Rock Spring Hut 1264 to Elkton, VA 1284.5 (20.5 miles, 1284.5 total miles)
Last night I spent an hour trying to meditate myself to sleep, and just when I was about to drift off the gentleman sleeping next to Tessa began a chainsaw racket of snoring.
I had gotten rid of my earplugs quite a while ago, but dearly wished I had them then. Instead, I put in music, but had to play it so loud as to down out the snoring, that I was awake for another hour anyway.
I must have finally fallen asleep just after midnight, and slept decently until my alarm went off at 6. This time, I knew I was getting into town and wanted to get in early and avoid as much rain as possible, so I got myself up after snoozing only once, using my headlamp on red to start my day.
Tessa was up a bit after me, and I enjoyed spending the morning getting ready with her, especially when the sun started to come up. We said our goodbyes before I hiked out, hoping to see each other again before she headed home to Michigan.
I hiked the blue blaze back up to the ridge, passing deer that were roaming around. I was on trail again at 7:10. I had 20.5 miles to get to town, with rain called for throughout the day, and possibly a thunderstorm after 2PM.
I wanted to avoid as much rain as I could, since that’s just the way I am, but knew I would get rained on at some point, and possibly all day.
My goal was to reach the road in eight hours, by 3:00, giving me seven hours to hike just under 3mph and have an hour for breaks.
I knew it might end up being sometime between 3-4PM, but I was fine with that, I just wanted to get to the outfitter for a hot shower before they closed at 6.
Big Meadows Lodge was 3.5 miles into the day, and I’d vacillated several times on whether or not I was going to actually stop there for breakfast.
Eventually hunger won out, as it generally does these days, and I made the side trip at 8:22 to Big Meadows Lodge, which I recognized from last time.
I definitely didn’t have time for that restaurant, either, but I saw the grab and go had cold lunch wraps, though I’d read a comment about Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches on Far Out.
Before I could ask about that, I overheard the two guys right in front of me asking the staff about ordering bacon egg and cheese sandwiches to go.
A discussion ensued with the manager about how the premade sandwiches were sold out, but they could construct a build your own sandwich of scrambled eggs, bacon, cheese, and white toast.
After they’d rung out, I quickly added onto that a sandwich for myself, and grabbed the only cold coffee available, which was a Starbucks pumpkin spice nitro cold brew in a can.
While I was waiting I threw out my trash, filled my water bottle, and dumped the coffee into my Gatorade bottle for later. I’d already had the rest of my latte from Skyland mixed with a breakfast essential earlier in the morning and didn’t need the caffeine right then.
The sandwich was delicious, filling, and worth the $10 and time it took to get. I was really glad I’d arrived when I had to piggyback on the other order, and was following the white blazes again by 9, having spent about 40 minutes on the side trip.
The terrain was quite easy, fortunately, with 3,300 feet of ascent and 4,400 feet of descent over the 20.5, so it was a lot of very small ups and downs over the ridge.
I hiked the next 4.5 miles into a shallow valley and up to Hazeltop Mountain. The day was muggy and overcast, looking and feeling as if it was going to rain any minute.
I’d hiked in silence to Big Meadows, then as I left there I put on an episode of Backpacker Radio about the PCT, so I could do some research for one of my next hikes while moving along.
When I was still in the area, I saw a guy in his 30s with a buzz cut hiking toward me, and he stopped to ask if I was a SOBO. I told him I was flip flopping, and he said he’d done a SOBO attempt prior, but had to get off trail 500 miles in due to stress fractures.
He told me his name was Tiny Ponies, and he’d attempt again one day. I told him it had taken me two tries, and there was nothing wrong with that. For now he was a ridge runner, on his last hike before going out west to work.
I asked if he felt SOBO was the true way to go, since they seem to feel very strongly about that. He laughed and said an emphatic yes.
I told Tiny Ponies that my strategy was to hike half with the northbounders and half with the southbounders, taking the best from both worlds to become a super hiker.
He liked that one, and as I said bye and turned to keep going, I realized it had become very true. A flip flop was something I’d done intentionally the first time, but grudgingly the second time.
Yet I truly believed it was making me a stronger and better hiker because of the depth and variety of experience it necessitated.
Being unable to keep up with all the NOBOs had allowed me to hike with many different ones and learn from various hikers and their styles. Now I was learning what SOBO was all about and growing even further.
A little bit uphill past Big Meadows, I hiked by Blackrock Viewpoint, which had nice views of clouds both above and below where I stood.
The sky wasn’t looking too scary, and the overcast day was making the green foliage and plentiful wildflowers pop visually on either side of the trail.
