The Good Side of Alabama

For the night, I planned to stay in another motel. It avoids the whole issue of trying to find a place to stealth camp in such a populated location, though I certainly could have done so if I wanted.

But I wanted a cheap hotel, so I planned to hoof it to the Wetumpka Inn in, where else?, the town of Wetumpka just north of Montgomery.

I also made my plans known to the locals in Birmingham since it would likely be the easiest and closest location for them to meet me for those who were interested.

But so far, I hadn't heard back definitively from anyone. But I did let it be known that I planned to stay at the Wetumpka Inn and planned to arrive at some point before sunset.

The trail follows the main highway between Montgomery and Wetumpka, with all sorts of gas stations and convenience stores along the way. And I stopped at one to check my e-mail, which included a short message from Galaxy 4 saying they were on their way!

I called Mona, the one who left me the message, to let her know exactly where on the trail I was at and my expected arrival time for the motel, assuming she didn't kidnap me off the trail before then. I figured to arrive at the motel near sunset without any intervention, and if she couldn't find me on the trail, she'd wait for me there.

I was rather excited about the prospect of meeting real Alabamians who weren't perverts (presumeably) or policemen (no offense, Big Ox!). People to talk to!

About an hour later, a mini van full of people and two dogs honked, pulled a U-turn, and introduced themselves as the Galaxy 4.

I touch a nearby mailbox to mark my location, then jumped in the van for a ride to my motel. I planned to check in, drop off a bunch of weight from my pack, then slackpack the rest of the way to the motel.

It was on the way to the motel I learned another family had come out to meet me--Wild Dreams--and they were already at the motel. According to Mona, they could see the cockroaches already. =) I hoped that was a joke about the cheapness of the hotel rather than it really being infested with bugs.

At the motel, I checked in--alas, there were no non-smoking rooms in the motel. I asked for the room that smelled the least like smoke, and ended up with room #2.

I emptied my pack of most of the heavy stuff, then headed back to the parking lot with Galaxy 4 and Wild Dreams.

Being Easter, the only restaurants that we knew would be open were fast food, so we headed to McDonalds for dinner. There we did exchanges and entertained each other with stories.

I thought it most amusing that Galaxy 4 called up Wild Dreams at the last minute, "Hey, you want to go to Wetumpka?"

There's nothing in Wetumpka. There's no reason to go to Wetumpka. Unless you're a female convict on death row, apparently, as Galaxy 4 told me the prison holding them was within view of my motel. =)

So being invited to go to Wetumpka would leave you scratching your head, "And WHY would I want to do that?"

But they came anyhow, and I had all sorts of nice people to talk to. =) At least for a couple of hours.

Near the end of dinner, the men decided it would be fun to walk with me from where I was picked up to the motel--about five miles. I was absolutely thrilled at the idea of having company for five miles of my hike. I thought they were nuts--it was a boring old road walk, and at this point, it would be quite dark by the time we finished.

But they liked the idea and I had no intention of talking them out of it. We all went to the point where I got off the trail. I touched the black mailbox to continue my journey while the girls took both vehicles and left. One van would be left at the motel for the men to pick up and drive home while the women drove back with the second van.

And the three of us walked five miles back to the motel. Oh, it was fun, and the time passed very quickly. Easter turned out to be a pretty good day. At one point, we saw a police car pull out near us and we thought maybe he would stop to check us all out--wouldn't that be fun to explain!--but he ignored us and we made it to the motel without any new or harrowing experiences.

They really seemed to enjoy the hike as well, even if it were just a boring old road walk. It was sad to see them go, and I couldn't help but think, "Now THAT'S what I call Southern Hospitality!"

The next morning, I woke up and hit the trail, passing directly by the women's prison. Didn't see any inmates, but it did leave me wondering if the powers that be deliberately routed this trail through the worst places they could find.

