When the Smoke Clears

Back from the wilderness.

Did we make it all the way through our stated destinations? no. Did we have a good time? absolutely. In a strange journey that included a late night scramble to find water and eventually visiting the grave of my grandfather, we are back.

The fine Blogfather… who apparently likes to spill information… took an entire day out of his life to escort us to the trail’s end and the trailhead. The man is a prince. No really, I mean that… a PRINCE.

A quick summary is as follows: we hiked the hell out of the first day. We hiked the hell out of the second day including injuries. We made our way to a beautiful spot and spent the third day there, relaxing. Eventually, assessing injuries, we made our way to Virginia where his wife was visiting her parents.

And now I am back home. My feelings: both a relief for the trip and a melancholy over the lack of time.

Long story… after the jump, of course…

The good Major (a.k.a. Eodguy) is one of my best friends, but an extended trip with someone in difficult circumstances can test a friendship. I can honestly say that we were tested and in my book he passed with flying colors. I appreciate him even more now than I ever did before, a true kinship with the man and a feeling of honor in calling him my friend. Then again, I have no idea what he thinks about me now. Too bad he is leaving for Korea in a few short weeks.

We first made our way to Eric’s after the Major had a long day of chasing paperwork and immunizations for himself and family for their move. On the drive up,he said to me, “you know, there is one thing around here that drives me nuts. Tennessee fans will paint and cover themselves in that tacky orange whenever and wherever they can. They are by far the most obnoxious with it.”

I countered that there were other schools similar in thought, but my point was immediately defeated as we passed a house on a hill overlooking the highway painted entirely in… I am not kidding here… orange and white stripes with a big “T” painted on the side. The entire house.

Once settled into the hotel and after grabbing a quick snack, it was over to the Palace of Tennessee Peace. Eric made my friend feel welcome and quickly drinks were passed out, soon degenerating into stories that were more exchanges of knowledge about guns, cars, military readiness, etc. And soon Eric mopped the floor with us in pool several times.

The next day we headed out early. I rode with Eric as the Major drove my Jeep. Over 2 and a half hours in a car with Eric seemed to go by so quickly as we talked, sharing ideas, histories, loves of music, poetry recitations (we both dig Robert Service) etc. Finally, Jeep stowed at the end of the trail, Eric drove us to our trailhead and dropped us off.

We were both excited about what lay before us.

And let me tell you, it was beautiful, the parts that you could see. In our area, most of the trail is well hidden in the forest. Plenty of hills to climb, which, when added together, lead to mountains. Not all mountains had views due to the coverage.

After the first few hours we were tired, but this was to be one of our toughest days. Get it over with early and work through the pain in the morning. Eventually we found our way to where we were near one of our chosen stop points, but there was a clear choice: the sun was setting soon. The trail lead off to our left, a road to the top of the mountain running alongside. In the interest of not being caught out after dark, and with nothing to prove, we took the gravel road, which was still a steep incline, but space to walk side by side.

There were many pauses along the journey to catch breath. About halfway to the top I took some medicine that I did not realize would mess with my head as much as it did. I was a little dizzy, but pressing onwards, the Major in the lead. I told him not to wait for me. His legs were starting to cramp a little as well. But to the top we went, finally looking out over a bald to the mountains all around at a place called “Beauty Spot.” That is exactly what it was.

What it lacked, however, was water, and we needed water. With the sun setting we decided to press onwards to the next possible campsite another mile or so down the trails. Traipsing across the meadow at the top we followed the blazes for the trail… and eventually found ourselves back on that road we walked up the first time having looped around. It was getting a lot darker. I was stumbling. I dropped my pack and pulled out some special electrolyte formula I used to give my racers in Canada (not available in the states) and gulped it down with most of the water I had left. My friend’s legs were cramping miserably with each step. I told him to start towards the top, not to wait for me but that I would be there.

And so he did, constantly looking back, and constantly in pain. Then I regained my pack and hoofed it up behind him, one foot in front of the other, staring at the ground so I would not see the slope ahead of me.

Then I kicked in.

A powerhorse.

Steady breathing and a strong gait and the medicine had worn off while the eLoad got me going. I was ready to do another 10 miles. I passed my buddy and continued on my way to the top, determined to have a few things ready for him. He showed up a while later, exhausted, in pain. I prepped a packet of electrolytes for him and he immediately became nauseated but was able to keep things down. It was dark now, a gentle breeze blowing through the grass of the meadow.

We had to have water now.

Rereading the map and the guidebook we found the other end of the trail leading from the meadow, the blazes hard to see, and off we went, headlamps on. I was worried about him, watching his every step as his ankles twisted on the trail from left to right on the rocks and scree in the dark.

There were a couple of good camping spots along the way, but no water. I wanted to press on. We needed the water.

It all paid off in finally finding a small spot with a flat, happy, grassy patch under some trees and a metal sign pointing to water. A short hop and we found the oasis, a slight trickle through a pipe dropping over some rocks. It was plenty. We filled our bottles through the filters and settled in for the night. I would have been fine with a few more miles at that point, but it was very late. We had been hiking steadily for over 10 hours.

