Most Saturdays we are lucky enough to make it into town for a shower, wash clothes, resupply food and go to church the next morning. If we are really lucky we will get back on the trail Sunday afternoon for another 9 miles or so. Usually we will check in with the local Mormon bishop mid week about Sunday meeting times and location. Last week I was not optimistic we would make it to church because we happened to be on a section of the trail that was a ways from the nearest Mormon church.
When I called the local bishop, his wife answered the phone and, after figuring out where we would be on Saturday, let us know they lived only a mile or two from there and would pick us up Saturday afternoonand drive us 30 minutes to town so we could get our chores done and be ready for church in the morning.
Best Wife and Pappy 12 were not so swift that Saturday and had to change the pick up time from 5:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. The bishop's wife assured me she knew where the AT crossed dirt road route 615. We arrived at 7:00p,m. hungry for town food and anxious for a shower and a real bed, but our ride was not there. Of course the only cell service was two cans and a string so all we could do is wait. 7:10, still not there. I'm starting to think our dinner might be the last of our Slim Jims and cheese crackers. 7:20, our spirits rose as we heard a car coming. A new Ford truck with one old timer and two women was barreling toward us without slowing down. I flagged him to a stop and explained our predicament. He told me to give him the cell number of our ride and he would call them in a few miles when he was back in cell service range. After writing the number on his hand they drove off with me thinking we didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell that we would see a motel or town food that night.
By 7:30 I was starting to figure out where we would pitch our tent when we heard a car coming. When the folks in the mini van said they were the Boones and were going to take us to Bluefield, VA I just about fainted.
The old timer had called them, told them where we were, and explained how to find us. Turns out the Boones had been on the correct dirt road but had turned around when they figured if they were on the correct road they would have crossed the AT by now.
Whether you call it good fortune or call it God watching over a couple of tired hikers (you may call it the former, I call it the latter, to each their own) either way we were very, very grateful we were that the Boones found us and were glad to help us along.
Past couple days have been feast days on black berries and blue berries. Over the years we have often feasted on blackberries but never until now enjoyed delicious blueberries. What a treat.
Stacked rock trail art lives on. I'll figure it out one day.
Lastly, when hiking out of a trail town we never pack any water. But instead, we carry plenty of orange juice or chocolate milk or real Gatorade, or all three. Nothing like killing a half gallon of OJ deep in the woods when water is all we normally have.
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When I called the local bishop, his wife answered the phone and, after figuring out where we would be on Saturday, let us know they lived only a mile or two from there and would pick us up Saturday afternoonand drive us 30 minutes to town so we could get our chores done and be ready for church in the morning.
Best Wife and Pappy 12 were not so swift that Saturday and had to change the pick up time from 5:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. The bishop's wife assured me she knew where the AT crossed dirt road route 615. We arrived at 7:00p,m. hungry for town food and anxious for a shower and a real bed, but our ride was not there. Of course the only cell service was two cans and a string so all we could do is wait. 7:10, still not there. I'm starting to think our dinner might be the last of our Slim Jims and cheese crackers. 7:20, our spirits rose as we heard a car coming. A new Ford truck with one old timer and two women was barreling toward us without slowing down. I flagged him to a stop and explained our predicament. He told me to give him the cell number of our ride and he would call them in a few miles when he was back in cell service range. After writing the number on his hand they drove off with me thinking we didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell that we would see a motel or town food that night.
By 7:30 I was starting to figure out where we would pitch our tent when we heard a car coming. When the folks in the mini van said they were the Boones and were going to take us to Bluefield, VA I just about fainted.
The old timer had called them, told them where we were, and explained how to find us. Turns out the Boones had been on the correct dirt road but had turned around when they figured if they were on the correct road they would have crossed the AT by now.
Whether you call it good fortune or call it God watching over a couple of tired hikers (you may call it the former, I call it the latter, to each their own) either way we were very, very grateful we were that the Boones found us and were glad to help us along.
Past couple days have been feast days on black berries and blue berries. Over the years we have often feasted on blackberries but never until now enjoyed delicious blueberries. What a treat.
Stacked rock trail art lives on. I'll figure it out one day.
Lastly, when hiking out of a trail town we never pack any water. But instead, we carry plenty of orange juice or chocolate milk or real Gatorade, or all three. Nothing like killing a half gallon of OJ deep in the woods when water is all we normally have.
Sent from my iPhone
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