Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [115]
When they drew close to me, I called out ahead so they wouldn’t have to slow down.
“How far are you guys hiking?” I asked.
The man in front replied, “This guy behind me is going all the way to Georgia.”
“So you guys are slackpacking?” I asked.
The tall blond hiker in the back laughed and said, “I guess you could say that. My name is Trail Dog. I’m trying to set the record for the fastest hike on the AT. This is my friend JB, and he’s helping me. He slackpacks me with a support vehicle and hikes with me some to pace me.”
“what’s the record?” I asked.
“Right now it’s forty-eight days, so I have to do about forty-five miles a day to beat it.”
JB added, “We left katahdin eight days ago and we’re on schedule, but we have a long hard day, so we’d better keep going.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Good luck to you guys.”
“You too!” they both yelled back as they continued their charge up the mountain.
I thought trail records were impossible. I just didn’t understand how someone could hike the trail in less than two months, even without a full pack. But meeting David Horton, who had set the record in the 1990s, and talking to Trail Dog this morning had struck a chord in me.
There was something about these two, about what they were doing, that captivated me. I knew that some people didn’t agree with people trying to set trail records, believing that would-be record setters moved too fast and didn’t appreciate their surroundings. But both times I met a trail record holder, they had been smiling and enjoying themselves. They hadn’t been too busy to say hello, and they seemed to love the trail. I guess you would have to.
After a full day’s descent down the slopes of a few additional Founding Fathers, the boys and I arrived at Pinkham Notch and were met by Mooch’s parents.
The boys had been invited to a wedding on Cape Cod months ago, and had planned to take a few days off the trail to attend the event. We had decided several days ago, with permission from the bride, that I would go as their date.
When we arrived at “the Cape,” I had only a few hours to get ready—a task that should have taken me way more than a day. Thankfully, I did have Magic Momma, my fairy godmother. She drove me to the nearest mall, where I had to find something to wear. Being six feet tall with no bust, it had been hard enough to shop before the trail, but now that my thighs were huge, my waist was emaciated, and my chest was practically concave, finding an outfit was nearly impossible. I must have tried on twenty dresses in eight different stores before I found one that sort of fit. But that only solved part of the problem. Next, I had to find a regular bra (with lots of extra padding), dress shoes, hair clips, a razor, deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, and earrings. The sensory overload at the mall almost sent me into a state of shock. I was still in a daze when I arrived back at my room with only thirty minutes to shower, dress, and primp for the wedding.
Against the odds, I was ready in just under twenty-eight minutes, and I looked pretty nice—which was fortunate, because Nightwalker and Mooch had both evolved from legitimate trail trash into handsome dates. Granted, they still had their long scraggly beards, but they had groomed them to appear rustic rather than raunchy.
The wedding and reception were at a beachfront house with the atlantic Ocean in the background. The weather and setting were perfect, and the entire event was one I wouldn’t soon forget. But I did wonder if the bride noticed that the boys and I received almost as much attention as she and her groom, especially when Mooch stuck five wooden shish kebab spears through his beard.
It was fun to dress up and look pretty, eat nice food, and listen to good music. The process was trying, but the end result was enjoyable. By the end of the night, however, sitting on the beach between Nightwalker and Mooch,