Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [50]
“I did this section last year,” he said. “It’s not that bad. I mean, it has a few ups and downs, but I can meet you at the roads, and without packs you can definitely make it.”
I looked back at Moot, convinced he would fold. But to my surprise and dismay, he anted up. “Yeah, I think we should do it.”
What? Moot was a hypocrite, Red Wolf was living vicariously through us, and now I was supposed to hike forty miles tomorrow!
“You better get going,” said Red Wolf. “There’s a shelter close to the next road. You can spend the night there and I’ll meet you with my car in the morning. This is gonna be awesome! You guys are awesome!”
As Moot and I hiked to the next shelter, I sure didn’t feel awesome. I felt like an idiot. An idiot hiking with a hypocrite.
I wanted to go to bed soon after reaching Old Orchard Shelter. There was still daylight, but I wanted to get as much sleep as possible if I was going to hike a marathon and a half the next day. Moot stayed up a bit longer to read the shelter register, and probably sign both of our names in it.
I had already closed my eyes when Moot said, “Hey Odyssa, did you know that, according to this register, two hikers were murdered on the trail somewhere in southwest Virginia?”
Public registers should be censored, and so should Moot. I didn’t comment, I just pretended to be asleep and then tried without success to forget what he had just told me.
The next morning I awoke at 5:30 and hiked with Moot to a dimly lit roadside where we met Red Wolf and his car.
Eager to get a start on the day, I grabbed a PowerBar and an extra layer of clothing, then dropped the rest of my belongings into Red Wolf’s car.
“I’m ready,” I said.
“I’ll just be a minute,” said Moot.
But a minute for Moot meant a half hour. First, he sifted through his food bag to find his granola. Then he poured the granola in a bowl, added a packet of powdered milk, measured some water in a cup and carefully poured it on the cereal, then stirred the concoction together for several minutes. Next, I watched him slowly spoon the dripping cereal into his mouth. He sat there for five minutes eating his breakfast with a satisfied grin on his face. Then, after he finished, he decided he needed to brush his teeth. Even if my dentist had been watching, I wouldn’t have brushed my teeth with the attention to detail that Moot did.
After he packed his toothbrush, I turned to start hiking across the road, but Moot calmly called, “One more minute.”
Then he brought a roll of toilet paper out of his pack and disappeared into the woods for ten minutes.
I would have moved on alone, but having Red Wolf slackpack us meant that Moot and I had to stay close together so we could rendezvous with our four-wheeled Sherpa. So I just stood there tapping my foot, annoyed, cold, and ready to start.
When Moot was finally ready, we started down the trail. I hiked quickly, trying to make up for lost time.
My brain was fast at work too. I spent a lot of time sorting through my frustration with Moot, and then I started to consider the enormity of a forty-mile day, and just when I had come to terms with that, I began to realize the frightening reality of a slackpack.
I had just given everything I owned and needed for the next few months to a complete stranger. I hadn’t even removed my credit card or ID from my pack. And at this point, all I could do was hope that Red Wolf was honest and would show up as promised at the next road crossing. If he didn’t, I was in trouble—big trouble. I mean, what was I going to tell the police? “Um, yeah, a guy named Red Wolf stole all my stuff. How? Oh, well, I kinda put it all in his car this morning.”
After two and a half hours of hiking, I was excited and relieved to see Red Wolf. He was at the road, just like he said he would be, and he had even brought us some bananas.
It was no longer as cold as when we had first started, so I left some clothes in the car and discreetly