Tom: Trail Days Road Trip

Trail Days Road Trip · May 16, 09:25 PM

WEDNESDAY

I parked outside the gate. Cameras aren’t allowed inside the fence, and mine was in my car; I had packed hastily the previous night because I wanted to leave straight from work. The Doyle was six hours from Newport according to google, and would be closing at or around 10:00 PM when the bar emptied. I was cutting it close—on the road just after three.

The Doyle is infamous on the trail—one of the cheap hiker-friendly watering holes that thru-hikers will get stuck at for unplanned zero days. It was half-way between Newport and Damascus; it would ease me back into the spirit of the community I was about to dive head-long into.

The Doyle

When I walked in there were two men seated at the bar and two hikers seated at a table. I inhaled a glass of the locally brewed Yingling, checked in, and proceeded to discover that one of the hikers was Flying Bear, a tall red-head I met in 2001 just south of Harpers Ferry. He was memorable for the story of the thirty mile day that ended with him scrambling out of his tent as large, dead tree fell on it in the night. He was with Yatzhee, whom I didn’t know, both on their way to Trail Days, and as we talked on Professor walked in, having been on the phone in the other room. Him I knew from 2004. We shared a “Don’t I know you?” moment, and then figured we probably crossed paths in Maine; he had been hiking south.

THURSDAY

I was on the road by 7:30; an estimated seven hours of driving stood between me and Damascus. By the time I hit Roanoke I needed a break. It hadn’t helped that I had been listening to Sideways, a nine CD audio-book. I should have seen the movie instead; it was, as Plato would concur, bad art. The characters disgusted me and metaphors were pulled out of thin air with all the grace of a magician and a white rabbit. Blegh. This was not Trail Days material.

Catawba is located about 10 minutes off of I-81 exit 141 north of Roanoke. The trail crosses VA 311 ouside of town. There’s a parking lot at the trail-head because McAfee’s Knob is three and a three and a half mile day hike north on the AT. Seven miles—I figured three hours there and back, with 30 minutes of soaking in the sun on the rock outcropping where the foot-hill of Virginia stretch out beneath to the horizon. I could still make Damascus before 7 or 8.

McAfee’s Knob

At the trail-head I met three thru-hikers bound for Trail Days waiting on their ride, and on the cliffs I met another thru-hiker with his mom. On the way back I talked with a couple of Indian guys from Blacksburg who hadn’t known how long the AT was, or that the hikers they were seeing had been on the trail for a couple months continuously. It was a good detour, and with Sideways behind me, I was ready for the final leg into Damascus.

Thursday’s bonfire crowd

I arrived in the dying light of the early evening, I think, and remember taking more than two circles through camp before pitching my wal-mart tarp off of a road in the backs. Out by the front gate, where you paid $10 for a parking permit, my phone sporidically picked up one bar on Verizon’s analog network. Adam (Stanimal) called: his buddy Dan was 10 minutes out, and through several spotty or dropped calls we arranged a meetup. Dan and I hung out by the Thursday night bonfire—I called it the pre-party—and ran into Hustler. None of us stayed up very late.

FRIDAY

Friday morning and Adam & Rochelle still aren’t here. I’m worried; they drove through the night, but I find out they got lost a couple times. We meet them for lunch in town. Dan and I had taken lunch at the Baja Cafe, which had replaced the venerable Side Track Cafe; I had a hiker-sized burritto only slightly over-priced.

Baja Cafe (Side Track cafe, previously)

At some point we run into Waldo, Walk-On, and Dead Lung. Waldo and Walk-On I knew from last year; Dead Lung was a short, spunky unknown. We hang out sporadically, communally focused on planning a drunken evening. Everything goes well, except the bottom drops out of the sky right when the bonfire crowd should have been building; it fragments us. Adam, Dan, & Rachelle hang back at the cars. Waldo, Walk-On, Dead Lung, myself, and a few strangers move from the fire to under a tarp—the Backpacker magazine tarp, it turns out. We pass the rainy night in moderately drunken conversation. I remember being repeatedly ribbed for taking a whole $10 from Dead Lung for beer, and later inadvertently drenching him trying to drain accumulated water off the tarp.

Left to right: Dead Lung, Waldo, and Walk-On

The rain clears out just around midnight in time for the cops to turn off the drum circle. A hard core of hikers never left the bonfire, which was large enough to keep you warm—sweating, even—in the rain. After the rain had blown over I walked over to check out the fire and caught Moonpie in the dancing circle. We met with a big hug and I took her over to the group under the tarp. She had arrived in the middle of the downpour less than an hour ago with Moonshine and Free Sex. Everybody was elated, and most of us were a little heavily buzzed.

Around 12:30 AM people started dropping out, and Dead Lung, who setup a tent or made arrangements, joined me under the ghetto tarp. I was borderlining on drunk, and fell asleep slash passed-out easily.

SATURDAY

None of us sleep in very much; we hadn’t been that drunk. Adam, Rachelle, Dan, and I head down to Dairy King at the end of town for pancakes, and returned with a plan: a day-hike in the nearby highlands. Advice from Walk-On sends us off to Elk Garden Ridge, and we spend about an hour walking up a bald and then through the woods. Wildflowers bloomed orange, white, and purple all around; spring was busting out after a long winter, and it was good to get out. I spent some time getting to know Rachelle.

