05/12
Today was a “short” nine mile day, still exhausting but we pretended it wasn’t.
About halfway through the hike, we stumbled across the Laurel Mountain Hostel, a redneck oasis tucked away in the woods. We weren’t planning to stop, but curiosity (and the sign noting pizza and snacks) pulled us in. The “hostel” was really a garage, outfitted with a microwave and picnic table. The lawn was tastefully decorated with cars on cinderblocks, a porta-pottie, and various “don’t tread on me” chachkies. We spent a little too much time there eating snacks and chatting with the bearded care taker before heading back to trail.
Not far up the mountain, we stumbled across a couple bathing in a waterfall. The woman looked me dead in the eye, still dripping, and asked if I had a cigarette. I did not… missed opportunity I guess.
The trail itself was peaceful, uneventful in the best kind of way. Soft ground, decent grades, and a lot of green. We rolled into camp early, around 2 or 3, expecting a slow and quiet afternoon. Right around dinner, the same waterfall couple showed up again, this time in the middle of a screaming match. Natures own reality TV. Curses and obscenities echoed down the valley for hours before he stormed off. She followed, shouting “I’m allowed to be in pain motherf*ckr!!” Couldn’t have said it better myself.
Inspired, I decided to hunt for water in nothing but my rain poncho and underwear because why not be a little unhinged yourself? Made it about halfway down the mountain before realizing it was too far, and too exposed, to continue without pants. Humbled, I turned around. Nick eventually came along and we made the trek together, taking the opportunity to wash our feet in the cold stream.
It rained all night. A steady, rhythmic drizzle that tapped gently on the tent fly like a sleepy metronome. I laid there in my cocoon, warm enough for once, listening to it patter, fading in and out with the wind.