AWOL on the Appalachian Trail by David Miller Page A

answers curtly, "I walked." He lets the earphone spring back over his ear. End of conversation.
    Did I offend him? My question was really just stated as a greeting. Only after his reaction do I realize that he may have interpreted my question as an accusation or condemnation of blue-blazing. I regret that I did not phrase it more aptly, like, "How has your hike been since I saw you last body-wi When I spoke with him a month ago, he had been candid about his plans to take an abbreviated course along the trail, so I didn't anticipate his defensiveness. Maybe he just didn't feel like talking.
    I set up my tarp in a field in front of the shelter, with eight other tents. A crowd gathers around the campfire, telling trail stories. A group of three section hikers are here, and they have pieced together more of the trail than we have traveled. I make a pan of Jiffy Pop popcorn over the fire. One of the section hikers pulls out a bag of extra Snickers bars he carries for encounters with hungry thru-hikers. Retreating to my tarp, I notice how late we've stayed up; it's 9:30 p.m.
    I get off to one of my best starts yet and cover fourteen miles by lunchtime. Crash and Old Bill catch up to me at Partnership Shelter, where we all stop for the night. This shelter is one of the more elaborate shelters on the trail. It is a two-story structure with a steeply pitched wood shake roof and a solar-heated shower. By the time I take a shower, it is a torturous, cold, icy spray, and I dance around trying to wash myself with minimal water exposure. The shelter is adjacent to a ranger station that has a pay phone and vending machines outside. The phone number for a pizza delivery service is posted by the phone. Hungry Hiker, yet another hiker from Israel, already has his pizza. This is our first meeting, but I had been taking notice of his elaborate drawings in shelter registers. He carries his own pen for his artwork. He's young and not yet filled out, except for a big toothy grin, which has grown ahead of the rest of his body. He is thin with a pale complexion and red hair cut to stubble.
    I don't feel too worn after covering forty-eight miles in the last two days. An assortment of foot pains nag at me, but otherwise I feel as though I am hitting my stride. I get up early and drag my unpacked gear up to the visitor center so I can cook my breakfast without waking anyone. I buy two sodas from the vending machine to carry on the trail with me.
    When I hit the trail, I see Crash starting his walk, too. I have enjoyed his company. He also left an engineering job to hike, so we relate on the tedium of cubicle confinement. He is tall and lanky, and his pace is compatible with my own. He perplexes me when he tells me that the two days we just walked have been his longest, and that he started the trail much earlier than I did. He must be wise to walk well within his capabilities, or he has become more capable as his hike progressed. The name "Crash" is from the Kevin Costner role in Bull Durham , though he actually bears a stronger resemblance to the character played by Tim Robbins. Halfway through our day, I surprise him with the smuggled soda.
    We stop again to look at Settlers Museum. There is an open but unmanned schoolhouse exhibit. There are even undisturbed textbooks on the desks. Hot Dawg is taking a break at the schoolhouse. He carries his pet, "Stubby Cat," atop his pack, and he poses while we take pictures of them.

    Hot Dawg and Stubby Cat.

    The cat is a star at shelters, where he has caught sixteen mice. Hot Dawg grins widely and speaks just a little slowly, like he is feeling no pain. Literally. "I took eight Advil this morning," he tells us. The rest of the walk into Atkins is mostly through waist-high fields of grain. There is just enough of a downhill slope that my steps land heel first. Pain builds in my left heel. What frst feels like the prick of a splinter grows to the feeling of a bamboo shoot thrusting into my heel on every landing.