Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [86]
Taking my gear, I thanked the trucker, climbed down the ladder from the shiny blue cab, and waved good-bye as I walked away. My descent from the cab of a semi with a pack on my back and a yellow mop stick in my right hand probably seemed preposterous to the onlookers who stared at me as they filtered into Cabela’s, but to me, the entrance felt regal, as if I had just departed a chariot with a golden scepter in my hand.
As I paraded into Cabela’s, I was overwhelmed with aisles upon aisles of outdoor “essentials.” I honestly didn’t know there was so much outdoor gear. Granted, in this store, “outdoor supplies” referred mostly to hunting and fishing gear. I looked to my left and saw a section of the store that looked like an indoor marina, and to my right there were aisles of camo clothes, guns, fishing rods, lures, and beef jerky. After entering Cabela’s, I decided that, yes, there are rednecks in the mid-Atlantic.
It seemed ironic that all these man-made goods were designed to help folks enjoy the simplicity of the outdoors, when the more stuff I carried on the trail, the more uncomfortable I felt.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because Cabela’s did provide me with the moisture-wicking socks and foot-specific first aid kit that I needed. But though the products were supposed to help people enjoy the great outdoors, it seemed like many of them, like the four-hundred-square-foot tents, blow-up camp beds, and solar-powered radios and TVs, would prevent people from truly experiencing nature.
My hitch back to Port Clinton wasn’t nearly as exciting as the tractor-trailer ride to Cabela’s had been. As soon as I reached town, I headed straight for the trail and by mid-afternoon, I had caught up with Raptor. We spent the night together at Allentown Hiking Club Shelter, and the next morning we hitched into Palmerton to spend another night in town.
Palmerton gave off a better vibe than Duncannon or Port Clinton. In other words, there were people there. We saw men and women walking along the street and going in and out of stores. And although the town did not have a hiker hostel, it did allow thru-hikers to sleep in the city jail.
It wasn’t a real prison, in the sense that it no longer housed convicted criminals. It was the town’s old jail, located underneath City Hall. The large holding cell had metal bars on the outside and wooden bunks on the inside. It felt safe and secure, especially with Raptor there.
It seemed strange that jails punished people by isolating them from the world. As I looked out a small window that was covered with bars and gave a ground view of the outdoors, there was something appealing about being removed from society.
After picking out my bed in the slammer, I went to take a shower. It was the best shower of the entire trail.
The women’s bathroom had open shower stalls with water pressure so hard that it hurt. The water was really hot, but never too hot, and the steam made the entire bathroom feel like a sauna. There were three showerheads right next to each other, and at one point I turned them all on and ran back and forth through them like a kid running through sprinklers. I smiled the entire time and occasionally laughed out loud. At home, I usually reserved smiles and laughs for other people, but on the trail I was learning to smile and laugh just for me, even if no one else was around.
When I finally finished my shower, I had completely fogged up the women’s bathroom and was the cleanest I had been since leaving Georgia.
Refreshed, I dug out my cell phone to call my mom. I couldn’t wait to tell her I was spending the night in jail!
My mom didn’t have much time to talk. She was at my grandfather’s eighty-seventh birthday party. Everyone was there: my parents, my brothers, my aunts and uncles, and cousins. I was the only one missing.
The trail didn’t mean more to me than my grandfather did. Still, I had chosen to be out here instead of at his birthday party. I started to second-guess my decision not to go home for it. What if this turned out