A mile of sloping downhill later I crossed Tanner’s Ridge Road, with a small cemetery I didn’t remember seeing before on the side of the trail. It was the first one I’d seen next to the trail since southern New Hampshire.
After Hazeltop, and a couple more ridge bumps, I got to Lewis Mountain Campground at noon. I stopped to use the bathroom and collect water from a spigot, spoiled with plumbing today and saving time by not having to use my now sloth like water filter.
I knew it was going to be raining when I got to the road, so figured now was a good time to arrange a shuttle into town. I had a good enough idea of my pace for the day by then.
My estimate was that I could complete the 8.2 miles to the road in two and a half hours, like I had the other day from Monterey Service Station to Front Royal.
After a bit of trouble with cell service, I was able to get through to Wayne, who’d been the top recommendation for a shuttle from Kelly at Small Axe Farms, where I was staying.
He agreed to pick me up between 2:30-3:00, bring me to the outfitter in town for a shower, and to the hostel for only $10. It sounded great to me, as I didn’t want to bother with hitching in the rain, and I sped off down the trail at 12:13.
Energized by the thought of getting into town, having my first zero in ten days, and from drinking the Starbucks cold brew at the campground, I began running down the trail.
I ran for almost a mile, on an easy sloping downhill, Florence + The Machine pumping in my ears. Feeling the raw power of my body and what it was capable of, it truly hit me in that moment what it had been accomplishing on this trip.
I felt pride and joy that I’d found something in life that I was not only passionate about, but was also becoming very talented at. Iroh had begun referring to me as the “resident backpacking expert”, and I’d cut Tessa’s base weight literally in half.
A few minutes later, as I recognized my hunger and had a snack while hiking, I remembered how bad my anorexia used to be.
The only way I could hike like this now was to constantly nourish my body. In 2015, I learned that the hard way when I was too weak to hike a lot of the time. Not anymore, though.
I apologized to myself, the worst days of my eating disorder feeling like a bad dream now, thanking my body for showing me all that it is capable of.
I was never an athlete, but years of power yoga, weightlifting, and hiking had given me strength and stamina. Now I could add speed for the first time to that.
Gaining this speed, after trying so hard on both of my hikes to keep up with the NOBOs, meant more to my self esteem than I’d ever expected. This time I’d been smarter not to burn myself out, slowing down to speed up.
I put on my workout playlist, and skipped to the songs with strong beats, measuring my pace to them. I thought about the climbs I’d done up north, then was pleasantly surprised to find myself ascending a rise with stone steps that allowed me to use my quads like I hadn’t on the moderate grades I’d been hiking on lately.
Just after 1:00, the rain finally came for me, first in a sprinkle, then a steady pour. I put my rain jacket over my pack, secured my wallet in a dry pocket, and slipped my phone into an empty ziplock that had held sour patch gummies recently in an effort to keep it dry.
I scanned the wet rocks with my eyes rapidly as I continued on, pushing myself to keep up the pace. As long as I concentrated on where my feet were going, I felt confident in my speed.
The rain continued for half an hour, as I kept an eye on the stone markers indicating my distance to Swift Run Gap, where I was getting picked up. Soon, I was within 2.9 miles of the road.
The rain tapered off and the sun emerged brighter than it had all day, illuminating the forest around me, when suddenly I felt a burning sensation on my left inner leg, a few inches above my ankle.
Several miles back, I’d felt a mild stinging sensation on my left pinky finger and knee when I’d brushed past something, and had applied hand sanitizer to those spots in case of poison ivy or similar.
This felt much more localized and painful than that, and I pushed my left sock liner and sock down, glancing at my leg while still hiking forward.
The pain increased, so I looked down again to see a yellow jacket attached to the folds of my sock. I have a mild bee phobia, and used my trekking pole to swipe it off my sock, where I saw it fall on the ground as I kept moving.
I stopped for a second to stare at the angry red mark on my leg, inspecting it to see if there was a stinger, but didn’t see anything.
Amazed the bee managed to sting me through both socks, I pulled them back up and pushed on, the wound throbbing painfully for the next couple miles.
I had made it nearly 1,300 miles without getting stung once, so I had to figure I was doing pretty good. Nevertheless, I kept an eye out for any more suspicious looking bees for the next mile or so.
I trudged through an overgrown part of the trail before beginning my final descent to the gap. When I was 1.4 from the road at 2:18, I took my phone out of the plastic bag and texted Wayne that I was 20-30 minutes out.
I raced down the trail, as rain began to fall again, but when I could see the road parallel to my right 100 yards below, I couldn’t help from breaking back into a run down the mountain.
I got to the road at 2:37, but didn’t see a car anywhere. I recognized where I was, having hitched from the bridge there back in 2015. I tried to get in touch with Wayne, but service was too spotty for effective communication.
