Hart's Bottom

As Buena Vista was originally known, and still seems to be most accurate description these days. Here's a 1971 banner that has been kept fresh over the decades.

Haven't learned the tale behind this sign, but the building is for sale

Based on subjective observation, 1971's happy citizens have moved on ... to Lexington, likely. That thriving city is just far enough down the road to make attending Saturday's wine and beer festival this weekend inconvenient for me.

http://business.lexrockchamber.com/events/details/2016-rockbridge-beer-wine-festival-09-10-2016-2

Also, already closed to general admission ... good thing, I suppose, I might have regretted it on Sunday after trying to hitchhike back to the motel late Saturday night.

They do have a fair number of good bands lined up ....

Comparing notes with the motel manger on life as a grandfather ... he says that the family doesn't come and visit him any more, the kids say there's nothing to do -- and since the 2006 recessìon, he acknowledges, they're right. Anything that was left when the banks shut their doors got swallowed up by the Walmart and the Lowes in Lexington. He is hanging on for two more years and then dropping out onto Social Security, heading overseas somewhere. According to him, there's no room left for grandparents in this country.

I looked out at the beauty of the surrounding hills (especially Mount Horeb), thinking -- not saying -- what, at least a dozen grandfathers must have crossed paths in these mountains this week, there's festivals in Lexington, and there's rock climbers and other extreme sports communities at Natural Bridge.

Surely ther must be a way to reenergize this town and thousands of others like it, bring them back from the edge of ruin? Maybe by sharing our bounty with them, not gutting their lives to feed higher profit margins somewhere else?

Walking the streets, past the abandoned stores ... looks like one real estate developer is sweeping up a lot of commercial property here. Perhaps he has a plan to bring in something fresh and new? Shopping malls and McMansions, probably, but there's always the possibility of change for the better.

No surprise that T/P signs dominate here, not a single H in sight -- and why should there be? No one really has answers that people want to hear, but he speaks to their rage and we do not.

There's a converted yard storage shed next to the motel offering shaved ice, which should have been doing big business today. When I went over to buy a second round of the largest size they had and remarked on the lack of a line of customers ahead of me, the server said I had likely already bought half of the sales he expected to make that day.

I'll try to keep them in business a little longer.

Out of the woods

Enough is enough. The rule for today is an early start and a march straight through to US 60, followed by a hitch into Buena Vista, 9 miles away. Then, three days' down time to wait out the heat.

I had to double back once when the white blazes of the AT suddenly became blue, the color of the dreaded Hotel Trail. The miles went by, up, down, up, down ... point 5 miles my *. It's obviously an insider joke, like the Icelanders' assurances to tourists that something will take only 45 minutes. Either that, or my climbing pace is nowhere near ready for those mountains shadowing the western and southern horizons.

The clock ticked down, and I started into the long descent off Mount Horeb (etymology: glowing heat, that Ten Commandments place) a little after 12 o'clock. Yes, stifling. Deo gratias.

At the end, though, US 60! And a day hiker who offered me a chilled flask of spring water. Another angel! So I went over to the side of the road, put on my best nice-guy appearance (given my four days on the trail) and watched the Jaguars and Buicks accelerate by as soon as they saw me holding up my thumb.

A North Carolina family with a converted van stopped, though, and delivered me to the Buena Vista Budget Inn. My first step after I dropped my bag in the room, I assured the registrar, would be a quick walk to the submarine sandwich shop, and then an equally quick return to take a nap. And so, I did.

Next hiking day Sunday, weather permitting.

Lost and Found

Striking camp about 10 after burning harder than planned yesterday, daring the Mistress to try and keep me on the trail ater noon ... I said farewell once again to Roxanne and her support team, and then went back to the rituals of striking camp.

As I was taking the tent down, the first SOBO thru hiker I've met this trip greeted me as he strolled by -- on his way to Georgia, he said.

