05/02
Maybe it was the high mileage from the day before, or the buff still pulled over my eyes, but I managed to sleep in a bit. A short lived moment of peace, snatched away by the realization that I’d have to pack up in the rain. Again.
Still zipped in my tent, I gathered what I could and stuffed it all into my dry bag (a garbage bag inside pack). All that was left was rolling up the wet tent, which is like folding a damp bedsheet in the wind. Then we were off.
Like a bad joke, the sky cleared moments after leaving camp. The trail unfolded with a kind of ease that now feels suspicious in hindsight. Seven miles of gentle terrain, we breezed through it like hikers who hadn’t spent the last few days dodging hypothermia.
By noon we were at our planned site, airing out gear on tree branches. After a few minutes of sunshine, we started to feel guilty. We deserved a break… right? But with only 8.5 miles left until we were officially out of the Smokies, it was hard not to feel the pull of the finish line.
A few hikers nearby mentioned tomorrow’s weather, something we hadn’t checked given all our devices were closer teetering on the brink of death. Severe thunderstorms, starting tonight and carrying on all day tomorrow. Lovely.
With one silent glance, we knew. The elusive short day would remain a dream for another day. Once again, we packed up. Seven miles turned into fifteen and a half. At least we’d be out of the park, though we hadn’t fully processed the fact that those bonus miles were straight downhill. Our knees remembered, and trembled with fear.
We aimed for a shelter just before “Davenport Gap”, the final stop before freedom. Distant thunder kept us moving. Nick opted for a scenic two mile detour, because nothing pairs with an incoming storm quite like bonus mileage. Exercising what I consider “trail wisdom,” I chose the most direct route and picked up the pace.
Of course, the shelter was a letdown. A small stone hut with no tent sites and a chain link fence bolted across the front like some kind of backwoods county jail. The idea was to keep the bears out, in reality we were food in a display case. Humans and their snacks, locked in for evening viewing.
Almost instantly, I began preparing my pitch “few more miles, then a motel”. A hard sell after hiking 40 miles in three days. But, as fate would have it, I’m an excellent salesman. One of my many under appreciated talents.
Nick, red faced and gasping, stumbled into camp already in agreement. Five minutes later we were booking a room on the last 10% of phone battery. Two miles to the nearest access road, then Uber into Gatlinburg. Easy.
Of course, this being the AT, It’s never that easy.
Turns out Uber doesn’t pick up on State Road 32. So there we were, on the side of a mountain road, rain beginning to fall, too tired to care. We sat on the gravel shoulder splitting the last of our food, a crumbling Pop-Tart that tasted like surrender. We were one tent pitch away from cowboy camping in a ditch.
Then, salvation… a white Subaru.
I jumped up and waved them down. Maybe it was the raw desperation in my eyes. Maybe they were serial killers. Who knows, who cares. Luckily, they were just a couple of day hikers heading back into town. I gave them the Kevin classic, equal parts charm and subtle persuasion. The gift of the Gab, some would call it. Ultimately I convinced them to drive us all the way to Gatlinburg, for free.
Bidding farewell to a long week in the Smoky Mountains, we crammed in the backseat and sighed relief.
Our new friends kindly dropped us off at the Reagan Resort Motel. And I don’t care what TripAdvisor says, that bed felt like the Ritz.