The next day, I awoke, just lying on the trail. Curled up around my backpack, somewhere close to the peak of Roan Mountain.
And what I felt that morning was pain. Pain in my knees, hips, and shoulders. And all those joints were swollen and aching. Particularly my knees and hips, which hurt so bad that they literally felt like they were on fire. Meanwhile, my eyes stung and burned, unabated. While, at the same time, my head throbbed and pulsated, like it was about to split apart at any moment. And even just the sun on my face seemed to burn and singe my skin and eyes.
To add to all of this, I strangely had no memory at all of the previous day, or night. So no past, no future. Only the present moment of torturous pain all over my body. Leaving me with only a longing to be back home. In a cool, dark room, where I might recover in time. So I stumbled to my feet.
Then made my way slowly and painstakingly down Roan Mountain to Carver’s Gap, where I prayed to God that the Carver’s Gap to 19E shuttle vehicle would somehow be miraculously waiting for me.
But when I got there, I didn’t see any people at the A.T. trailhead. And there were only a few vehicles parked along the silent and empty roadway.
Moreover, there was certainly no trace at all of the Mountain Harbor Hostel shuttle SUV…
So I carried on with my agonizing march. Finally reaching the Overmountain Trail Shelter around 3:00 pm. Stinking, and drenched with sweat. Exhausted, I set up camp on the open lawn there, near a few other hardy A.T. section hikers. Then I ate a meager meal of Ramen, alone. Just trying to keep to myself.
For I was in no mood at all to converse with my fellow A.T. section hikers, who’d also arrived in good numbers, here, at this very famous location on the Appalachian Trail. As, at this point, I realized that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. And I was also fairly sure that all of the other A.T. hikers had also noticed this peculiarity about me. Indeed, I could see the palpable fear and sheer mistrust in their eyes in the furtive glances they’d occasionally cast at me.
Still, no one approached. Or even said a single word to me.
Until night came. And they built a tremendous bonfire. Which they eventually pushed and piled, as a fiery wall all around my tent. And so, I awoke to this inferno completely surrounding me.
Then, from above, suddenly, burning logs, branches, and sticks came raining down upon me. And all my belongings went up in flames. The blaze nearly engulfing me…
“You killed those men! You monster! You abomination! You killer! You creep!”
I heard the voices of the people, cursing and screaming.
But I adroitly escaped this angry mob by leaping through the solid wall of flames, then slashing through one, or two, of them with my knife. Instantly disappearing into the shadows of the night.
No, they’d never burn me alive now. The fools. Because you can’t kill, what you cannot see.
And so, I retreated even deeper into the secrecy of the night, finally finding some refuge among a local pack of coyotes. Who huddled together against me, keeping me warm throughout the coldest part of the night.
But oh, would I help them take down one of those man creatures in the campground below us? No, I couldn’t do that until the moon waxed full again. Then, I’d come back around to ride the night with them. I swore this to my new friends.
And oh, how they yipped and howled with glee, terrifying all the sleepless A.T. campers in the basin below.
But all through the night, I just couldn’t seem to ignore this other primal voice that I heard deep inside of me, which kept on urging me to return to the chaos and comfort of humanity. If only for the remote chance that I might someday find another kindred spirit, who’d gladly walk these magnificent balds and lush valleys with me in peace, love, and harmony …
Gary Alan
After a long career in the publishing industry, Gary Alan left his corporate job to pursue his next adventures in life as a blogger, writer, investor, fly fisherman, hiker, and traveler. He is the author of the adventure fiction book, 'Big Thunder-Hearted River'.