April 26th was semi-uneventful, but a few quasi-events definitely happened. I say “quasi” events because these weren’t your everyday full, well-rounded experiences involving full, well-rounded people.
At the Sweet Country Springs gas station a mile east of Keys Gap I met a woman who asked if I used my trekking poles to “bop” girls over the head and “pull em’ into a bush” with me. Her lips pulled back into a yellow-toothed mimicry of a grin so maybe I was her type, but I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.
Almost immediately after, I was back on the trail and ran into a woman carrying a big black trash bag. I don’t know what was in the bag, but she never looked up once, and was repeatedly mumbling something about a “7-11” under her breath. Her tattered jean jacket rattled with what sounded like five or six near-empty pill bottles. Doubt she even noticed me.
The 27th was definitely eventful. I’d been in Virginia for near a month now, traversing more than 300 miles, and today I would cross my first state line, this one leading into West Virginia.
So, my way barred by the raging, ice cold currents of the Potomac, I stripped to my waste with youthful aplomb and swam the river, emerging exhausted onto the stone-strewn distant shore — I guess that’s what most people imagine hikers do when they hit a big river. Sadly the reality isn’t as romantic. There was just a big bridge with a walkway. I took that out of Virginia and into Harper’s Ferry.

Harper’s Ferry was the bee’s knees though (old fashion slang seems appropriate for an old fashion town). I visited the Appalachian Trail Conservancy headquarters, which in hindsight is a pretty lofty title for a tenement building the size of a small apartment with sagging walls and chipped paint. The fact that the preservation of the 2,200 mile trail depended almost entirely on a handful of people that met for coffee in a tiny room upstairs shocked and awed me.
Here I finally had my chance to officially register my thru-hike and get my picture taken by the AT logo. In the process I discovered I was the 81st thru hiker to pass through Harper’s Ferry this year.
To top everything off, I was lucky enough to meet the budding trail legends Bonnie and Clyde, a couple to-be-hitched atop Katahdin this year, who were otherwise renowned for their tendency to night hike and cozy up with townies along the way for booze and a general all around good time. Clyde joked he had 10 invites to the wedding, but not ten relatives that could make the hike.
After the ATC I ventured through a historic district downtown chock full of antique shops and those pinched homes overgrown with Kudzu you stumble on every once in a while walking through forgotten parts of larger cities. Not a single warm-blooded body graced the cobbled streets. It was strange.
Eventually, I found what seemed to be the only two guys in town working the counter of a basement parlor sandwich shop dubbed “The Cannonball Deli.” The place was tighter than a confession booth, and true to the setting both men were talking in hushed tones when I surprised them by walking in. In sum, the Philly cheesesteak was delicious, and the service subtly artful. I hardly had to ask for utensil, napkin, or check before they appeared almost out of thin air. The tab came to half price, courtesy of the special thru-hiker discount, but I tipped to bring it back to full. True hospitality is hard to come by and hikers, mud-stained and weary from the road, appreciate it twice as much as most.
Within three hours I had made it in and out of the trademark AT town. All without spending more than $20 cash. A clean, quick pass and then back to chasing white blazes through the woods.

Registered and “real” as of now — Nomad