The trail turned off the busy four lane highway onto a county road after several miles, and within five minutes, the first of the dogs jumped out and started going after me. *ugh*

Not much happened the rest of the day. More dogs chased after me, and in the mid-afternoon, a couple stopped to ask if I needed a ride anywhere. I was gratified at the offer, even if I couldn't accept it. It was the first time someone stopped to offer me a ride (without strings attached!) since arriving in Florida. It was nice to be meeting some nice people for a change.

At the end of the day, I camped in some woods a couple of miles south of Kellys Crossroads. The location turned out to be perfect, off a rarely used road a quarter mile from the nearest house. A small berm completely hid my camp from the road, and I rested well.

March to Montgomery

I woke up, refreshed and ready to go. I figured to reach Montgomery this day, which I was excited about. A large city meant busy roads, and busy roads meant owners tended to be more responsible with their dogs and kept them on leashes or enclosed. It meant more people would likely be walking, and less likely I'd be stopped by the cops for acting suspiciously. How sad is it when just *walking* down a street is thought to be 'suspicious' activity?

Frankly, I wanted out of the country. I was sick of it.

But I did have a good 20 miles into town, along those dreaded country roads. I didn't go more than a mile before I passed the first dogs that jumped up and ran towards me barking. Not under their owner's control, and I shouted at the dogs to stay back as I waved my trekking pole around.

This time, the owner was there, telling their dogs to come back, but the dogs didn't listen. They kept coming towards me, and I found myself annoyed that the owner didn't even have the engery to go after their dogs--just shouting from their porch to come back as if that's all that was expected of them.

Dumbass. The stresses from the day before returned in full swing.

The trail entered Montgomery on Norman Bridge Road, but when I went to follow it, big yellow signs warned that the road was closed 1000 feet ahead.

Which led me to wonder--is it closed to car traffic, or ALL traffic? I didn't know. I did know, however, that the road was supposed to cross a large river on a long bridge, and if it was the bridge that was out, then walking across would not work.

So I decided to follow the main road into town then follow a bypass road east back to the trail and the Diplomat Inn.

Sounds nice, don't you think? I knew it was cheap--the prices listed in my directions were cheap, and that's what I was looking for. Cheap.

I check into the motel, room 109, and relaxed in my own private sanctuary.

I did venture out once that night, across the street to Rite Aid, where I picked up snacks for dinner, a 2 liter bottle of Coke, and milk for the next morning. (The room had a mini fridge.)

The 2 liter bottle of Coke--no, I wasn't THAT thirsty. But rather, I was looking to replace my Platypus. Not knowing where I could replace it, or even if I could since Easter Sunday was the next morning, I jumped into plan B.

While thru-hiking the AT, I met a hiker who used 2 liter bottles for water swearing the end fit the grooves on the Platypus. He didn't want to pay for the Platypus bladder, so he used 2 liter bottles of soda instead.

Without access to a bladder, I would try the 2 liter bottle trick myself.

So I spent the night trying to drink two liters of Coke. I failed miserably, only finishing half the bottle before the end of the night.

The next morning, I poured the rest of its contents down the sink and rinshed it out with water a couple of times before filling it completely with water.

Now was the time of truth. How well would it connect to the Platypus's hose?

I screwed it on, seemingly securely, then squeezed the bottle and water oozed out between the threads.

That didn't work. I was disappointed--screwing in the bottle seemed like such a good fit. I examined the fit, jiggling the connection around trying to figure out the problem, but to no avail. It seemed like a good fit, until you squeezed the bottle.

Finally, mostly in frustration, I screwed the bottle in as tightly as I possibly could, until my hands ached, then squeezed the bottle. And nothing happened. No water leaked! Wooo-who!

I packed everything into my pack, carefully waterproofing everything in bags in case the seal didn't hold up the whole day, and hit the streets of Montgomery.

I picked a particularly lousy day to walk through Montgomery. I didn't plan for it to happen, but it was Easter Sunday. Darned near everything would be closed--except churches, of course.

This area isn't called the Bible Belt for nothing, either. I can't count the number of churches I passed along the way and half felt like I'd already read an entire sermon reading those witty comments welcoming church members.