The food we brought was filling and tasted very good. I don’t mind MREs but they can be heavy and the Major had to live on them for a year in the desert. The dehydrated foods are expensive, but hell, we have money these days.

For me, sleep was fitful, he slept soundly. I thought part of the problem I might have on this trip was my fear of men close to me, but that was not the case here. I was just ready to do more mileage and couldn’t sleep.

The next morning, we slept in a little and talked a lot. We were mighty sore, but determined to push on. We had managed to hike over 15 miles the first day, although about 3 of those probably weren’t necessary.

Then we started out. Uh oh.

I was having problems. I was excited at the way I finally kicked into high gear the day before, but I might have done some damage. My right foot was hurting. The achilles tendon was slightly misshapen and had a slight bulge in it. It’s not a good sign, but I decided we would press on.

And we did. And when on flat terrain I was eating up the distance, but this is the Trail. It’s mostly ups and downs. Those were painful. The Major was concerned. I was determined, though. While I knew we were both hurting, this was HIS time, and my time to get to know him more, to bond. I wanted to be here. But I am also acutely aware of what can cause a torn achilles, and what the lengthy recovery period for it is like.

I made a call I hated to make. I had to bail out. I felt (and still feel) like I was letting the man down, and I was letting myself down. His reassurances to the contrary helped, and he is a truly honest man. He was able to complete a section of the trail he had never been able to do in his youth because his friends always bailed out after a few miles of discomfort.

He made his way to the road ahead of me. By the time I arrived, he was already gone, having hitched a ride to the Jeep. I waited by the side of the road, begging myself not to feel the obvious evidence on the back of my heel. He soon showed up, but the trip was not over.

We drove to the top of Roan Mountain where we found a spot to settle in for the night. Roan Mountain is a beautiful place with views of the range all around. It was to be our goal for the coming days to accomplish after Unaka (which we did successfully climb and descend.) But Roan is one of the highest points in the Appalachians. It’s almost always caught in a drift of clouds, an alpine climate reminiscent of parts of Canada. There are plants, special flowers that will only grow in the US on this mountain.

Another good night and another good meal. The next day we toured the trails over the mountain, both of us moving very stiffly. We talked some. All totaled I think we covered over 33 miles, with rises and falls averaging over 3000 feet in elevation over 3 days. That’s pretty good by many standards.

Much later we called his wife who was visiting family in Virginia with his daughter. I didn’t want what little bit of time we would have left hanging out to end, but I could tell he was eager to see his family after only a few days apart. We drove up there, me being welcomed by her parents. During some dinner conversation, it started to dawn on us, however, that we might actually be related on both her mother’s and father’s sides. We’re going to check into that.

My family is from the same area, many having moved farther south in the 60s. My grandfather died in his home in Georgia but wanted to be buried where he was born in Virginia. That was 9 years ago. I wanted to go visit his grave site. I wanted to visit the graves of his brothers. I wanted to see the place where my great-grandmother used to live and I used to visit and play in the streams that ran in front of the house, but never on the train tracks that ran behind, shaking the old spring bed as they rumbled through slowly in the middle of the night taking the coal away. The house was torn down years ago and a new house put in place by my aunt, but it was still much as I remembered everything, some nearly 25 years ago.

I didn’t want to interfere with his family time as I was not sure where all the places I intended to visit were located. It didn’t matter. The Major and his wife insisted on going, even driving. “Good friends will follow you where you want to go. The best of friends will even take you there.” We took off for the day as their daughter played at her grandparents.

We did all those things. We talked and ate.

The Major likes to talk, ramble even. In almost any other person I would be annoyed but in him, it is comfortable, fun, and he makes me laugh. Actually he makes me feel good. Here is a man who has served in Iraq, Korea once before, he disarms explosives, making other soldiers safe, and he is my friend. The man has no pretenses about who he is. That was one of the great things about this trip. Neither of us was trying to impress the other by being Mr. Tough. After a long stretch of uphill we were off to the side panting hard, but more importantly, we were smiling at each other. It hurt. It wasn’t comfortable. We were a little less in shape than we needed to be, but we were there together having fun. Our friendship has evolved to a point where we can drop all masks and be who we are, fractures and all.

And we were at the point where the conversations run deeper, after shedding off the trappings of the regular world when my physical state gave way. Again, things I should have said. Moments gone. Things I should have asked. Things I wanted to know.

I can’t say the man is like a brother to me now, because I have never had a brother, even any sort of a very close relative. I don’t know what that relationship is like though I have seen plenty of examples of very good brothers in my life, most significantly with Butterbar and his brother. I have people to whom I am very close but I am still worried about being seen as an outsider in lives.

But if I could choose, he is one for my family. I would keep him close. Two years of friendship and time together have culminated in this trip getting to know each other, secure that we could be as whiny or as difficult as we wanted to be and know the other wasn’t going to do anything but smile and encourage. But he leaves soon. His family is his first priority, as it should be, and I admit I’m a little envious of the time and the family. But I will be here, whenever he gets back even if he isn’t coming back to this area, whenever there is a problem he wants to talk about, whenever he wants someone to listen. In some ways, perhaps, this trip was both good and bad. I will miss him even more.

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