Meeting up with my fellow Maineiacs was a journey in and of itself. After spending a week back home in Orono (during which time it rained 7 days out of 8), it came time for me to board a plane by myself and fly down to Virginia. Of course, the cheapest flight available from StudentUniverse was at 6:00 a.m. from Portland, ME., which meant that I had to be at the airport at 5:00, which meant getting up at an ungodly hour. The Maineiac's supervisor (Kathy) and I drove down to Portland the night before and stayed at a hotel 10 minutes from the airport. Getting up at 4:45 was no picnic, but I made it to the airport with time to spare. Another reason why the flight was so cheap is that it flew from Portland to Detroit, more West than South. Why I needed to fly to Detroit first is beyond me, but I was stuck there for two grueling hours, trying to entertain myself as best as I could. I spent most of the time standing in line trying to get a bagel and some coffee for breakfast, and the rest of the time reading a newspaper--the first time, actually, that I had ever read a newspaper cover to cover.
I got off the airplane in Roanoke no worse for the wear. I picked up my backpack directly after getting off the plane--I had to gate check it in Detroit--and soon after I left the gate I realized something had gone terribly awry: the bivvy sack, which was to be my tent for the next two weeks, had vanished from its position securely stuffed into one of the side pockets of my backpack. I immediately ran back to the plane just as the pilots were exiting, and told them of my predicament. They sent somebody to search for it--but only empty hands returned. Miraculously, it was sitting in a barrel right next to me, so I managed to escape the airport unscathed and with everything I needed. I didn't originally know how I was to meet up with the man who was to take me to where I needed to go, but I figured I pretty much stood out with the enormous backpack on my back. Sure enough, Homer, my driver, emerged from the crowd. He was an older man with graying hair, a slight build, and rather--er--distinguishing teeth. We got in his car and began the hour-plus drive to Bland, Va., where I was to rendezvous with Uno. Homer was a kind gentleman, whom my dad described rather aptly in his last blog post. I could barely discern what he was trying to say to me sometimes, but I could infer what he was trying to say based on the context of the conversation.
I got to the Big Walker Inn before Uno, and as soon as he walked into the room after Homer went and picked him up, I was struck by two things about him in particular: 1) the horrendous stench emanating from him, which smelled like a combination of sweat, garbage, and weak skunk odor, and 2) how much skinnier he looked; the skin was literally hanging off of his body. That's what he gets for losing 15 pounds at age 51--connective tissue isn't quite what it used to be. Unfortunately I realize I'm bound to the same fate as his, but I refuse to think about it at least for another 15 or 20 years.
The next day broke warm and humid, and the first challenge that we had to deal with was navigating the town of Bland. Bland, suffice to say, lives up to its name. The roads are lightly trafficked, and the town itself was quiet, with little activity. After getting breakfast and updating the blog, we managed to hitch a ride to the trail after 15 minutes of fruitless thumbing. I was a little skeptical of the elderly woman's ability to drive--the car was constantly weaving back and forth, ever so slightly, and I did not dare to look at the speedometer. We got to the trail and began our hike.
Let me remark first what hiking in Virginia consists of. The terrain is easy, with little climbing, but always follows this order:
1) Hike over a bit of flat land.
2) Climb 1500 vertical feet in the course of a mile
3) Hike a ridge that is anywhere from 6 to 60 miles long
4) Descend all at once, and go back to step 1).
That's basically it. The mountains are ridges that run basically one after the other, and the trail climbs them all, following a rough line North.
Within the first few miles of hiking, Uno and I stopped for lunch at a decent viewpoint (a rare occurrence in these mountains). After we resumed, myself in the lead, at one point I heard a loud noise in the brush to my left, a sound that I had never heard before. I looked down, and there was a massive black snake, about 3 feet long, not more than 2 feet away from me, its tail madly rattling. Oddly enough, this did not instill the fear of God into my soul as it would have to other people who have come into contact with these creatures before. All I did was turn around and state calmly to Uno, "Hey dad, there's a rattlesnake right there." I took some pictures as it slithered off.
The thing that is most annoying about the trail, however, is the switchbacks. Coming down from Doc's Knob shelter into Pearisburg yesterday, the trail would hug the side of the mountain for about 400 feet, then switch back 170 degrees, and go back another 400 feet. This repeated ad infinitum, losing about 15 vertical feet per switchback. I decided to throw caution to the wind and cut straight down to the next segment of trail on a few occasions, saving us probably a quarter mile each time. We were unable to hitch a ride once we got into Pearisburg, so we had to walk the 2+ miles to the hostel at the Catholic church, which was predominantly uphill. Go figure, right?
On a side note, Uno and I were going to stay at the Wapiti hut, which, incidentally, was the hut where 2 Maine thru-hikers were murdered. The hut itself was torn down and relocated after that incident, but kept the same name... We got there at 3, so we decided to hike the 8.4 miles to the next shelter.
I think I've just about covered everything since I arrived here. Hiking has been light: 13 miles Monday, 22 miles Tuesday, and 8 miles Wednesday. I can't wait to get to the Shenandoahs.
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