And it always amused me that every church, no matter how small, always includes who the pastor is. It's not like I recognize any of their names. They aren't celebrities or anything, so why does the pastor's name need to be out there?

Not that it's hurting anything, but I just think it's odd. It's such a universal thing, you'd think there was a law requiring it.

In any case, for me, it meant nothing would be open. The trail was to pass by an outfitters--where I could replace the Platypus and my pack, but it was closed. I wanted to buy topo maps of the trail ahead, but that didn't work out.

I wanted to buy new shoes. The ones I wore had traveled about 450 miles and were reaching their life expectancy, but shoe stores were closed.

I also wanted to explore the city of Montgomery. I read that guided tours were available for the capital, where Jefferson Davis took the oath of office as president of the Confederate States of America. Montgomery was the first capitol of the confederates, and the house Jeff Davis lived in was there as well.

But they were all closed. It was Sunday, and not just any Sunday, but Easter Sunday. Some stores seemed to put up two closed signs to emphasis this point.

I did stop at the capital to take pictures, and photographed the exterior of Jeff Davis's old home. I read plaques throughout the city, and not once did a dog try to attack. All-in-all, it was a nice hike through downtown Montgomery.

I stopped at a Sonics for lunch--praise corporate America for making a buck, even on Easter Sunday--and tried getting into the Eastdale Mall hoping the shopping mall might be open, but it was not.

An anchor store, however, was open. A saw a bunch of cars parked outside of Sears and knowing they did have a shoe department, went in with my fingers crossed.

It was a long shot, I knew. Sears isn't known for their wide selection of shoes, and those that they have probably aren't as cheap as I'd like. But I was desparate and figured I may as well check, so in I went.

The selection was awful and the prices outrageous, but then I found a clearance shelf with reasonably priced shoes (but even more awful selections).

But shock of shocks, there was a pair with my size on it. Even more surprising, they were sneakers!

I tried them on, liked the fit, and bought them for $25 plus tax. Woo-who!

I dumped my old shoes in a trash can and wore the new ones out of the store before continuing on the trail towards Wetumpka.

What Do I Carry?

A number of people have asked about what I carry on this hike. I planned, after my hike was over, to weigh every single item I had, photograph them, and post a very detailed summary.

As it stands right now--not when you read this or when I upload it (which could take days for all I know--I don't know when the next payphone will be)--it is 5:00 in the afternoon. A full two hours before sunset, and I've already cooked an elaborate rice and bean and cheese burritos for dinner and cleaned up the resulting mess.

And I've finished all my reading material.

So I'm kind of bored. So right now, I will itemize everything I am carrying, minus food and water since those change dramatically from day to day anyhow.

First, my cooking stuff:

two quart pot with lid
soda can stove (plus simmer ring and extinguisher)
plastic spork
dish rag
lighter
pot holder
pot stand
plastic 1 cup drinking/measuring cup
2 bottles of denatured alcohol
mesh bag to hold it all together

I should point out--I usually don't carry two bottles of denatured alcohol, but I hate wasting stuff and the last time I bought denatured alcohol, it wouldn't all fit into a single bottle. So I have it in two. I hope to finish off one of the bottles soon and be back down to just one bottle.

My pot, frankly, is way bigger than it needs to be, mostly because I'm cheap. I bought it before I started the AT and I didn't know any better. It originally came with another pot that could fit inside this one and a frying pan, but I wised up and ditched those. I have been eyeing a 0.9 liter titanium pot for future use, however, weighing in at less than 5 ounces and taking up about half the space.

Shelter details:
1 tarp
4 metal stakes
4 plastic stakes
1 trekking pole
1 ground sheet
1 set of directions for tieing knots
extra rope

My tarp already has rope tied to each corner and edge, but I like to carry a bit extra rope in case I need to extend one of the pre-tied ropes. The trekking pole, obviously, serves several purposes, and one of them is to hold up one end of my tarp. I usually find a tree to hold up the other end.

