Walkin Down the Line...

"Well, I'm walkin' down the line,
I'm walkin' down the line
An' I'm walkin' down the line. My feet'll be a-flyin'
To tell about my troubled mind."
Bob Dylan

I know that dad has already posted today, but I wanted to get my own post in as well. As dad mentioned, another week of walking down the line, following the white blaze has deposited us, wet and smelly, in the booming metropolis of Erwin, Tennessee. The Southern mountains are a downright beautiful place. The towns we walk through are reminiscent of Vermont, dotted with picturesque green pastures and rolling hills. To tell you the truth, I did not had a lot of experience with the "true" south before this trip. In general we have found the people to be extraordinarily kind and hospitable, but sometimes they come across as a bit odd. Today, for example, we got off the trail and decided that in lieu of staying at the hostel we would make the 1.8 mile trek to the local Holiday Inn (actually, we were drawn here by the promise of a free pint of Ben and Jerry's Ice cream, but that is irrelevant to the story at hand). Anyway we were walking down the road, visions of Cherry Garcia dancing in our head, when all of a sudden a large, brown conversion van stopped abruptly in front of us. A plump, middle aged woman leaned out of the window, "Y'all going into town?" she asked. We nodded and smiled thinking that maybe she would be kind enough to offer us a ride in. "Y'all should hitch a ride...just go up to this next intersection, put your packs at your feet, put yer thumb out and stick a smile on yer face!" she instructed us, in a tone most people reserve for immature puppies who are caught peeing on the carpet. Then, as quickly as she had stopped, she jammed her foot on the accelerator and sped off, leaving two dumbfounded hikers in her wake. We tried what she said, but still had to walk to the hotel. Oh well.