Getting out of my hammock this morning I was nervous to see how my legs would feel. I took a ginger step, then another and was pleasantly surprised to feel only a trace of the exhaustion that had plagued them yesterday. 

I retaped my toes, stuffed them into my Jerry-rigged toe socks, gave Boots one last scratch behind the ears and then McKay and I set out along the path. 

The hike today was beautiful. There were a few steep sections, but nothing like the past two days. We cruised up and down and, with our refound energy, even found ourselves walking down a few side trails to check out the vistas. (We weren’t taken even an extra step the last two days)

Crossing into North Carolina had seemed like a ceremonial thing at the time. But I’ve since learned that each state has its own AT trail assosciation in charge of maintaining the trail. Based on the number of downed trees, sketchy river crossings and intense roots we crossed, Georgia’s maintainers are wayyyy better than North Carolina’s. But at least North Carolina’s views have been incredible. 

We came to a dirt road a bit before lunch and began to cross when a guy we had met at camp earlier intercepted us and pointed to the left. “He’s got hamburgers and hotdogs,” he said, pointing to a man set up beneath a tent. 

We introduced ourselves to Doug, who told us to grab a bite and enjoy. It was a family tradition to come out here one weekend a year. They’d been doing it for the last 20 years. He then told us to grab a beer. 

Given it was 11am and there was a long climb in front of us, I politely declined. He looked a bit sad and told us that when his father and brother had been thru hiking, they’d gotten into a huge fight. They walked in silence for days until at one Trail Magic stop, they’d been served Miller Lite. They had a few, then a few more, and by the time they left they had completely made up. 

“Have one for my father,” he said. “He’s getting old and can’t do this much longer.”  

I couldn’t say no after a speech like that and cracked open a Miller Lite with my cheeseburger. 

The rest of the day was long but not steep. We passed Kat doing her patented “grandma shuffle” and a few of the other folks we had camped with last night. We stopped for quick hellos with each but continued onwards. 

As we got closer to our destination for the night, I felt a sudden surge of energy and asked McKay if he wanted to push it further. There’s supposed to be a hiker bbq in Franklin tomorrow and I wanted to get as close as possible tonight. 

McKay wisely responded, “my Achilles hurts and you’re barely picking your feet up off the ground. We’re not going a step further than the next campground.” He was right. 

And the benefit of listening to him? There was a beautiful creek at our campsite, perfect for filling up water and soaking our tired feet. We met the other hikers, including a woman who had just graduated from Emory (Swoop swoop) before heading back. 

It was a lovely evening until a hiker came through with a dog that was obviously too tired to be out there. The dog was wearing a pack that was apparently chafing him and he looked miserable. The guy talked at us for a while about how much he loved falling while rock climbing and his near death experiences while hopping on passing trains. It was almost entertaining at first but after 30 minutes of non stop babble, all of us sitting around camp excused ourselves and headed in for an early night. 

Why is it always the dog owners out here?

Key stats:

Miles: 16

Elevation gained: 3,000 ft

Hamburgers: 1