I rarely use more than five stakes at any one time, and the most I've ever used on this trip is seven, so I really am carrying more than I really need. But they don't weigh much. *shrug*

The directions for tieing knots--I already know the important knots which I use on an almost daily basis for my tarp. I bought these directions when I didn't know any knots at all. Nowdays I like to keep the directions around to goof around with knots I don't know (and probably will never need to know). It's cheap entertainment, and pretty light as well. =)

Hygenic Stuff:
toothbrush
toothpaste
baby powder
Gold Bond
mouthwash
liquid soap
laundry soap
Purell hand sanitizer

All these are in trial or travel sized stuff. Small is good. The laundry soap is actually meant for washing clothes in the sink.

Miscellaneous Stuff:
I have some iodine tablets for purifying water, but it's a backup in case my ususual SteriPen doesn't work (dead batteries) or the water seems REALLY bad and I want to be doubly safe.

I have a small bit of duct tape, a pocket watch, an unbrella, a camera, sunscreen, headlamp, spare batteries (this varies over time, but at a minimum, I always keep at least two AA batteries as spares), DEET(!!!!), this PocketMail device, sunglasses, notebook, mosquito head net, pens (2), toilet paper (in its own bright red bag), Leatherman, and a wallet with money, driver's license, credit cards, and the ususual stuff.

Letterboxing Gear:
1 signature stamp
2 ink pads (green and black)
1 letterbox (to be planted in Alabama)
1 personal traveler stamp
1 mini logbook (not sure why I carry this)
1 personal logbook

Navigation Equipment:
1 compass
1 AAA map of Alabama/Georgia
Several pages torn out of the Alabama DeLorme maps (no way I'm carrying that WHOLE book!)
Printout of the Alabama Trail, Pinhoti Trail, and Benton McKaye Trail details.
Printout of maps with trail angels and contact details.

I should point out--I throw away the maps and pages as I finish with them, so those continue to get lighter the further I go.

First Aid:
moleskin
bandaids
tweaser
safety pin
Advil
Neosporin
antiseptic towelettes
2x2 inch gauze sponge (*heh* I didn't even realize I had that until I looked through my first aid kit to make sure I hadn't missed anything!)

Clothes:
For the most part, I carry two of everything. One to hike in, and one to wear around camp and sleep in. Even two different hats. The day hat has a wide brim to keep the sun or rain off my face while the night hat is made of fleece for warmth.

I do, however, have three pairs of socks--the third pair I use whenever the other two need a day off. Even shoes--I have hiking shoes (sneakers) and camp shoes (Waldies--like Crocs, but without the strap behind the heel).

I also carry an extra layer for sleeping in on cold nights. Body huggers, both top and bottom.

And a fleece jacket, for whenever I'm cold. Usually worn at night in camp, but on rare occasions on cold days while hiking. Same goes for gloves, which I also wear if mosquitoes are bad.

Recently, I picked up a "Don't shoot me--I'm a hiker!" vest, which I haven't worn yet but should be very useful if I pass through hunting areas. Amanda gave it to me as a gift. =)

I have a nice, goose down 20 degree bag.

Everything, of course, gets put into various bags. I have several silicon compregnated nylon stuff sacks, and everything else gets put into ZipLock bags. (I only use the freezer bags--they're thicker and tougher than standard bags.)

I always have lots of spare ZipLocks, though exact numbers vary on a near daily basis.

I keep stuff I want access to without taking off my pack in my fanny pack.

To store water, I have a Nalgene bottle (with Spanish-English translations on the side--hey! It could have been useful in Florida!), a 1.5 liter water bottle, and a 2 liter Coke bottle. That last one is an improvision. My Platypus failed, and unable to acquire a new bladder for it, I'm using the 2 liter Coke bottle instead. The cap actually fits with the Platypus hose.

And.... I think that's everything. Everything is accounted for, large and small alike. It sure sounds like a lot, huh?

