Trail angels

It must have been obvious that I had never hitch hiked before. 

I was walking out of the Smokies and toward Gatlinburg, a good 15 miles away.  The shuttles listed in my guide weren't running, and I didn't want to pay $40 for a taxi.  So I picked up my bag, said goodbye to my trail friends, and walked along the newly paved road.  I was told it was an easy hitch, so I stuck my thumb above my head as I walked down the highway.  A string of cars sped past me as I wobbled along the shoulder of the road.

The minutes went by.  I continued walking as car after car sped within feet of where I was walking.  As they passed, every driver looked at me, every passenger craned their neck to stare.  No?  No one?  I remembered that I used to sit in a car often as I drove past hitch hikers.  I never thought I'd need a ride.  But surely someone would see my backpack and stop.  The string of cars continued.  People stared like I was a mildly interesting animal at the zoo.  Wow, a hiker in its natural habitat.  Don't get too close, dear.

The sun was out in full force that day, and I felt the heat of the pavement through my heavy boots.  A truck going the opposite way slowly rolled by, with three of my friends in back.  "Triscuit!"  they yelled.  "Stick yer thumb out!"

"You're going the wrong way!"  I yelled.

They assured me I'd find a ride as the truck picked up speed, then one of them yelled, "Put that knife away, dude!"  Damn.  I looked down at my shorts pocket and realized it was obvious that my 8 inch knife was there.  That probably didn't help my chances.

Another person rolled by and told me I looked like I was giving everyone a thumbs up.  My arm was straight up in the air.  I felt like an idiot but quickly lowered my hand as I walked.  A police car passed me.  Is hitching illegal here?  After walking four miles along the road I stopped walking and held out my hand, defiantly looking at the new string of cars making its way toward me.  Suddenly, a truck slowed and pulled over.  I ran toward it.  For a second I thought, Shit, what if it's The Gatlinburg Creep my friends told me about?  But I was happy to meet Terry and Jennifer, who offered me a ride into town.

I hopped in the back and felt sweet wind against my sunburnt face and greasy hair as we sped down the road.  They pulled over halfway through the ride and gave me a cold V8, water, an apple, and banana.  I didn't know what to do with it all.  I sat in the back of the truck, grinning, as I held the sloshing drink in one hand and the apple in the other.  This was a feast.  In town, they dropped me off, gave me a few dollars cash, and told me to be safe.  After thanking them profusely they were gone.

I'm not sure they knew how much I appreciated the ride, but that's part of the magic.  Along the way, there have been so many people who have helped my friends and I make a few more miles or a few more meals.  They have been strangers, locals, fellow hikers, or people just passing by.  They might not know how much we appreciate them.  But we remember.

We remember people like Lynn, who gave Owen and me a twenty dollar bill in a restaurant.  We remember people like Will, Mazie, and Liam, who kept me company and shared their stories, jokes, and food.  I remember Apple, who gave out water and cold soda at a dry intersection of the trail.  Charles, who gave me water and sandwiches while he was doing trail work.  Grasshopper, who talked about what to expect on the trail ahead and helped me finish my first 19 mile day.  Anne and Whit, who gave me sunscreen before I was about to go over a series of balds.  And Bob, the caretaker of Kincora hostel, who kept me company when I was lonely, with his wide wrinkles and wild stories.  

Trail magic somehow seems to happen when you need it most.  A stranger crosses your path when you're thirsty, exhausted, or lonely.  And a small kindness becomes the best part of your day.

On Wednesday I walked 9 miles to a beach where I'd be meeting my parents.  I was looking forward to it, as I had been dreaming about water all week, though I didn't know how hot it would be and I was worried I wouldn't have anyone to watch my bag while I swam.  As I walked onto the sand, I smiled at a family and they said hi.  They started a conversation, asking me questions about my bag, how far I had walked, and they said, "are you hungry?" 

I'm always hungry. 

They invited me to sit down while the food finished cooking on the grill, and I enjoyed talking with them.  Berta, Alfredo, and their extended family sat on the beach enjoying the weather as they told me stories and chopped up vegetables for pico de gallo.  At times they spoke Spanish and laughed with one another, and I still felt included and welcomed.  They served me first, telling me to take more, and when I was done I felt safe leaving all of my possessions with them while I dipped into the gloriously cool lake.  What a wonderful end to the day. 

We're encouraged not to trust strangers.  I think a lot of people would have been hesitant to trust Berta and Alfredo's family because of their ethnicity.  Apparently they had been getting dirty looks on the beach that day.  But the people I may have been told not to trust along the way have been my trail angels. 

After an afternoon of food, laughter, and sun, I thanked them, got a photo, and went on my way.  They probably won't see this.  We won't be friends on facebook.  My only connection left to these folks are the words and time shared between us.  It forces me to be more present on the trail.  Grateful.  So that maybe in the future, when I have my own pickup truck, I'll pull over when I see an exhuasted hiker, and I'll ask if they want a drink.