I offered my self-chosen trail name -- windlion, of course, my CB handle for the cross country trip the family took in 1985.-- he looked a little bashful, and replied, "Mine's Wrong Way."

"Yeah. Been there. Where are you stopping tonight?"

"Going off trail for a zero day at Buena Vista, actually."

"Ha ... you might run into a couple of section hikers bound for Georgia. They've got a German Shepard, well behaved once she knows you."   We parted ways, and I finished packing up for an easy day walking up to Three Springs Hostel.

Except. "Hotel Trail" was not where AWOL's Guide and (I thought) the map I had for this section showed. Did I miss a turn? I followed the AT toward Cow Camp Gap, my next destination, over Cold Mountain, a mere 400 ft climb that felt almost as hard as The Priest. Time for a day off, I thought.

Several miles later, there was a trail marked as the "Old Hotel Trail". Sounds good, even if it isn't on the map! I took it, and it led me up and down through some beautiful scenery and past sevveral overlooks -- and back to the AT about noontime. Oh, well, Cow Camp Gap in 3.5 miles. I'll just skip the hostel resupply and catch a cab into a grocery store in Buena Vista, 6 miles off trail , maybe share a beer and give Roxanne another scratch.

Three things an AT hiker is overjoyed to see

Ha, the sign says this is the Hotel Trail? Does not match up with map at all, but maybe that resupply will happen after all. And if not, it still says "Cow Camp Gap 3.5 miles"

I never saw the hostel or Cow Camp Gap. What I reached the end of the Hotel Trail over more rough terrain late in the afternoon was a trailhead for the Mount Pleasant National Scenic Area. I had no idea where I was and that my water was running low.

Tired, also. So I set up tent just off the trail for the second time in my wandering with no known water source nearby for my evening and morning meals.

I took an hour's nap inside the tent to avoid the gnats, then went out to explore, carefully mapping the road I followed -- and saw the AT logo ahead, I'm saved!

Wait, that post looks familiar. There, on the right, the meadow I slept in last night.

At least I knew where to get water.

Back, forward, up, down

AT North looks a lot like AT South before dawn. I walked  little more than half a mile in the wrong direction

Regretfully recalling every time I politely sneered at others who have made this mistake.

Another casualty of my predawn departure: Brigadoon claimed my hiking poles. A diligent search failed, so I left them; perhaps I will have the chance to come back and search for them another day? Could be.

We walked through rank after rank of hills, Roxanne and her support team swapping the lead with me until my legs started to ache. Tar Jacket Ridge, only a 400' climb to 3847', why so hard? There are some things that numbers can't measure.

My water ran out on the final descent.

Which opened into a wide meadow at Hog Camp Gap.

The couple who carry Roxanne's magic cornucopia had claimed the space next to the tree with a swing, and were enjoying themselves while R patiently stood guard. I may be a recognized Friend and Giver of Good Scratch, but she barked at me anyway and disturbed the Magicians Who Provide Food and Water who interrupted their playtime to makes sure that Roxanne and I were being friendly.

Another perfect place. I chose a site under one of the apple trees, dumped my pack, and  headed downhill to the spring with my water purifier and bladders. The resupply can wait for tomorrow, I thought.

Somewhat recovered after drinking about half a liter of delicious fresh spring water straight from the purifier, I returned to the camp and wandered around to explore the place. Why only a few apple trees in such a large field?

I misinterpreted an AT sign pointing to Wiggins Springs (0.5 mi) -- good, a hiker friendly town! and offered to go in search of beer to celebrate our day.  After a half hour of thumping down a dirt road and finding only "NO TRESPASSING" signs and locked driveway gates, though, I turned back uphill.

Wiggins Springs doesn't seem to be the sort of rural place where one can wander in to a store, chat with the locals, and hitch a ride back uphill with a six of Yuengling.  Fences and walls keep people out, but they also lock people in.

Second Day Trail Blues

What exactly convinced me that this would be fun?

