I was still coughing up thick green mucus, but compared to the wreck I’d been when I left the trail, it felt like a new lease on life.
The road walk out of Chatsworth stretched for miles ahead, but I didn’t make it far before a car pulled over, unbidden. No thumb needed. The driver introduced himself as Bob, and I recognized him from earlier in town, standing stoic in a giant sandwich board that urged all to ‘Repent’ while he handed out Chick comic book tracts to passersby.
Bob told me he had COPD and had spent months in a coma, kept alive by his wife’s refusal to give up on him. A tracheotomy had given him enough air to function, but his voice had the rasp of someone who had faced the abyss and come back changed.
He dropped me off in Dalton, a few miles shy of the road walk’s end, where I consumed yet another meal before leaving town and climbing back into the mountains. The ease of the day surprised me. Something about being back under the trees, feeling the earth beneath my feet, made me feel like I was truly back on the Pinhoti Trail, even though the road walk was officially part of it.
The only thing that slowed me down were the Joro spiders. Their thick webs stretched at face level across the trail, their black-and-yellow bodies dangling menacingly in the center. Slightly venomous, though thankfully reluctant to bite, I was forced to swat them out of my hair and clothes when my mind wandered and the body, moving without conscious effort, strayed into their trap.
Later, when I paused for a snack with a couple of ladies doing a section hike, I noticed my phone was refusing to charge. The battery indicator crept lower and lower until, by the time I reached Keown Falls, it shut down entirely.
No more maps. No way to track where water might be. No safety net.
All I could recall was that it was roughly 30 miles to Mack White Gap and the road to Summerville. With no other options, I tightened my pack, fixed my eyes on the trail blazes, and pressed on, hoping for the best.
#pinhotitrail #thruhike