Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [17]
When they left, I crawled out of my tent and hiked a few yards down the trail to look for the sign about the bear. I must have been blind with fatigue a few hours beforehand, because it was almost impossible to miss the bold warning nailed to a tree. This new information gave me a second wind and, without a thought of sore feet or aching muscles, I quickly packed my gear and raced up the hill to make it to the next shelter before nightfall.
I arrived at Standing Indian Shelter at dusk and was disheartened to discover that it was already packed past capacity with hikers. I walked behind the building and was forced to set up my tent again, on uneven ground. The chore would not have been as difficult if it had still been light outside, but the encroaching darkness meant I had to use my headlamp to see what I was doing. I was not yet comfortable setting up my tent in full daylight, let alone at night.
Ten minutes passed and the tent was leaning heavily to one side, but after such a strenuous day, I decided that the caving side walls would have to do.
Tonight, of all nights, I expected to sleep soundly. But within a few minutes, the chainsaw snoring of a hiker in the shelter thirty yards away filled the night air. Strangely, it was the only noise that filled the air—as if even the birds and insects had been scared away by the sound.
The snorted breathing was so loud that it kept me awake and made me reconsider my odds with the bear. I can’t imagine how dreadful it would have been trying to sleep inside the wooden lean-to.
I spent the majority of the night longing for the morning, when I could hike away from the deafening sound. And even before the sun had crested the horizon, I was on the trail and hiking away from the shelter and the unpleasant memories of the night.
I hiked with motivation and without distraction for most of the day. My limbs were still sore and my left knee felt tender, but I was determined to out-hike whoever had made the unbearable noise at the previous shelter. I hiked purposefully until late afternoon, when I encountered an unexpected blockade on the trail.
Actually, I smelled it before I saw it.
With my nose pointed toward the sky, I became convinced that the ever-stronger aroma of a fire-cooked dinner was either the work of a gourmet Scout troop or a cruel conspiracy between my mind and my stomach.
The smell continued to grow, and when I finally felt as if I were swimming in the scent, I rounded a corner to find a dirt road with a small RV parked beside the trail. Near the RV was a fire with several pots suspended above the flames. A circle of empty lawn chairs stood beside the fire, with a cooler in the middle.
I approached the fire and discovered black pots filled with beans, rice, and corn cooking above the flames. My attention was drawn to the nearby table boasting cheese, lettuce, salsa, sour cream, and flour tortilla shells. This couldn’t be real. What if it was a ploy? This full-on fajita buffet could be a Hansel-and-Gretel–like trick designed to trap thru-hikers.
My mind said go, but my stomach said stay.
Crrreeeaaaaaak! The door to the RV opened and I jumped back in surprise. A middle-aged woman stepped out with a smile on her face and an apron around her waist.
“Hungry?” she asked. And before I could respond, she handed me an empty plate and began to guide me around the buffet.
“Take whatever you want,” she continued. “And make sure to come back for second and third helpings. We don’t want any thru-hikers leaving here hungry. My name’s north star, just let me know if you need anything.”
“Are you a thru-hiker?” I asked.
“No, darling, but my husband and I love the Appalachian Trail. We live near the path in Maine, and this winter we decided to sell some property so that we could escape the snow and come help thru-hikers as they started their journey north from Georgia. My husband is out getting more wood for the fire right now. We try to have hot food available to hikers around the clock.