05/09

After decent night of sleep, though not quite what you’d expect when paying for an actual bed, I woke up with a dull headache and the immediate realization that bunk beds and aching feet are a hostile combo. Nearly face-planted getting down. Top bunks feel like a young man’s game, remember I have the body of a 65 year old. At least the older folks in the room seemed grateful I volunteered as tribute.

We made our way to the diner for one last heavy, greasy, overambitious breakfast. I really should know better than to order red meat before a hike, but the menu made me weak. Chicken biscuit, sausage, eggs, potatoes, cheese, enough grease to lube a truck axle. I figured I’d either burn it off or die trying.

The plan was to hike nine and a half miles.  Cut down from the original twelve, after hearing that our first intended campsite was infested with rats. Easy decision.

But of course leaving Hot Springs meant a brutal climb out of the valley. Eight miles of near constant uphill. The trail has a way of punishing your love for quaint mountain towns.

We crossed the rive, still churning fast and high from the hurricane and started walking along its sandy banks before veering up into the woods. It was slow going from the start. My heart was racing, head pounding, body drenched in sweat ten minutes in. I took a break to re-tape my feet and try to stretch out whatever was dragging me down, something was off.

I’m no mountain goat, but I can usually manage a climb without wanting to lie down on the trail and accept death. This was different. Every ten steps, I felt like I’d just finished a sprint. I was dizzy, nauseous, my head throbbing.

Eventually, we passed a meadow centered by a towering oak that had probably been standing there since before the trail was blazed. Just past that, we ran into trail magic from a woman named “Emoji”. She had her car parked at a junction with the trunk popped and full of snacks. We sat in the grass while she handed us homemade poetry and told us her story. She was from Rhode Island but had moved south because she liked “friendly people and warm weather.” She read us a piece that was full of heart. A simple act of kindness and generosity that turned out to be the highlight of my day.

It took us over three hours to hike the last few miles. I was sweating so hard it was dripping into my eyes. Headache, fever, no appetite. I drank a breakfast shake and forced down a tortilla like it was sandpaper, then crawled into my tent. I could feel the heat radiating from my skin. Definitely sick.

Rain is in the forecast for the rest of the week. The thought of hiking up mountains in a downpour while running a fever… not exactly the thru-hiker fantasy I’d imagined.

I tried to go to bed early. Nick went to catch the sunset, but came back with bigger news. He’d seen a bear cub in the trees. When he walked over to where we’d stashed our bear cans, he found slobber and bite marks all over them. I didn’t hear a thing.

Then he spotted another cub, this time right outside my tent. I stepped out and locked eyes with a tiny ninja bear tasked as the “lookout”. We made some noise and that’s when Mama showed up. Of course.

As I lay here, they’re still out there. We can hear them banging on the bear cans, just waiting for us to give up and go back to sleep. I’m feverish, exhausted, and now also praying that in the morning, our food hasn’t been carried off into the woods by the hungry beasts.