- Mile 636.1
I wish I could say we did something today other than sit around and eat pizza, but we did not.
We decided around 9 a.m. to stay another night at Angel’s Rest Hiker Hostel, largely to cope with our Covid-19 vaccine side effects. We packed up our things, panting like the old geezers we’re becoming, and settled up with “Doc”, the hostel owner and a local chiropractor. We set up our tent, scavenged a couple of pool chairs from the yard, and laid next to our tent for a solid hour (probably one for which we should have worn sunscreen).
After getting absolutely fried, we moved our operation to the pavilion attached to the hiker kitchen and laundry. There we met Sappy, a northeasterner who laughed when I asked how many people lived in her town and said her county just got its first stoplight.
Sappy had been hiking with a five- or six-person tramily, two members of which were off-trail due to overuse injuries. She blamed the injuries on intra-group competition and suggested she was developing ankle issues trying to keep up.
As our conversation with Sappy wound down, I suavely spilled pickle juice on my just-washed pants. I excused myself and grabbed the soap, which Rachel and I had replaced just yesterday.
For much of the rest of the afternoon, we took turns snoozing in the chairs by the tent, which was in the sun and too hot to sleep in directly. We played with stocks, snacked, and suggested halfheartedly to each other that we should do something before the shadows got long.
From 3:30 until past 4, Rachel and I did: We entertained Bambi and Blanc, a couple about our age who’d announced their engagement after 8 years together, ambled over to our tent.
Blanc, a fair-skinned, quiet guy, became more open as we spoke. He was a quality assurance tech, which evidently meant he tried to break HVAC units, before leaving to hike the trail. Bambi was a traveling sales rep who presented inventory software to local car dealers. Both were out here for the same reasons we were, it turned out.
We parted ways with Bambi and Blanc for dinner. They got Mexican, as we’d done the night before; we ate the biggest, most topping-laden pizza we’ve seen on the trail. Thin crust though it was, every square inch of the pie contained an unusual combination of broccoli, peppers, olives, sausage, pepperoni, and cheese. I sent a photo to Matt, my New Yorker uncle who likely sees better ones made on his block every day.
When Rachel and I reached the hostel again, I took the long way back to the tent in order to plug in my phone. As I got to the tent, Rachel was clutching her chest and grimacing. She’d gulped down both of her daily bone and joint pills, which had become lodged in her throat.
We fought those pills for half an hour. More useful than sitting up straight or drinking turned out to be going for a walk. By the time we’d walked 250 feet, nearly to the bathhouse, the pills had dislodged.
Of all the things I fear on the trail, an acute medical issue is at the top. Hiking is a high-risk activity, but it involves many smaller, more day-to-day ones that can also go wrong. Rachel’s episode proved it’s possible to get injured even laying down in the tent. Still, I was glad we had health insurance.
How I wish it were possible to take an adventure like this without worrying about coverages and networks and the like. Although many people with disabilities and older folks do hike the AT, I am sure many more are held back by those worries.
Thank goodness Rachel is OK. We can worry about securing everyone else’s life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness in the morning.
