For once, jackrabbit seemed to feel more confidence that I did. "The air's warming up," she said as we packed our food bags after supper. "We should get an early start tomorrow to make up for the time we've lost"
"Okay," I said, humoring her. "What time should I set my internal alarm for?"
"Let's see. It's eight now. Five-thirty would be good"
Sometime in the middle of the night, I awoke to the rumble of thunder. Lightning flashed close overhead, illuminating huge, downy snowflakes that drifted silently through the clearing. Without the rattle of rain on the shelter roof, it seemed that we were caught in the ghost of a thunderstorm, just as the hare tree limbs, outlined in snow against the stormy sky, looked like the ghosts of a forest. As the storm drifted away to the west, I fell back asleep, into a dream of color. I was standing in a sunlit meadow, full of enormous flowers. Sky-blue dahlias the size of dinner plates nodded on stems as high as my shoulders; spikes of gold and crimson gladiolas rose above my head. I made my way to the edge of the meadow, pushing through the tangle of flower stems and stepping around the tilted slabs of slate that lay hidden among them. Beyond the flowers, perhaps a quarter-mile distant, a sleepy village of thatchroofed cottages lay still in the midday sun. All around it, fields of ripe grain glowed against a backdrop of rolling green hills, but no figures, either human or animal, moved through the verdant landscape. On my left, not a hundred yards distant, I could see the white walls and spire of a country church, bright against the cloudless sky. Suddenly, I realized that I was standing in the churchyard; the slabs of slate were gravestones, and all that profusion of glorious color rose from the bodies of the dead.
That discovery shocked me awake. Darkness filled the shelter; only the faintest pallor, like a hovering wisp of fog, marked the snowy clearing beyond the edge of the sleeping platform. I reached for my headlamp and checked jackrabbit's watch. Five twenty-three. Outside, the snow was still falling. Small quick flakes drifted across the front of the shelter like static on a TV screen. I dressed quickly, pulled on my boots, and tested the ground. Stable footing. The snow had stuck to the surface of the ice, leaving a surface we could walk on. I crawled back into the shelter and woke jackrabbit.
For the first mile, we climbed steadily uphill. On either side of the Trail, the tightly curled leaves of rhododendrons looked black in my headlamp light, like thousands of frozen bats hanging from the branches. The sky lightened slowly without changing color. Our two days' rest had healed the bruises around my ankles, but I felt as though my will to continue had vanished in the churchyard full of flowers. I wanted to stop jackrabbit, to say, its over. We're in the wrong place, at the wrong time; can't you see that we couldn't outrun winter? We gave it our best try, and now I want togo home. In the gray hour of gloom before dawn, it seemed so obvious that our hike had failed. I felt certain that jackrabbit would offer no opposition to my plan. Working out the logistics of getting home, though, seemed even more difficult than putting one foot in front of the other. I would wait until Pearisburg; perhaps we could find a bus from there or convince some kind soul to drive us to the nearest airport.
Just as we reached the top of Kelly Knob, a creamy yellow light suffused the thin band of horizon between gray earth and gray cloud. As I watched, stacked bands of lavender, blue, and pink lit up the western rim of the sky, while the eastern horizon deepened to the color of an egg yolk. The sun blazed momentarily through the gap beneath the cloud bank, tinting the snowy branches reddish orange. In another minute, it had risen into the clouds, returning us to the drab winter landscape. But that one moment of sunlight was enough to break the dream's spell. Of course ive can go on, I told myself. We've made it this far. We'll finish.
jackrabbit
e came to Bailey Gap Shelter as the light faded between the trees. I was so accustomed to camping alone that it was a shock to find another hiker there: a skinny young man with long blond hair and ragged clothes, sitting at the edge of the sleeping platform. He was definitely a hiker, but his pack was nowhere in sight.
"Hey, what's up?" lie called as we came into the clearing. "They call me the Kid."
"Good to meet you," I said, and we gave our names. "Where's your pack?" I asked him.
He grinned. "A pair of trail angels're slacking me. They should be here any minute now."
"Are you southbound?" I asked him.
