Day 2: Roan Mountain Shelter to Clyde Smith Shelter

It was so dang cold this morning that even though we were wide awake by 6, none of us could bear the thought of emerging from our sleeping bags till almost 10 a.m. That’s a new record for me – I don’t think I’ve ever lolled about so late in the morning on a backpacking trip. It felt downright indulgent. I was about to ask if someone could pass me some bonbons, when Rob and Tim finally dragged themselves outside to fire up the isobutane: it was time for their brew-ha-ha.

Here’s Tim in front of Roan Mountain Shelter, hunting for the java.

And while we’re on the subject of coffee, would you believe Rob brought not one but two coffee pots? The man needs options. In this case, a French press and an espresso maker. The French press is definitely second string, though – to be used only if the espresso maker gives up the ghost.

Here are the two back-country baristas, paying homage to the magical font.

After the boys had tanked up on the requisite amount of caffeine, we packed our things and got a move-on. We took our time noticing cool things like this amazing tree, which somehow still clung to life despite the fact that a person could pass right through its middle. It was a good day to dawdle a little, since today is our shortest-mileage day – just a seven-mile hike to Clyde Smith Shelter. All very fortunate, because Tim’s right knee has started giving him a fair amount of pain, especially on the descents. He’s a powerhouse when we’re climbing uphill, but put him on a downward slope and he slows to a crawl. Tonight he’s working on fashioning a second trekking pole out of a sturdy branch. He already had one hiking stick, which he picked up from the side of the trail early in the day yesterday, but his bossy sister told him he’d be much better off with two, especially when trying to negotiate a steep downhill grade.

As you can see from the picture, he’s either really determined to get it just right, or he’s silently cursing the day he decided to let me talk him into backpacking. (Click on it for a closer view of that furrowed brow - if I didn't know better, I might think it's a picture of our dad.)



We’re thankful that today ended up being totally rain-free and sunny, which meant that all our stuff that got soaked in yesterday’s hail-ish rain had a chance to dry out. In fact, by late afternoon it got downright steamy, and Tim and Rob started disrobing, which prompted some bawdy talk about how we might’ve just created the hiker version of Manhattan’s Naked Cowboy. Fortunately, though, there were no sightings of tighty whities. I’m all about being close to the earth and all, but you gotta draw the line somewhere.

We met a thru-hiker today who tortures - I mean entertains - other hikers by telling riddles. Really hard, complicated, annoying ones. The kind that aren't really designed to be solved by non-Mensa types. Especially non-Mensa types whose brains have turned mushy after a physically and mentally draining day of beating oneself to a pulp by hiking over miles of mountains. So if any of you reading this might know how five hooks and a broken matchstick, all found in an otherwise empty room with a dead man, could have resulted in the man's death, Rob and Tim and I would be most grateful if you'd email one of us.

I realized yesterday that I’d forgotten to ’splain to the boys the phenomenon of trail names. We met another hiker who introduced himself as "Medium Rare," and this quite perplexed my brothers. Rob tilted his head slightly to one side, raised one eyebrow, and studied the guy for a second. I think he was trying to decide whether to beat him up or just back away slowly. See, many section hikers, and almost all thru-hikers, assume some sort of colorful or symbolic nickname that they use during their hike. Some of the trail names I’ve heard on this trip include Mr. Cowpie, Twisted Sister, Storyteller, Wingfoot, Privy Monster, Prometheus, El Jefe, Kerosene, Black Cloud, Bear Bait, and Captain Jack. Sometimes people come up with their own trail names, and sometimes the names are sort of conferred on them by other hikers. People typically use their trail names when signing the shelter logbooks, and even when talking with or about one another – in fact, it’s common for people to hike alongside each other for days or weeks or even months and never know each other’s real names. (I know. Weird.)

It’s something I’ve never gotten into, so before this hike I didn’t have a trail name. But the tradition quite intrigued Rob, and he decided “Silver Shins” would be a particularly fitting name for himself, due to the fact that his Michigan legs are blinding white. For Tim, we decided on the name “Dr. Dog,” because not only does he love dogs, but his zillions of hours spent volunteering as a dog trainer for the Humane Society have turned him into an amazing expert in animal behavior. And it shows when he encounters dogs on the trail – every pooch we’ve seen out here really responds to Tim.

And me? Well, Silver Shins and Dr. Dog have decided that “Cupcake” is a fitting trail name. Why? Maybe it's just a funny bit of irony, since I actually aspire to be sort of an anti-cupcake. Or maybe it's because there’s no changing the fact that I’m still the baby sister (even though they both know I can kick their arses on this trail). Or maybe it’s just because I’m so sweet.

Yeah, that’s gotta be it.