Hostel Territory

I have now completed 461.1 miles of trail and have crossed three state lines. I am writing from Damascus, V.A., reputed to be the friendliest town on the Appalachian Trail.  I would argue against this having already quarreled with the librarian about my alloted internet time and the owner of a Bed & Breakfast who in my opinion, was guilty of price gouging.

As a result I find myself camping out in the back yard of the Damascus Methodist Church which operates under the guise of a hostel. I have had some pretty amazing hostel experiences which seem to be as much a part of the hiking culture as the trail itself. I feel almost obligated to stay in the hostels to get the true experience of being a thru-hiker.

Most Hostels are (dis)organized similarly. There is a large central bunkhouse filled with bunk-beds, cheap bug infested mattresses, a pillow (if you are brave enough to use it), and the smell of hikers who have been marinating in their own filth for days, if not weeks, at a time. Behind the bunkhouses are private cabins which usually get snatched up by older couples, people looking to escape the party scene, or those trying to save face. There are usually showers littered with empty hotel shampoo samples. If you’re lucky, laundry facilities are provided. There is always a kitchen area adjoining a common area where many hikers fall into a couch or cushy chair only to realize three days later that they haven’t moved. This is referred to as the hiker vortex.

Last week I stayed at the Kincora Hostel in Tennessee which was highly recommended by a few thru-hikers I met, who told me I would be an idiot not to stay the night. How could I refuse? Kincora operates on the honor system simply encouraging a $4 donation. I was immediately served a bowl of curried lentils, fresh fruit and bagels upon entering. A hiker named Bone Lady had spent the last three nights cooking banquets for hikers, having been sucked into the vortex herself. Tattoos of early Salvador Dali nudes stretch across her forearms and from what I could gather she is a self-taught taxidermist (in addition to being a fine chef). She informed me she was preparing chili with cornbread and sugar cookies that night, available to me for a couple dollar contribution for groceries. There is usually a shuttle into town for those who need to resupply or those looking for greasy food– the pizza place has put restrictions on the times available for hikers to have pizza delivered so as not to be overwhelmed. Hostel owners compete to see how many hikers they can cram in the back of their vans. At Kincora, 15 people including myself piled into the back of a small van watching passing cars do double takes.

It is at this hostel I caught up to my friend Y2K, who I had met in Franklin. His name comes from his food which was donated to him by family friends who had stock piled months of Mountain House Meals in preparation for the “Year 2000 Apocalypse.”  Eight years later they are still good though to eat, though even if they weren’t I doubt anybody would be able to tell. Y2K is a mechanical engineering student taking a break from school to hike and has an insatiable craving for slushies. Not crushed ice or snow cones (inferior products) but the time tested convenience store staple. Having hiked together for a few days now, he’s even managed to whet my appetite with his slushy obsession. Together we decided to design the first portable hiking slushy machine. Not a mechanical engineer myself, I have to rely upon the two engineering tools at my disposal: liquid nitrogen, and solar panels.  With these, I am convinced anything is possible. Throwing in phrases like “cooling agent” and “pressure differential” (neither of which I understand) I was convinced I had a brilliant design.

With a better understanding of mechanics, Y2K proposed a much more refined and plausible design, but without the pretentious and cool technical jargon I immediately dismissed it and started in on product licensing. Needless to say we have given this much thought. Fortunately, before we drove ourselves crazy with the slushy dilemma, my Aunt Mary appeared performing trail magic with barbecue ribs, peas, fresh fruit and juice which was timed perfectly with the weather. That morning we had been walking a ridge in torrential rain with lightning crashing beside us and a forecast that warned of tornados. Unfortunately, without a practical way down from the ridge, we were forced to keep moving. Right when Mary arrived the weather cleared. Coincidence or intelligent design? I defer to you.

After leaving Mary, the rain returned with renewed vigor. Forty mph winds blew rain horizontally, which turned to hail as it struck me from the side.  For the first time since being on the trail, I was scared. My body was fatigued, and I needed to set up my tent knowing I couldn’t make the five miles to the next shelter. The one place I found was extremely exposed and the wind nearly knocked over my 50 lb pack before I could begin to retrieve my tent. I stood there shivering starring at my pack for 15 minutes as hypothermia began to set in. I said to myself, “I have to do something or I will die,” so I strapped my pack back on and began to walk. Freezing water flowed freely through my shoes and socks. I ran into a fellow hiker who told me it was not worth risking my life on the ridge, and suggested we turn back, hiking off the mountain to find relief from the storm.

The next day at the hostel everyone shared their near death experiences including Y2K who had struggled for 10 minutes to unfasten his sternum strap, unable to move his fingers.

I am now taking a well deserved zero day in Damascus perhaps the biggest vortex yet. This morning my friends Y2K, Two Beers, Pre and I sat down to breakfast at a diner on the trail at the edge of town watching hikers attempt to escape the vortex’s gravitational pull. All of those who stopped into the diner to say goodbye wound up ordering a plate of pancakes, bacon, chili fries and a slushy only to resign themselves to having only hiked 200 yards that day, truly a hostel takeover.

Newt

Hiker Humor

Q: What’s the only difference between a hiker and a homeless person?

A: Gore-Tex