Anyway, no monsters or madmen materialized and, as a result of hardly sleeping, I was up for the sunset, eager to begin hiking in earnest.

          Within the first 20 mile stretch I would learn my first lesson: the Appalachian Trail goes UP. Looking back in hindsight this seems like something I should have expected. A trail named for a mountain range is most likely going to include a few switch-backs.

          Starting just beyond Curry Creek I trudged uphill to Wilson Creek Shelter. From there I fought another incline to reach Black Horse Gap and soon found myself moving along the crest of Blue Ridge Parkway. The rolling hills of Virginia stretched to the horizon on my right and left, countless tiny towns nestled in the shade of their foothills. I was most definitely way up (but noting my aching legs I did not feel #blessed).

Top o’ Blue Ridge

          After taking a moment to appreciate the view, I moved on. I had now reached the top of the ridge and was ready to head down.

          And the path did go down…for a misleading 500 steps, at which point it turned up again giving me the impression of some sick, lopsided grin. Again the first lesson was driven home: if there is a mountain, hill, rocky outcropping, or upward-sloping surface of any kind the trail goes that way.

          As fate would have it, I eventually did go downhill. For miles. And with a 60 pound pack they made for knee-buckling miles. At the bottom my sigh of relief was cut short by the sight of yet another mountain looming ahead.

          I made 14.7 miles on day two, the last covered at a half-manic jog in flip-flops and without a shirt. It was 50 degrees at this point and threatening rain, but I’d been through worse and the thought of a rickety, three-walled shelter was the carrot in front of my nose.

           Oh how I thanked Churchill for the mantra that got me through the day. “If you’re going through hell…keep going.”

          That’s exaggeration though. Hell doesn’t have views like those from the Blue Ridge Vistas. They were well worth the labor. And my rice and corn stew at the end of the day was near divine.

          The body count at the end of day two was, fittingly, two. The first person I met on the quiet leafy lane was a 55 year old, blue eyed, long haired, psychology professor who you would expect to discover practicing tai chi on a mountain peak, tuning his energy to the rising sun. He was, I think it’s fair to say, the spirit guide fate saw fit to put on my path.

           His trail name was Two Spirits, and it was appropriate. He’d been a 20,000 miler at one point in his life, walking the full length of the AT, PCT (Pacific Crest Trail), and Continental Divide. He’d conquered the Triple Crown, as the trio is called, many times, but now he wasn’t as sprightly and couldn’t quite log the big miles.

          That clearly didn’t stop him from enjoying the trails, as I met him working up a steep incline aided by a simple walking stick (which I suspected of being his staff and the source of his as-of-yet undisclosed magical powers). From the way he spoke, eagerly and with nothing held back, telling stories of the trail which took place in a different time, it was clear that his young soul was at war with his old body. I talked to him for quite a while, and in the end he offered me insight learned from experience, a word of encouragement, and, not least, a shot of Virginia White Lighting moonshine.

          So now you know the secret of how I got through day two.

          The other wayfarer I met went by the name of Scorched Heels, not for his speed, but for his mistake of hiking through two budding hotspots on the back of his heels. The blistering that ensued was apparently worthy of a moniker.

          Notwithstanding, the man could hike. He mentioned averaging 24 miles a day. Shouldn’t be a surprise to hear I haven’t seen him since. I often find the marks of his trekking poles, left as he vaults along, but never the hiker who left them.

          So I continue to hike solo for now.

                    Cheers from the nomad.