Even with twelve hours, my favorite hiking breakfast, and a dose of vitamin I, the second day is always toughest for me.

The upslopes seemed longer (they weren't -- The Priest climb from the north is one of the tougher ones in Virginia). The late morning heat was soaking my shirt and socks with sweat. I misplaced the top quality headlamp my trail angel loaned me. (I found it later.) Day hikers on their way to Spy Rock and trail runners buzzed by me, and my calves and thighs ignored the water and saline gel tabs I was gulping down for their aid.

With the distance to my target shelter (water supply) uncertain and the noontime heat wearing me down, I saw a trail sign pointing downhill to "Porter Hill/Rock Spring". The spring part sounded especially good, so I promised the white blazes that I would return and followed the trail down ---

Into a quiet paradise. Trees filling an otherwise unforested bowl with green glowing shades, light breezes, a small creek running out from a giant granite boulder.  No one else.

So much down and dry wood that I had to start a fire, something I rarely do while hiking alone. Fires do draw on that magic of our distant ancestors' huddling around the flames that pushed back the dark -- something calls.

And just at hikers' midnight, a fellow trekker of my age shouted a hello as he came down the trail into this Brigadoon. He grew as excited as I was as he looked around, andnwent back up to get his pack and the younger couple hiking with him. I kept the fire going, collected my scattered bags of stuff and hung the edibles in my bear bag.

They arrived with a German Shepherd, who made a beeline for the spring. Roxanne then came over and quickly approved of my butt scratching skills, much too her support team's relief. Introductions were made, and we all started into their rituals at day's end. 

The elder confessed to me that he was trying a hammock on this trip, but found it uncomfortable for sleeping. They are heading from Pennsylvania to Georgia, expecting to arrive in November, he said ... hiking with their dog requires them to avoid National Parks with bears, a small blessing this time as it gives them a reason to skip the weather in the Smokies.

Brigadoon?

We'll leave the light on for you

Tomorrow, first resupply. Good thing, I am down to my last homemade meal.

First day -- Climb The Priest!

5:15 Alarm. Breakfast, pack up

7:40 Trailhead. Ritual photos, up the trail at 7:45.

Steep climb: 15 minutes, 30, 45, 45, 45. Overtaking hiker comments about unusual floral scent on the trail this morning -- hey, it's your -- insect repellant!? Um, right,  Mo's Skeeter Beater® ....

Woman hiker from Richmond coming downhill assures us that the spring at the Priest is running -- so I didn't need to carry the extra two liters of water? Of course you did, she says, you need the practice.

     

Grudgingly accepting neurotic concerns, Barbara decides to turn around at 10:30.

10:10 How much farther? About as far as we've gone. B wants to summit, says maybe 10:45 turnaround. I tell her that I will be worried if she starts back too late.

10:40 Barbara turns around and heads back to the Tye River trailhead.

12:00 Lunch. Moderately traveled trail, but no thru hikers. Pair of hikers overtaking me assures that Barbara was heading down in good order.

1:30. The Priest.  6 hours, 4 miles, 4000 feet, first day, 46# pack including double water rations. Pretty good, eh?

A congratulatory flower

Hikers already at the Priest point me to where a rattlesnake had been sunning on a rock,  but it had just slipped away. Maybe it was the smell of my Skeeter Beater® ?

Guardian of the trail to The Priest

My "confession" for the log at The Priest shelter (an AT hiker tradition) Forgive me for MISS leading two young women who were worried about the snake that had disappeared into the brush (so, two misses, actually). Knowing that the thought would disturb their sleep, I told them that they should not be concerned, and assured them that although they do seek heat I had never heard of a snake actually slipping under a tent to get warm ... heh heh.

Outchop

Headed south today; the Ion will wait for me at the Airport Plaza Hotel Parking facility in Roanoke while I hike the 147 miles from Tye River to McAfee Knob ... roughly a third of the distance I will drive today to get ready for 18 days on the trail.