"Just filling in a section I missed. I hiked northbound this year. I had to get off for a week in summer with really had pack sores, and then I skipped ahead to be with the crowd. These great trail angels I met in the SmokiesJill and Bill-they're slacking me back to Catawba. That'll be the end of my thru-hike."
"You're close, then. Congratulations," I said.
A petite woman with short white hair came into the clearing, carrying two packs. "Kid? Oh, there you are! I've got your pack here" She had a gentle Southern accent. "Sorry we're late; took us a while to find the place." She noticed us. "Hi there. I'm Jill. I didn't expect to see any other hikers out this time of year!"
We introduced ourselves. Jill looked surprised. "Are y'all the Barefoot Sisters? I heard rumors y'all got offthe Trail! It sure is good to see y'all out here"
"We got off for Thanksgiving,' Isis said, "but only for a few days."
Jill shook her head. "It's amazing, isn't it, how rumor travels?"
"We're not really barefoot anymore, either," I said, indicating Isis's brandnew boots and my own sneakers.
"When did you put shoes on?" the Kid asked.
"The end of November," I said. "The first ice storm hit us in Shenandoah, and we had to call it quits "
The Kid whistled. "It's a wonder you kept it up that long. Pennsylvania and everything?"
"Yeah, even Pennsylvania. It was tun while it lasted;" Isis told him.
It was almost dark now; the first few stars shone between the bare branches. I heard footsteps coming up the path.
"That'll be my husband Bill," Jill said. "We call him Whispering Bill, cause he can't talk very loud" He was a tall uian, slender almost to the point of gauntness, with thinning brown hair pulled into a ponytail.
"Hi there," he said in a broken voice that was barely above a whisper. "It's good to see all these hikers out on a night like this"
As we cooked supper, Isis and I told a few of the better stories from our hike so far. The Kid talked about life as a northbounder-throngs of hikers, hot weather and terrific thunderstorms, trail magic cookouts by the side of the road. His descriptions of the Trail in summer were so different from the scenery we had passed in the last few months that I could hardly reconcile the two.
Jill and Bill told us about their dreams of hiking the Trail. "We've hiked a lot of sections," Jill said, "but we really want to do a thru-hike. It's been our plan ever since we got married"
"And that's a long time," Bill wheezed.
"]tight," Jill said. "I've been thirty-nine for so many years I've lost count!" She laughed brightly. "But the year after next, we're hiking for sure. The kids'll all be through with school, the house'll finally be paid for." Her voice grew quiet. "I think we've got to hike soon, 'cause Bill's not getting any better."
"Not any worse, either," lie protested.
"You said you were having trouble with your hands again, honey."
"What happened?" I ventured.
"Bill used to work for the state of Tennessee, in the waste disposal department," Jill explained. "He was out at a dump site one time, and he got into some kind of chemical. It burned his lungs pretty had. Now he's starting to have trouble with his circulation, too. When his hands get cold, it takes 'ens forever to warm up again."
"I'm still healthy enough to hike," he said.
"Best of luck," I said. "This Trail is an awesome experience."
"It sure has given us some fun times over the years," Jill said. "I think the hikers are what keep us young. Like this fella here." She patted the Kid on his shoulder and beamed. "Wasn't for him, we'd be home gettin' fat in front of the TV. Listen, Isis and jack
rabbit. Y'all have got to come visit us when you come through the Smokies"
"Definitely," I said.
She took a scrap of paper from the top of her pack and wrote her phone number. "It'd be great to see y'all again."
When they saw our meager pot of instant potato flakes, Jill and Bill shared their food with us: home-dehydrated vegetable stew, with peppers, tomatoes, and zucchini from their own garden. It was the best thing I had eaten in days. We stayed up far into the night, talking, singing, laughing, appreciating the company of other hikers.
The sun was well below the horizon when we packed up and left in the morning. Jill, Bill, and the Kid were asleep; we shielded the beams of our headlamps and spoke in whispers so we wouldn't wake them. We had planned a long day, another twenty-three miles.
Four inches of new snow clung to the ground, and more was falling, swirling down in the light of our headlamps. My feet were sopping wet inside my cloth sneakers before the sun rose. By midday I could no longer feel my toes. The shoes gave no traction on the steep, snowy hills; I slid constantly.
