Hiking Through by Paul Stutzman

Author:Paul Stutzman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BIO018000, BIO026000, Stutzman, Paul V.—Travel—Appalachian Trail, Hiking—Appalachian Trail, Stutzman, Paul V.—Religion, Appalachian Trail—Description and travel, Wives—Death, Bereavement, Self-actualization (Psychology)
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group

The morning light glowed softly as it fell on the mountain and returned to the valley after its overnight journey. We had only eleven miles to Rockfish Gap, almost all downhill. The trail down Humpback Mountain was rocky but scenic, crossing streams and winding through the forest.

The woods ended at the bottom of a highway embankment. We’d arrived at Rockfish Gap, where I-64 and U.S. 250 intersect. Here too the Blue Ridge Parkway transitions into Skyline Drive. We crossed the road to an information center and found a list of people willing to drive hikers into Waynesboro. We chose a name, made the call, and were picked up by a lively and informative lady of eighty-four years, who drove us to the Quality Inn where we had made reservations.

Arriving in town at noon is almost like a day off. Food, laundry, and resupply were the order of the afternoon. At the laundromat, I washed every article of my clothing. Yes, even what I was wearing at the time. I stepped behind a bank of washers—to avoid causing a distraction and possible arrest—shed my clothes, and donned my rain gear.

Across from me, a hiker emptied a food box on the floor. His big, floppy straw hat and a flute lying nearby told me I had at last caught up with Padre the priest. I introduced myself. He was staying that night at a local church hostel. I wanted more time to talk with this man and hoped our paths would cross again.

We ate and rested—important activities during town stops.

The next morning during breakfast at the Quality Inn, a hiker walked in, topped with a mop of brown hair I immediately recognized. Back at the Barn Restaurant in Atkins, Sailor and I had been headed back to the trail when we had met this hair and the mind underneath.

I reminded Einstein of our meeting and we chatted. “With a name like that, you must be a deep thinker,” I joked. But he was, indeed, a solemnly reflective person. “I’m just out here contemplating everything I’ve ever been taught,” he told us.

Contrary to Sir Enity and me, Einstein had a wonderful wife who was fully alive and supportive of his quest to hike the 2,200-mile think tank. We invited him to hike with us, and now our group not only had heart and courage—we had a brain.

We three joined others gathering at the entrance to Shenandoah National Park and went through the formality of filling out permits admitting us to the park.

The Appalachian Trail and Skyline Drive both wander through Shenandoah National Park. The trail crosses the famous highway several times. Other times, walking high on a mountain, we would see the scenic blacktop route snaking along below us.

The second day in the park, we stopped for an impromptu ceremony on Baldface Mountain. We had just completed mile nine hundred. Sir Enity scrawled “900 Miles” on a dead tree by the trail. We admired his handiwork and signed our names, knowing the act

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