Trail Magic # 3-Trail Magic.

Trail magic is the blanket term used by Appalachian Trail (A.T.) thru-hikers when we talk about bit of good fortune that we've had while hiking. It can take many forms, from an easy hitch into town, to sodas left in a stream beside the trail for hikers to find, to cash. Of course, trail magic isn't magic at all, but a kindness paid to a stranger. Hikers call people who perform trail magic Trail Angels, because they often work wonders for us we are at our most desperate. During every successful thru-hike, there comes at least one point where the urge to give up the trail is overwhelming. No matter how transcendent some moments may be, hiking the whole A.T. can start to feel like the The Bataan Death March if things are not going well. My moment came at a park near the New York/New Jersey border. This area is very dry, so kind people who live near the trail often take it upon themselves to place gallon jugs of water next to the trail during hiking season. Along with the water they sometimes include a cooler stocked with sunscreen, insect repellent, or Little Debbie cakes. Usually there is a notebook and a pen included, so that we could leave a little note of thanks before pushing on. One of these stations is maintained by the Tuxedo Hiking Club (consisting of exactly 2 members-John and Susan Hayden.) In the front of their notebook was an offer to take in hikers in for the night. I was beat and feeling really terrible at the time, and if I had been carrying a cell phone, I would have called them right away and taken them up on their offer. This was in July and the heat was fantastic. I wrote down the Tuxedo's phone number, pulled my pack on and trudged on. The going was really rocky and slow-I heard later that this section of trail is infamous and is called "Ankle-Buster Valley" or "Hernia Gulch" or some such. Around 3 o'clock that afternoon, I was out of water again, so I decided to take a side trail down a lakeside park where my A.T. guide book told me water could water be found. Even though I was pretty dry, I nearly didn't go down there because the park was a half a mile downhill, which would mean another half-mile slog up hill in the heat to get back to the A.T. When I got down there, I found the lakeside park full of happy families and young couples from New York City all laughing and having a good time. Nobody said anything to me, but I felt like an intruder-this filthy hobo crashing in on their good times. Hiking the A.T. by myself was a lonely business, but having to see everyone there made me feel like a lunatic. I wondered, "Why the fuck do I have to walk to Maine, anyway? I'm sick. I'm dirty. And I stink like I've been dead for a week. Why am I doing this to myself?" I felt like crying, but I filled up my water bottle and started back up the hill to the trail. Then there was a car beside me on the road. A lady poked her head out the window and called, "Are you a thru-hiker? Are you a thru-hiker?" It was a friend of another hiker named Irish who I had walked with a few days earlier. She had been hiking with Irish for a couple of days and was headed back to New York. She gave me all the extra food that she had left over from hike. I remember her rummaging around in her back seat and trunk looking for any hidden bits of food. She talked to me like a long lost friend and not a bum. She also let me use her cell phone to call the Tuxedo Hiking Club. I talked to John Hayden and told him where I was, and a few minutes later he was pulling up to the traffic circle at the lakeside park. That night, John and Susan treated me to a great dinner and let me wash my clothes, before falling asleep between clean sheets for the first time in several weeks. I stashed my pack in their garage, so I wouldn't bring my hiker-stench inside their house. The next morning, I asked John to stop in at a mini-mart, so I could top off my food bag. John wouldn't let me pay, but bought all my groceries himself. A few minutes later, John dropped me off at the little lakeside park and I gave him my thanks. That morning, I returned to my hike with more energy and a much better attitude and I started to make some miles. When I stopped for lunch that day, I discovered that John and Susan had put 40$ in my pack-two crisp 20s. I was stunned by their kindness. And the amazing thing is that these types of events are all to common on the A.T. In central Virginia, a Canadian couple handed me 20 dollars and told me to "buy some pizza"-not the hardest marching orders I've ever gotten. I remember hiking with my friend The Chocolate Bandito in the pouring rain and coming across a bucket of candy sitting in a newly mown field. We just stood there eating candy as water dripped off our noses. In Massachusetts, a former A.T. hiker and his girlfriend flew all the way from Texas to set up a big barbecue for hikers at the shelter outside of Dalton. In New Hampshire, a Lutheran Minister slipped me a 50 dollar bill in a handshake after giving me a ride into town. In Vermont, a middle-aged lady incongruously dressed in a lace top, camouflage pants, and combat boots offered to give me one of her "special blowjobs" while giving me a ride back to the trail. I was getting the vibes that it might be little too "special" and that I might find myself in a "special unmarked grave," so I decided to pass on that bit of trail magic. North Carolina and Tennessee have a reputation on the trail for being the most generous states trail magic states. Based on my experience, this bit of trail wisdom is true. For a long time, it seemed like every other stream I passed had a case of Mountain Dew or Budweiser floating in it and I would find a bag of snickers or fruit at every road crossing. I can't tell the how amazing it felt to come across these little gifts in the middle of the forest. Beyond the sugar rush, it was the feeling that there were people out there who wished me well. I can't thank them enough.