5/24: Zero in Daleville, Virginia

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• Mile 730.3

Self-care is, or should be, a whole-body activity. But if you need to pick two parts to treat, make it your head and your feet. 

First on the slate today was a haircut. After a bagged hotel breakfast — the important parts of which were blueberry muffins and coffee — Rachel and I walked west to Bottetourt Commons. We parted ways in the parking lot, her to Kroger and me to Super Cuts. 

Super Cuts wasn’t so super (“Have you taken a shower?” the hairdresser asked before my name), but it was a haircut: a cooler, lighter head and a clean neck. Although Super Cuts wouldn’t trim my beard, Rachel and I found an unused razor in the hotel’s hiker box that, eventually, did the job.

At Kroger, where we’d bought groceries the day before, we grabbed a few remaining needs: sunblock, toothpaste, AAA batteries, garlic powder, cayenne, salt, and pepper. 

Next door was the outfitter, where we also found everything we needed: insoles, a pair of summer socks, permethrin, and a new pair of underwear for me (for the first time in my life, I understand the misery that is chafing). 

We decided, difficultly, to skip Bojangles and instead eat what snacks we had in the room for lunch. I spent at least an hour hacking at my beard while Rachel sprayed down our gear with the insect treatment.

Lots of hikers have a favorite home remedy for bugs. Although I am usually the first to opt for the natural approach, I haven’t found eating garlic, taking ibuprofen (which may reduce the inflammation that causes the itching/pain, to be fair), avoiding sugar, or any of the other “tricks” to be as effective as the chemical deterrents. 

As the permethrin dried and my razor burn faded, I caught up on the blog. With our first internet access in a week, we had a serious content backlog to tackle. 

Trying to get WordPress to work on mobile, much less sorting through all the photos and notes in my notebook, takes a lot of time. But as I work, I get to relive some days that I was simply too tired or sore to digest. 

On the AT, it’s easy to be in the moment. But to understand takes energy, which seems to come from the same stockpile used to physically navigate the trail. 

Life here is cyclical in the extreme: Pulling yourself (and, don’t forget, your pack) up a mountain means you’re going to need double-digit hours of rest. Let your hair grow as long as you can stand it, and then cut it all off. Go without cell service for a week, and then spend six hours brain-dumping on your blog. It’s like soaking and then wringing yourself out, again and again and again until you come out clean. 

One lesson of the AT for me is learning to live through booms and busts. Great and terrible days can and do occur back to back, and it’s sometimes tough to see until later — when, say, writing about them — which is which. The crowded campsite you stay at may yield a new best friend.

A Jack Kerouac quote inscribed on Sarver Hollow Shelter, where we stayed a few nights ago, put it eloquently: “While looking for the light, you may suddenly be devoured by the darkness and find the true light.”

Light must be sought out, and truth must be sussed out. And both tend to be found behind a black curtain of struggle. 

Is that what I’m here to do? To toil not just for miles, but for meaning? And I’m only guaranteed a search, not a solution? 

I think so. But I need to attend to my basic needs before my metaphysical ones. 

In other words, it’s dinner time. Before I can find truth, I need to find some calories.