Yesterday I stayed busy, but today there’s not much to do. Lagunatic will be here around 10:30 and we’ll head to Walmart so I can buy food for the next few days. As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, Lagunatic and Ken, my late father-in-law, met on the trail many years ago and they became friends. Karen contacted Lagunatic a while back and the two stay in touch, that’s how Lagunatic, who lives in VT found out I was on the trail and offered to help.
Ken is the one who first introduced me to the trail. When Karen and her sisters were young they used to vacation in ME and NH. The way I understand it, that’s when Ken’s desire to hike the trail was kindled, but he had responsibilities and the dream was deferred. After Karen and I married, Ken and Gladys, Karen’s mom, would visit us in GA. During one visit we rode through north GA and I pointed out places where the trail crossed the different roads we traveled. That reignited Ken’s desire to section hike the entire trail. I had the opportunity to join Ken on a couple of his hikes. The first was when he started at Amicalola State Park, where the approach trail to Springer Mountain begins. It was during that trip we both learned the valuable lesson about carrying too much weight. Starting out Ken’s pack weighed 65 pounds and mine, which was borrowed from Ken, and was probably older than I was, was around 50 pounds. You name it, we had it somewhere in one of the packs. Our goal the first day was to hike the 8.8 miles to Springer Mountain, the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. We goofed off at the start and posed for a silly picture or two, but then the real work began and we only made it about 6 miles. The next day we realized something had to be done or the hike was in jeopardy. We decided to hide our packs, walk unburdened to Springer and then return and get our packs and walk back to the car. Having done that we found out there was a Forest Service road that went to a parking area near Springer, so off we went with a backpacker hitchhiker named Marty that wasn’t interested in doing the approach trail. The three of us loaded our very large packs into my 1974 VW Beetle. The Forest Service road was in rough shape and the VW, which was probably carrying more weight than it was designed for, scraped bottom many times and overheated once. Finally we made it to the parking area. I knew I wouldn’t be able to continue the hike so I dropped Ken and Marty off. Prior to leaving, Ken went through his pack removing things and saying repeatedly, “Don’t need that, don’t need that, etc.”. I left them, not sure how to get back to civilization, with an almost empty gas tank, it was pretty tense. Well, I made it home and Ken and Marty had a great time. The next year Ken invited me to join him during his section hike of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and we had a great time. The flame he had to hike the trail had ignited a spark in me which is now a blazing fire. During his latter years I bronzed his hiking boots (actually I spray painted them gold) and gave them to him during one of our visits to commemorate his accomplishment. I could write on and on about Ken and the many great times we had, but writing this has brought me to tears and I need to stop. He was a hard man to understand at times but I loved him and thank God that he was my father-in-law.
When Lagunatic and I met we embraced as if we were old friends, you see we had two things in common, Ken and the trail. We talked a bit, went to Walmart and shopped, had a long lunch, and then came back to the motel and talked more. The conversation was comfortable and never lagged. She brought photographs of her hike and must have taken 20 pictures of me and us together, you see that’s how she made a living at one time. Finally she had to leave and we embraced again and said our goodbyes. I will probably see her again since she’s offered to help me along the next 75 miles of trail. What a great lady.
After Lagunatic left I went through the food getting it ready to go into the pack, getting rid of excess packaging and putting it in Ziploc bags. I also went to the PO to see if the boxes from Karen were there but they weren’t. I hope they come tomorrow, or I’ll be here another day. While I’d like to get back on the trail it’s out of my hands and I’m content with that. Another day with no miles hiked, but full of very good fellowship.
Prone to Wander