Mile who the hell knows

Hostel 19E
Whatever, some sort of day

I’m in a HOSTEL! It’s a crazy hostel. The quaint, expensive B&B hostel is full, so I’m in the live music, craft beer hostel. We’re packed in here like sardines, but it’s a good mix of people. I’m kind of astonished at the number of hikers here who started March 4, March 7, February.

I woke up at Doll’s Flats (big flat place with a lot of campsites), and it was cold, and it was raining, and I had the meltdown I should have had last night—-after, it turns out, I did that long bald ridgewalk in hurricane-force winds. I hadn’t gotten the hurricane message. If I’d known it was hirricane windy, I would have stayed at the barn.

After the meltdown, I read up on the hostels, called the good one (they were, of course, fully booked)… then I decided I could withstand one night of the party crowd. But I think there are enough non-partiers here. It’ll probably be loud and drunk later. I’ll try to be quiet when I sneak out at 5 AM.

I think I got the last bunk, even at 9 AM. It’s freezing and rainy and snowy outside… again. I’m so happy to be indoors!

I got nothin’. Hiked three miles in, and my clothes are washed and I had a blissful hot shower. Part of the reason I hike is because it gives you a vast appreciation for things we take for granted. Hot water pouring over your cold filthy body. Having a place to go when you have to take a crap. The amazing warmth of soft socks, not stinking soaking cold trail runners.

This part of the frail has been beautiful.

I’m about 75 miles from Damascus—-the psychological quarter point. I picked up an expensive resupply here, so I can skip Hampton. Next stop: Damascus.