Without food or water, I think my gear weighs about 15 pounds. Maybe 20 pounds, but probably closer to 15. With about five days of food and a full day of water, it weights in at about 30 pounds. When I really load up with food or several days of water, it might reach 40 pounds, but that's my maximum weight, and I don't stay at that weight long! =)

Ryan, checking in from Stewartville

I Need a Clever Title

I slept surprisingly well despite the ever threat of perverts, police officers, and cars driving by. I woke up at daybreak and started hiking particularly early, determined to reach the Crenshaw county line on my own two feet.

The first couple hundred miles of Alabama are not what one call beautiful or fun. It's pure road walking, which is undoubtably the most dangerous hiking there is.

The part that scares me more than anything, however, isn't the cars or perverts or axe murderers or muggers (I haven't even seen those last two, but I'm sure they're out there). It's dogs.

Especially on country roads where owners feel their dogs don't need to be kept on leashes or enclosed in a fenced yard. Most days, there are probably anywhere from five to ten dogs that rush out into the street, barking and looking dangerous.

It's so bad, I often consider where I might run for protection before I even see any dogs. I'll see a good, solid fence and think, "Hey, that would make a good place to climb up to escape any dogs that might think about attacking me."

I look for places that give me a height advantage, figuring dogs would have a tougher time getting me when I'm several feet off the ground. I also look for places that have a single entrance or exist--usually a fence with the door wide open--thinking it would be harder for a pack of dogs to surround me.

When I pass by houses on these rural country roads, I often carry my trekking pole instead of walking with it like intended so it won't make that 'click click click' sound every time the tip hits the ground. If I do use it, I'll make sure the tips hit the dirt or grass on the shoulder of the road where it won't make as much noise.

Basically, I try to sneak through neighborhoods so dogs don't hear me.

It's not usually effective--usually dogs will see or hear me when I get close enough--but it gives me more time to look for terrain to defend myself and sometimes I've heard dogs rushing into the street barking at me after I already walked a quarter-mile past them.

Little dogs generally don't worry me since I figure I can fend them off fairly easily. Big dogs with large teeth worry me the most. They look like they could snap my neck like a twig.

Gangs of large dogs scare me the most. When you're surrounded by four very large dogs that are close enough to see the color of their teeth, it really gets the adrenaline pumping.

The trekking pole is wonderful for at least giving me a sense of having something to protect myself with. I'll point it at dogs, yelling at them to stay back, and they seem to understand that the trekking pole can be used as a weapon because they'll back up a bit whenever I swing it in their direction.

Fortunately, no dogs have yet tried to attack me. Just a lot of scary moments where I wondered if this would be the time they finally attacked. I figure if one does attack, the trekking pole should be used as a lance rather than a club.

My natural tendency is to want to club them, using both hands to whack them hard with the trekking pole, but the poles are lightweight and hollow inside so I figure they'll likely snap if I used them as a club. Anyhow, it would spread out the point of impact along the length of the pole.

No, I figure using it as a lance would be more efficitive. I've worn the tip down so it's rounded, but it's still a small rounded point that I have little doubt could pierce quite deeply into the dog. The poles are designed to take weight lengthwise, so I could put a lot of power into the thrust without breaking it.

I'd probably try to pierce the body since it would be a big target. An eye or something would probably be very effective in getting the dog to retreat, but those are pretty small to hit. I figure trying to nail it hard in the body would be my best bet.

More than once, I wish I took a page out of Snap's playbook and carried mace. Don't mess with Snap. He does carry bear mace, but he carries it specifically to protect himself from dogs. If I ever had to thru-hike this trail again, I'd carry mace--and I recommend that everyone who hikes this trail do the same. People rarely are out to attack or kill you, but there will be dogs you'll want it for.

It's kind of sad, plotting how best to protect myself from loose dogs and plotting how best to hurt or kill one that tries to attack. It's not something I ever spent much time thinking about before, but it's a vital survival tool on road walks.

And every time one of those dogs runs out into the street after me, a small part of me wishes a car would come by and hit them. It would serve the owner of the dog right for not keeping their dog under control, and perhaps in the future they'll be more responsible.

So I hiked, wishing the road walk would end and wondering why I wanted to hike to Springer Mountain in the first place. If I had stopped at Pensacola, I thought, I'd already be home.

