Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [46]
The Place is a simple two-story building that a local church transformed into lodging for hikers and bikers. For a suggested donation of three dollars, I was treated to four walls, a wooden bunk bed, and indoor plumbing.
After arriving at The Place and taking a long, hot shower, I walked to the back rooms in search of a quiet bunk. I found a room without any people or packs, shut the door, and rolled out my sleeping bag on a nearby wooden frame. Mileage-wise, it had been my longest day, and I hadn’t slept well the night before, so I was much more interested in sleep than socializing.
Just as I closed my eyes, I heard someone slam the front door of the building. My body grew tense as the heavy footsteps grew louder.
There was a momentary pause before the door to my room swung open and an extremely large, rugged middle-aged man entered. His clothes were dirty and damp, and he had a nappy beard that reached down to his protruding belly. He glanced over at me and said, “Arrr . . . greetings, me lady. Is there room in here for a pirate?”
A pirate?
Although taken aback, I did my best to engage in conversation. “Well, there are lots of bunks open . . . except this one. I guess you can have whichever one you want.”
“Ahh, thanks, lassie. It feels good to rest me weary bones.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“My name’s Captain Jack Daniels, but you can call me Captain.”
I asked Captain where he had hiked from that morning. He responded that he had just come from the Smokies.
“But Captain, aren’t they two hundred miles away?”
“Arrr, you’re right, me lassie, but it was too cold there, so I hitched up to Virginia.”
I asked him if he was a thru-hiker, and he informed me that he had been a thru-hiker for the past fifteen years.
“The past fifteen years?”
Captain went on to explain that he owned several small businesses along the trail, and he spent his time hiking or hitching from one town to another to check on them.
He began to list all of his entrepreneurial ventures: one which involved GPS, one that sold hot dogs, and another that rented bicycles. I couldn’t fully understand any of them, but I was very tired. Captain even offered me a job at one of his establishments. I declined, but told him that I might find him after I finished the trail.
Captain’s lifestyle of continual hiking even had a formal club. He and two of his friends were part of a “long-term, short-distance” hiking organization known as Hiker Trash. To my surprise, the club had its own marketing materials, such as embroidered hats and business cards.
Captain gave me his business card. Looking it over, I was surprised to find a Bible verse on one side, an open slot in the middle, and bold print on the back that read, “PEEING—DON’T TOUCH!” He told me the slot in the middle was so he could slip the card over his beer bottle and protect his beverage while he went to the restroom. Captain concluded his show-and-tell by turning his pack around and pointing to his hiking mascot: a stuffed pirate doll that looked exactly like him.
Finally, suggesting that I looked tired and should get some sleep, Captain placed his possessions on the bunk beside me, grabbed his Nalgene bottle—which curiously smelled of something other than water—and took off to see if he could find any of his friends in town.
9
OPPRESSION
DAMASCUS, VA, TO A LITTLE PAST
PEARISBURG, VA—165 MILES
The pastoral setting of southwest Virginia is breathtaking. It is one of the most remote sections of the trail and begins with the open expanses of Grayson Highlands State Park, which is often compared to the rugged hills of Montana. While the scenery is stunning, for many, the highlight is the wild ponies that roam free inside the park’s fence. Past Grayson Highlands, the trail travels through rolling farmland and beside grazing livestock. The scenic vistas of North Carolina and Tennessee make you feel like you’re looking at a work of art, but crossing through the rural countryside of southwest Virginia and caressing