[at-l] Punchbowl to Waynesboro, VA Day 1

["W F Thorneloe, MD" <thornel@ibm.net>]

Day 1, 10/16/99, Saturday

Kate is standing in the crisp air of Charlottesville, as the Amtrak arrives 
at 6:40AM. She wears a bright blue fleece, but clearly is not as bright 
over the early hour, and the fact that this is her Day 3 of Fall Break. She 
has kept her end of the deal to get me to attend Parent's Weekend at UVA 
next week, and miss the FSU/Clemson game. She had no idea of the bargain 
she had driven.

We gorge at Wafflehouse, get a few last minute purchases at Food Lion 
(Peanut Butter, burrito wraps, and paper for this journal), and head out 
toward the "AT" and a week Dad to wander in the woods. My youngest has 
expressed doubts that I am being safe and that I am in shape. My wife is 
keen for me to keep this planned trip, but her voice indicates ambivalence 
as she cleans the debris of her father's furniture and memories, flooded by 
Hurricane Floyd. But the car is picking up speed along I-64 on the way to 
Rock Fish Gap and my goal later this week.

I slept very little on the train. Amtrak seems to have a monopoly on 
creating flat seats and flat butts. Some of the car mates talk as if from a 
bad Cheech and Chong movie. Others appear on Death's doormat, traveling 
between doctors and home.

Kate drives a scenic route and down the Blue Ridge Parkway with only one 
error. She had little choice in the error. Whilst she drove, I flipped a 
mental coin in my head.Tails to go to US 60 and Long Mountain Wayside, 
Heads to go to the Punchbowl parking area at Blue Ridge 51 mile marker.

Heads won.

***Note to self: get water _before_ you leave the car.***

The water at the Punchbowl lot is a small, slow trickle from a pipe, next 
to a freely flowing huge road drainage pipe. Thank God for Polar Pure!

I walked, awaiting the Polar Pure iodine to purify the water, and enjoying 
the Saturday in the woods. Suddenly, Rock and Roll clashes against my 
brain, and only get louder and more exuberant. I reach a forest Service 
road crossing with tens of happy, loud and obnoxious people - and no sign 
of where the trail goes. They are giving away Pepsi cups of water, 
gatorade, and juices. Some seem rude and simply grab and go. At least the 
calmer ones gave me water and located how their sound truck hid the white 
blaze for the trail.
Later, I learned this was a 50 mile run through the woods. I wish their 
enthusiasm included litter detail.

The walk to Little Irish creek was longer than expected. The Pedlar Dam was 
cool. I met Hemlock from Cinncinnati with her grandson on a day hike. 
Pictures were exchanged, with only near disaster as we squeezed past each 
other on the narrow bridge below the dam.

The Lynchburg reservoir was blue and clean. I met Ben and his father Roger 
with whom I walked much of the next 2 days. Ben works at the REI near 
Bailey's Crossroads and enjoyed my fashion statements of gear. Roger is a 
biggy with Unicef and very concerned about tragedy far from our homes. They 
are training for a climb up Mt Killamontjaro this fall.

Brown Mountain Creek is neat but creepy. Rock walls and other ruins 
increase the feeling that this was valued land, but the owners are gone. As 
I walked from the reservoir, the darker and denser the woods and rock work 
grew.

The Brown Mountain Shelter was a have. One family camped nearby, refugees 
from the hiking plans turned aside by the racers. I slept near the shelter 
in the Nomad.

The shelter mate was Chuckwagon from Richmond and the Natural Bridge Club. 
We heard football scores, ate popcorn, traded recipes, and a had a good time.

I slept better in the last warm dry night for a while.

OrangeBug
Atlanta, GA

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