June 30-July 3
PenMar Park to Duncannon, PA
The most southern 1/3 of Pennsylvania was really quite lovely, and I thought “what’s all this terrible talk about ‘Rocksylvania’ about”
I enjoyed my hiking days, running into a few folks I’d met earlier on trail, but mostly meeting new friends. I shared shelter sites a couple of nights with the Viking and Good News, and got to know Singapore, Yellow Shoes and Spoons along the way. I mainly hiked alone and was OK with that but occasionally missed regular companionship. I had so enjoyed my time with friends from home in Harpers Ferry and Maryland, and I was really missing Ashleigh. I was occasionally feeling discouraged when the bugs would swarm and buzz and swarm. Once I hit my head on a low branch in the rain and fell down hard, slipping sliding in the mud and really injuring my dignity and my vim. But really mostly I felt strong and confident and never did I doubt wanting to be out here, hiking the AT.
As I approached the Susquehanna river, I was spending a good bit of time in my head, thinking about my 1988 failed Appalachian Trail attempt, which had ended in Duncannon. I thought about the various chapters of love, growth, loss, learning, adventure, which had come my way since then. Just before descending down into Duncannon, I stopped at an overlook. I had stopped at that same spot in 1988. I had felt discouraged and was in a great deal of pain at that time. Back then a doctor in Duncannon, who saw hikers for free, advised me to get off trail if I didn’t want to completely destroy my feet. I got off trail then, and went home, and I still have nerve damage on both of my big toes from that time. But this year, on this thru hike, I descended into Duncannon without pain, checked into the “Kind Of Outdoorsy” hostel, and felt a great deal of hope and empowerment. I showered and dressed in “loaner clothes” and went down the block to do laundry at a washeteria. During my wash load I crossed the street and grabbed a hoagie or a grinder, or whatever they call a poboy there. I spoke to Betsy, the hostel owner, about arrangements for a big slackpack the next day, then had a conversation with a Swedish thruhiker in which I suggested he could join me for that slackpack if he wished.
Later I went down the street to the Doyle hotel, where Heidi and I had stayed in 1988. Back then it was a charming dump. Today it’s been bought and updated. The bar/restaurant was in great shape and the food was delicious.
After filling my belly and enjoying the company of locals, I wandered back to the hostel for a great night’s sleep, not knowing my hike was about to change dramatically for the better.
