I crested the top of the climb without a companion and knew that somewhere behind me, he was slowly lumbering up the climb in heated debate with Stuffy about whether or not to call his mom.

I began to hear cars in the distance. It’s a strange thing, the trail and the way it snakes and loops back on itself, rendering things like sound or noise an unreliable gauge of distance. You may hear a road and feel like you will see it any minute, only to go hours before actually stepping foot onto it’s pavement. This particular sound stood out as I knew it was Hwy 441 and it had been days since I had heard a car. As I came up along the side of the highway, approaching from the mountain below it, I noticed a beat-up white styrofoam cooler with a rock on the lid. I stood over it and read the block letters written in marker, "Trail Magic." I hesitated…I had seen my fair share of horror movies and instinctively knew there were severed fingers inside, but desperation and curiosity won out and I slid the rock off the top and opened the cooler. Inside I found cold bottles of water and apples. I took one of each and then, remembering the companion I had worked so hard to lose, quickly replaced the lid and hustled off.

I had spent far too much time thinking about the crossing of Hwy 441. This much was evident as I stepped out into the clearing and felt the intense pang of disappointment in my chest. There was no McDonalds, no Starbucks, no laundromat ...as I had dreamed. And there was no convenience store or even a coke machine as I had hoped. There was only an incredible lookout where cars could drive to the top and enjoy the view and there was a small, flat roofed building that advertised a restroom. I briefly considered the restrooms and had the fleeting thought of stopping in for a rinse in the sink and to sit comfortably on a toilet seat...maybe there would even be an outlet! But in the end, I was honestly unwilling to deviate from my path the 100 feet necessary to check it out. My apathy was compounded by the fact that it wasn't raining YET. Though the clouds were gathering and the thunder rumbling in the distance, so I knew it was only a matter of time. 

I selected to bypass the comforts of a public restroom and charged onward. Pause for a moment the next time you stop in a gas station restroom and just imagine what it would take for you to consider it an oasis. As the rain started to fall a couple hours later, I fantasized about going back to that restroom and camping inside. I would roll out my pad and bag on that standard terra cotta tile floor and I would draw my water directly from the sink, no pushing and pumping to muscle it through a filter. I would wash my hands! And my face! Honestly, the toilet was least appealing to me as I didn't really mind going outside, but water and a roof, those were my necessities. Life really was just that simple. All we have versus all we really need. 

Now, I am in no position to rant about excess. I admittedly get a thrill out of new shoes and am guilty of replacing things that do not need replacing. I have an endless list of "to-dos" and most of them don't actually need doing ("replace the perfectly good coffee maker with the newer and somehow better coffee maker" or "paint the girls room an unnoticeably different shade of pink"), but some quality time in the woods with all I needed on my back has made me see things a little differently. It's made me realize my wants are usually temporary and my needs are actually few. Even the needs of my daughters, they are often more about me than them. In reality, they need more time with me...time I usually spend distracted and rushing to complete those damn "to-do's." They cycle is shamefully self-imposed.

The second half of the day’s hike was largely uneventful. Up and down, up and down…light rain, heavy rain, downpour. And so it went until I reached the shelter at about 6:00pm that evening. It had only been a 20 mile day – which in the early days of my hiking would have been a death march. I felt really good considering the smell of rot on my feet and how mud covered and wet I had been for days now. My spirits had lifted the night before when a message from my boyfriend brought me the best news I could have hoped for…he was coming out to join me for a few days. And, sensing my desperation, he was coming a day earlier than he had planned. I was instantly revived and no mountain or distance would keep me from making it the 28 miles I had to travel to see him the next day. I cruised up to the shelter in the pouring rain, a spring in my step, until an overpowering smell of pot and tobacco washed over me. 

100 miles of this...

Nailed it!

I stared into the shelter, so dark and smoky inside that I could not make out its inhabitants, and saw only the red glow of cigarettes and joints. Once inside, I realized there were really only 3 people inside, but they were spread out across the entire platform. No one greeted me as I entered and no one moved to adjust their things and make room…so I pushed aside the shit on one side of the shelter and made a place for my things. I began to get out of my wet clothes and hang my things to dry. The night ahead would involve only dinner and sleep for me…I had been up way too long and tomorrow would be a big day for me. I wanted desperately to stay in my tent and avoid any small talk, but it would mean setting up my tent in the rain and mud and it would also mean a slower start in the morning. As I set my things up, my shelter companions continued to talk only among themselves and continued to light up again and again. The smell was overwhelming me. Waves of nausea washed over me and anxiety set in. Would they smoke this much all night? Surely they had to stop at some point, or at least take a break. Maybe it would stop raining and I could pitch my tent? I eavesdropped on their conversation and it seemed one of them was packing up to head out. I wondered why someone would be leaving at 6pm in the rain when today had been at least partially dry for a few hours. Turns out, he had been at the shelter for days and had decided now, at 6pm, to begin the 10 mile hike to a hostel just on the border of the Smokies. Stoners…who gets them?? Anyway, he was packing up and that would leave one less person to smoke out all night. 

The rain continued and so did the smoking. I consider myself pretty open-minded. I don’t personally smoke but I don’t consider myself ‘judgy’ toward anyone who does…but on this night when my nerves were frazzled and my mood dark, I simply cracked. “Are you guys just going to smoke out all night long…or will you, at some point, take a breather?” I blurted, not even sure I intended to say it aloud. “Why? Does it bother you?” the older of the two asked in a tone that let me know that I was the one being judged here. I was the one out of place. “Want some?” the younger one asked and I am certain inside he was begging me to smoke a little and chill the fuck out. “No. I don’t want any…and I don’t want to smell like I have been smoking all day. I can hardly breathe in here.” They stared blankly at me for a moment, then began chatting quietly between themselves. My meltdown was none of their concern. “Ugh. I guess I need to just go pitch my tent,” I continued, my conversation now completely one-sided. No response. They watched in smoky silence as I repacked my things and headed out into the rain in a huff…uttering over my shoulder just loud enough as I stomped out into the storm, “losers.” I am sure they thought it original.

Once I managed to get my tent up and my things inside…I was so completely blissful to be alone and in my own private suite. My tent was so perfect. So peaceful. It was my happy place. I hung my little lantern and snuggled deep into my bag to read the first page of my book…again. My blood pressure from the ‘stoner conflict’ had quickly returned to normal and I forgave myself for the momentary tantrum knowing that few humans could endure this week of misery and isolation and not come unhinged a bit. Tomorrow was going to be a bright day for me. I would be meeting Tony on the trail and would get a few days of his company on my hike. I would get to show him “my trail” and we would get to share a bit of the magic of this journey. I was so very happy as I drifted to sleep in my tiny tent in this big, soggy, maddening, beautiful, lonely forest.