Don't Look Away...Here Comes the Trainwreck

Last week kicked off with a touch of drama--my first so far on the trail, but certainly not the last. One fact of life on the AT is that many folks come to the trail to escape, to make a major life-change, to shed their old skin and take on a wholly new identity. In most cases, those folks also happen to have some experience backpacking or in the outdoors. In other instances, not so much. Some people see a place with no mortgages or bills or taxes or authority figures. A place where every 8-10 miles, you can have a roof over your head for free; in every town a hiker box awaits, filled with castoff treasures and excess ramen noodles. There are certainly people on the trail who have lost jobs and houses and families. And there are those who mooch their way along the trail, bumming rides and rooms and meals from other hikers and kind folks in town.
When I arrived at the shelter on Friday, I met some weekend hikers who had stayed there the previous night and were staying another evening. They let me know that there was a lady in the shelter who had blown chunks all over during the night. Awesome. As a chain-reaction puker, this is the last thing I want to hear. So I check on her--non-responsive, but clearly sleeping hard. Fortunately, no barf to be seen or smelled. The shelter, however, was scattered with an assortment of wildly inappropriate gear, including some sort of bizarre, hibachi-like stove.
I heard from the others at the shelter that her companion had headed toward the Hike Inn, seeking a room for the evening. On a beautiful spring Friday, though, there was no room to be found. I intercepted him on the trail and confirmed some of the intell I had gathered at the shelter: they had taken the bus from Portland, Oregon, and she planned to thru-hike. They had never hiked or backpacked or anything even remotely similar ever before.
Another tiny piece of info from the other shelter residents--the sick lady had very recently kicked a heroin habit. Things that make you go "Hmmmm...."
When I returned to the shelter, she was upright, vocal, and very interested in going into town. After offering up some phone numbers for shelter drivers, they informed me that someone on the trail had stolen their phone. Really? Stealing doesn't occur that often among (actual) thru-hikers--carrying someone else's stuff doesn't hold much appeal. So I helpfully offered to make some calls, to the delight of the guys still staying there. After I escorted them to the shuttle, it was a quiet, uneventful evening.
As for the epilogue: talking with the shuttle driver a couple of days later, I learned that withdrawal was almost certainly a factor. As soon as they hit the paved road, they were trying to find out where to buy a bottle. So the first on-trail drama, defused.
More good stories await from last week, to be told tomorrow evening. So stay tuned.

Home Sweet Home, by day...

and by night.

The most useless piece of gear on the trail.

Stretching at Stover Creek.