Coming down off the ridge into Pearisburg as darkness closed in again, I felt exhausted and miserable. A factory at the edge of town, a huge network of pipes and smokestacks, tanks and Hashing lights, gave off a low persistent hurn that grew stronger as we came down the ridge. The air filled with its vile reek: vinegar, brimstone, bile. I was hungry from the last few days of short rations, but the thought of food turned my stomach, with the nauseating smell in the air. As we crossed the bridge over the New River, I sloshed through puddles of salty brown road-water, no longer caring where I put my feet. Passing cars sprayed a slurry of ice, salt, and gravel all over us, and a piercingly cold, damp wind ripped across the bridge.
We walked up the shoulder of the road to a grocery store at the edge of town. Under the washed-out light from the store windows, I could see snowflakes whipping past. I took niy pack off and slumped against the wall of the store, one hand over my face to keep the biting wind off my cheeks. The last few days of hiking had worn inc out more than I wanted to admit.
"Are you okay?" I looked up. A tall, thin man was getting out of a pickup truck. His forehead wrinkled with concern.
I tried to sit up straighter. "Yeah, we're okay. It's just been a long day. Couple of long days"
"Are you hiking the Trail? In this weather?"
Isis grinned, a slightly maniacal expression that I recognized all too well. "Southbound"
The man shook his head and smiled. "Well, I wouldn't have imagined, not in this season ... I've lived here fourteen years, and this is the worst winter I've seen vet.
I chuckled grimly. "Just our luck."
"DO you guys need a ride anywhere?"
I looked at Isis. We needed to buy groceries, but we also needed to find a place to stay before night fell. Our chances of hitching after dark would drop precipitously, we knew. 1'earisburg was a town built for automobiles, not walkers, and it was several miles of sloppy, shoulderless highway to the center of town where the motels were.
"That would be awesome," Isis said.
We stowed our packs and poles in the back of the pickup, and both of us piled into the front seat. As the warm blast of the heater hit me, I felt a profound weariness overtaking me. My hands and feet began to tingle painfully as the blood returned to the chilled tissue.
"I'm Larry," our benefactor said, and we introduced ourselves. My real name felt strange on Illy tongue. We gave the usual statistics-how long we had been on the Trail (almost six months), our planned finishing date (now amid-February), our daily mileage.
"What about you, Larry?" I asked. "What do you do?"
"I'm an electrician. I work at the Celanese factory. You probably saw it on your way into town."
And smelled it, too, I thought. "What exactly does the factory produce?"
"Well, we make acetate fibers. Cigarette filters, mainly, but we also make industrial filters. The factory's the biggest employer in this part of the county. It's pretty steady work, too. Our business actually seems to go up in a recession-I guess people smoke more when they're out of work, or something. Like I said, I've been here fourteen years. They've hardly ever had to lay anybody off."
"Where are you from originally?" I asked. He had a slight Southern accent, with an undertone of something I couldn't quite place.
"I'm from New Jersey, actually. What about you guys?"
"We're from Maine."
"Really! My wife's from Maine. I bet she'd love to meet the two of you. She's always going on about how tough Maine women are." Larry shook his head. "I don't doubt it ... well, here's the motel. Listen, I'd like to take you guys out to dinner. Give me an hour to pick up my wife, let you guys get cleaned up and all that, and we'll swing by here at-" he glanced at his watch, 11 -quarter after seven. How's that sound?"
"That sounds great. Thanks so much" I felt a new strength as I unloaded my gear from the back of the truck and headed for the neon sign that marked the motel office.
Later that night, feeling contented after many plates of Southern Country Buffet and a good conversation with Larry and his wife, we lay back on the beds in our hotel room, planning for the next week of hiking.
Isis unfolded a few maps. "It's about ninety miles to Atkins. Six days of food, plus an extra in case we get trapped somewhere again"
"Sounds about right." I yawned, feeling lazy and luxuriating in the warmth of the room. But something was bothering me. I knew there was something else I needed to do before we returned to the Trail. I glanced around the room. My pack cover, draped over my hiking sticks to dry out; my almost-empty food bag sitting on the floor; my sleeping bag airing out beside the bed; the deflated carcass of my pack, containing only the tent. And then my eyes caught on the ratty, sopping wet cotton sneakers by the door. I didn't think my feet would survive another day of damp cold inside of them. "Isis! I have to get boots before we leave town"
She yawned. "We'll find a place. Call the front desk; they probably know where to find an outfitter's store."