It began to pour, and I worked to keep my phone dry and find a tree to take cover under. Finally, I saw a red Dodge Caravan pull over to the shoulder, the hatch opening up for me to deposit my pack and trekking poles.
Wayne had a white mustache and a cheerful disposition. He apologized for keeping me waiting, and I told him it was no problem at all. I was just happy to be in the van on the way to Elkton.
We drove through the rain for a few minutes till it cleared up, and Wayne told me how he’d grown up in the area and I told him about my first hike attempt and my current one.
He said he’d picked up a couple section hikers who were at the outfitter now and were also staying at the hostel. Their names were Beans and Angel Hair, and after a brief stop at McDonald’s, I met them at Appalachian Trail Outfitters.
Wayne took them back to a burger joint for an hour so I could get cleaned up. I took an amazing hot shower for $5, relishing the warmth after a cool day in the 60s, watching the Ayer turn brown as it ran off me.
I changed into town town clothes, and Wayne picked me up again with the others. We stopped at Walgreens for Beans, then headed over to the hostel, Angel Hair and Wayne discussing the finer points of time shares as we drove.
We arrived right when another car was pulling up with two other section hikers. The hostel was run out of a beautiful barn on a lovely farm, and at only $15 a night was a frugal way to take a zero day.
I claimed the couch, Beans got the cot, and the others set up their air pads on the barn floor. Kelly, our host, gave us the rundown before we got settled in.
I felt immensely comfortable and clean, soaking in the feeling of getting out of the woods into a hostel, knowing I wasn’t hiking the next day and could have a chance to rest my body.
I made conversation with the others, finding out Beans and Angel Hair live in Tampa, and Beans has section hiked everything from Springer to here so far. We discussed the 100 Mile Wilderness and Katahdin, which they are thinking of hiking next year.
The other section hikers were two men around my age, named Woah Frog and Big Day, out for their first backpacking adventure ever. They’d had some trials and were learning a lot, and the rest of us were able to give some advice when they asked.
I found a couple books on the small but well-stocked bookshelf, and spent some time reading the first several chapters of Jennifer Phar Davis’ book about her speed records on the Appalachian Trail.
I was paying extra for meals at the hostel, but probably less than I’d have spent at restaurants while in town. It was also healthier and the portions were better.
Dinner was around 7PM, and included fried kielbasa, sautéed veggies, corn on the cob, and brown rice. I ate two plates, chatting with the others, including Alec, Kelly’s partner, who joined us as well.
As I was making my way to get my second plate, I was momentarily sidetracked and enchanted by three kittens who seemed just as taken by me, and followed me from the barn to the food and back.
A group of ducks quacked and waddled by as I sat on the gravel, petting the kittens while they rubbed up against me. There were also goats, dogs, and cows around the property, though the hogs were in the freezer, as Kelly put it.
Dessert was a spiced apple cake that looked and tasted like it was straight from a bakery, and reminded me of the one we’d had at Zealand Falls Hut.
After dinner, Kelly and Alec retired to the house, while the rest of us talked about gear, the guys played chess, and I got some more reading done.
It had been a great day, and had felt awesome to push my pace and my miles, hiking 20.5 miles in essentially a hair over six hours after accounting for breaks. That was a pace of 3.4 mph over the day.
It was hard to believe I was regularly hiking 3+ mph now, though the fact that I’d learned to hike fast in New Hampshire and Maine made it logical that it would naturally jump up when I was on easier terrain in Virginia.
I often thought about the Cult, and how I would have been perfectly able to keep up with them now. That wasn’t my journey this time, however, and I recognized now how many more miles they had on me at the time, and why it had been so difficult to keep up after a few hundred miles with them.
Not burning myself out this time to keep up (or skipping miles to do so) had definitely been the right move, I could see that now after what had happened on my last hike. It took time and a lot of effort to get here, but slowing down to speed up had been necessary in the end.
My hope was that I would retain this muscle memory on future hikes, since I knew the speed and power I had now would eventually diminish after this one was over. Maybe next time it would be easier to get to this point, though, now that I’d been here already.
I stayed up late, till midnight, enjoying having electricity and hearing the renewed rain bouncing off the barn roof. It was peaceful on the farm, and the town had a cozy feel to it, where everyone knew each other and hikers were welcome.
Though I had plenty of chores to get done, I was looking forward to a day to rest my body tomorrow, and for Uncle Iroh to catch back up during the day.
I hadn’t seen another thru hiker in three days, though I’d had some enjoyable times with the section hikers around, and I was ready to be around a member of my own tribe again. It was time to plan a new itinerary and make my way through the second half of Shenandoah.