Left to right: Dan, Adam, and Rachelle

We were back in time for the parade. In time for it to rain on our parade. I split off from Adam, Dan, and Rachelle (headed back to the cars) to join Walk-On, Waldo, and Dead Lung on the side of the road, when the rain started up. It was a heavy rain, the kind that you’d pull off the interstate to avoid unless you’re a Florida driver. The rain fell and kept falling. The wind swirled enough to keep us cold and wet, waiting we saw the Firetruck and other parade vehicles driving by; the parade was off. Some of the crowd started to disperse, but we had our water baloons and there was pent-up energy. We wanted our traditional waterfight with the hikers in the parade. Just as the last of the rain tapered off, a mass of hikers was spotted walking through the street on the parade path, streaming around traffic. The fight was on!

We’ve waited out the rain. We want fun!

Water-ballons impacting on, around, and behind me kept my camera in check; I was standing on a block taking heavy fire, but we returned in good measure, lobbing grenades and unloading waterguns. Kids were scooping rainwater out of the street gutter and dumping it on the hikers. Everyone was unleashing pent up craziness, both from the supressed bonfire Friday and the parade-cancelling rain that pre-soaked just about everybody. As we followed the firefight down to the fairgrounds Walk-On and I took a big hit from Bramble, who had scooted up several gallons in a large metal tub. I had seen him coming from the corner of my eye, and was glad that I had stowed my camera in a plastic grocery bag.

Chris & Anna, enjoying free food after the parade

The rain cleared out, and under the bright sun we wandered around the fairgrounds, checking out exhibits, talking, and enjoying Trail Days. We all ended up—you never loose your free-food-dar—at a Boy Scout sponsored cookout gorging ourselves. The conversation was good, but the day-hike the sun and walking and talking had wore everybody out, and one by one we made our way back to tent city to rest up for the saturday night party, but not before making plans for a class of 2004 dinner at eight.

Fairgrounds crowd

Waldo, Walk-On, Dead Lung and caught a shuttle that took us from tent city half a mile into town and dropped at the Old Mill restaurant. It started raining as (a) we discovered it was prom night, (b) the menu featured $25 plates, (c) other 2004 hikers trickled in under the downpour and hail. Ten minutes of confused fractured indecision and once the worst of the rain had passed twenty of us wandered into town with vague plans to “eat somewhere”. We settled on the Italian Sicily’s, though several of us were wary, having eaten cardboard pizza there the day prior. Still, who had room for twenty—no-one else.

Pizza at Sicily’s

They seated us and we started up the catch-up or “I don’t remember you; when did you start?” chitchat until our eight pizzas arrived for scarfing. I don’t recall everyone there; I should try to get a list. Outside, we started back to camp when the shuttle bus honked and pulled over. Hikers scrambled in, and it was a party bus now. Nobody was drunk, but spirits were roused high; we cheered our arrival, and set out to enjoy the night.

All the rain had now soaked the campsite. Poor drainage and stomping crowds made for large mud puddles that we learned to avoid. The bonfire crowed took a very long time to get worked up; the drummers were arriving late, but by 10 or 11 it was on strong. I wandered from group to group to campfire and back again, taking it all in. Eventually the Walk-On, Waldo, Dead Lung, and I found ourselves out by the cars winding down; everybody
had a long drive.

SUNDAY

Adam, Rachelle—both of whom I’d spotted dancing around the fire—and Dan—who I hadn’t—were up first. They were on the road right away, twelve hours of driving had taken precedence over trying to wait around and say proper goodbyes. Shortly after, Waldo, Walk-On, and Dead Lung were up. Waldo was leaving for a summer in Alaska on Monday, so he wanted to get out. Dead Lung was getting a ride with Waldo, so he was off. I had a full day on the road, and volunteered to carry Walk-On to his car half an hour east near the highlands on VA 603, so I was ready to leave, and followed Waldo out.

The morning after

This is how Trail Days ended, and I found myself stuck in a parking lot on I-81, but I had a 7 CD audiobook by Columbia Univerity anthropologist Terrence N. D’Altroy on the Incan empire to keep me going. The drive was still taxing. I arrived in Manassas to stop over at Joel & Katie’s place for an evening of lazy catch-up and Ventura Brothers.

MONDAY

I left Manassas at 10 and had no problems navigating the DC beltway to 95 for the long drive home, learning all about the Incas and their downfall. Now I’m at home, and too tired to say much about Monday. I haven’t had a shower in three days, a change of clothes in four, and a hot shower in six. My legs hurt ache sharply from the day hikes and dully from the driving. I have house-work piled up and shopping to do. I’m tired, happy. Perhaps on Wednesday I’ll do a proper auto-debriefing.

The rest of the picture are here.
Sample drum circle music is here.

[TEMP: I haven’t put captions on the pictures yet. That’s on my todo list.]

* * *

I didn’t get an idea of how many people were there- total? — Chris May 18, 03:24 PM #
Neither did I. Maybe a thousand hikers, maybe twice that many locals and tourists. Maybe more. The bonfires drew hundred at night, even during the downpour there were around a hundred. — Tom May 18, 08:08 PM #

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