I dialed, and a sleepy woman's voice answered. "Hello?"
"Uni, hi. I'm wondering if you could tell me where I might find an outfitter's store in town"
"You n)ean, like, clothing;?"
"No, I mean camping gear, hiking boots, that sort of thing." "
"Oh. We don't have no stores like that in Pearisburg. Closest one's in Blacksburg."
-How tar is that?"
There was a pause. "'Bout thirty miles, I'd say."
"Okay. Thanks:' I hung up the phone and told Isis. "It's too far to hitch. But I don't think I can make it to Atkins in those shoes, not without doing some damage to illy feet"
"Wait a minute;' she said. "We suet somebody at the Gathering ... a couple, I think ... they said if we needed any help between Troutville and Pearisburg .. "
"Walrus and Roots!" I exclaimed. I could picture them clearly. Walrus was a dark-haired, middle-aged man with horn-rimmed glasses and a mustache that gave him a passing resemblance to his namesake. Roots was tall and slender, with short gray hair and bright blue eyes. We'd had a brief conversation with them after a workshop at the Gathering. I remembered their thoughtful comments and their wacky senses of humor.
"I'm sure they could help us out;' Isis said.
"I've got their number here somewhere ..." I leafed through the back pages of the notebook I used as a journal. "Here we go"
The phone rang a few times and a man's voice answered.
"Hello. Walrus?" I said, fervently hoping I had the right number. There was a moment of silence. "Uh, Walrus, this is jackrabbit. We met at the Gathering ..:"
"Jackrabbit of the Barefoot Sisters? How are you? 11/luere are you?"
I gave a quiet sigh of relief and explained my predicament to him.
"Well, you called at a good time, jackrabbit. Karen-Roots-is working the night shift right now, but then she's got three days off. I just finished up a painting job, so I'll be free for the next couple of days, too. I can pic
k you guys tip in the morning to resupply and get those boots. If you want to take a zero tomorrow, you're welcome to stay with us. It's good to hear from you again. We've been wondering about you guys.'
"Thanks so much. You're a true angel, Walrus. It'll be great to see you and Roots again" I gave him the location of our motel. "See you tomorrow, then. Bye.-
After I hung up the phone, I found myself smiling so broadly my cheeks hurt. "People are so ,Food to us out here," I said to Isis. "Those trail angels sharing their food. A total stranger taking us out to dinner. People we met for five minutes inviting us into their home.
"I think people are usually good, if you give them half a chance. I think our basic instinct is to help each other out"
"I guess so. I wouldn't have believed it before the Trail, but now I'm starting to"
Walrus came to the motel early in the morning, and we stowed our packs and hiking sticks in the back of his truck among paint cans and drop cloths. We went to breakfast at Gillie's, a vegetarian restaurant in Blacksburg. Over huge plates of scrambled eggs, home fries, salsa, and biscuits, we told Walrus about the last few months of our hike.
"I'd love to see the northern part of the Trail," he said. "When Karen and I hiked, we only got as far as Harpers Ferry. It took us six months to get there from Georgia."
"You must have seen a lot along the way," Isis said.
"Yeah, we had a great time out there. Karen's got back problems, though, and we couldn't go more than seven, eight miles a day. I had a hard time with it at first, because I had such a desire to finish the Trail. But I decided, you know, this is the woman I love, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I can't let a little thing like pace get in our way."
Isis and I nodded. Our biggest disagreements on the Trail had been about pace; she wanted to slow down and enjoy the views, and I wanted to go taster to finish the Trail. We always reached a compromise, because we both knew that our bond as sisters was more important and lasting than any argument.
"We got up to Harpers Ferry," Walrus continued, "and winter was coming on. We decided to get off, and this area was about the nicest place we'd seen to settle down. I got a job as a contractor and Karen went back to nursing. We've been here ever since"
Barefoot Sisters: Southbound Page 38