Not much happened to report this particular day. No police or perverts stopped to talk to me, and I pushed through to somewhere near the county line another 20+ miles up the trail, a mile or so before the town of Bethlehem.

I stopped, I think, just barely short of the county line. The trail went onto a dirt road--one of the few places where the trail became dirt--which seemed rarely traveled and largely unpopulated. I figured it would make an ideal location to stop for the night.

I found an overgrown road leading off the main road, and followed it optimstically. If other cars weren't even using this road anymore, I would certainly have the place to myself.

It led to an abandoned house, mostly collapsed, and I set up camp on the far side of it. I didn't want to be too close to the house--the remains are probably home to rats, snakes, and all sorts of vermin I'd rather avoid--so I camped a good hundred or more feet away.

It was a wonderful location, padded with pine needles. I was so far off the main road, I didn't even worry about my headlamp giving my location away--assuming anyone drove down the road in the first place.

For the first time since leaving Andalusia, I felt like I could relax and not worry about the 'human problems' that plague road walks.

I read Daddy's Girl for the rest of the night, happy to engross myself in a novel for the first time in months. I finished the book near 10:00 in the evening before finally going to sleep. The campsite was a much needed break for me.

I'd Rather Choke On My Own Vomit

Walking from one state to another, you usually won't see any obvious changes. The forest on one side of the state line looks the same on the other side.

But it didn't take more than a few days until I started thinking I had it good in Florida.

I should warn you--there is some disturbing stuff coming up. Kids, stop reading now. Really.

It started the night before Amanda left. I walked to a nearby convenience store to give my mom a call and update her on my progress. Amanda's cell phone didn't work in Andalusia and neither did the phone in our hotel room, so I walked off to use a nearby pay phone.

While talking to my mom, a car pulled up nearby and I asked the guy driving it if he needed to use the phone as well, but he shook his cell phone and said he'd try using that first. No problem, and I continued talking to my mom.

I saw the guy talking on his cell phone, so I figured he wouldn't need the pay phone and didn't cut the conversation with my mom short.

After we said our goodbyes, I told the guy he could use the pay phone, just in case he decided he needed it after all, but he seemed rather chatty asking where I was from.

The man looked about 30 years old, clean-shaven, but his car was filled with boxes and junk which made me think he lived out of it. He seemed short, though he was sitting down so it's hard to be sure, and significantly overweight. Nothing particularly scary-looking about the guy, though, so I humored him and told him about my hike.

Then he pointed down to his leg saying he what he really needed was a bathroom because he had wet himself, and sure enough, there was a puddle of liquid by his foot. Eeeewwww!

"Ah, well...." I said. "I guess you didn't quite make it in time, huh?"

Eeeeewwwww! Why did he have to tell me this?

Oh, if only it stopped there....

Then he said, "Hey, your kind of cute. You want to have sex?"

Eeeeewwwwww!!!!

"No!" and I immediately turned around and left.

He drove out of the parking lot, telling me out his window that that was a shame, because I was really cute then drove off into Andalusia.

Ewwww! I went back to the hotel and told Amanda what happened, and she was as grossed out as I was.

The next morning, Amanda was gone and I was on my own again. The rain had started up, so I lingered and delayed leaving as long as possible, seriously wanting to take the whole day off and stay dry in the room. But I needed to get miles on, so I packed up and headed out into the rain.

My directions took me through downtown Andalusia, and by the hiker headquarters for the area, but the building looked vacant and had no signage. I tried the door anyhow, hoping to get out of the rain for a bit and perhaps get more information about the trail ahead, but the door was locked. I continued on.

The storm eventually passed through and the sun started peeking out and I started drying out. After a couple of hours, though, the bottom of my pack and my butt seemed surprisingly wet--the rest of my pack and myself had completely dried, but my pack was positively dripping with water. Even worse, the water dripping onto my butt made it look like I wet MY pants! Eeewwww!

I took off my pack and pulled out my Platypus--the only source of water in my pack--and found it leaking. Drats. I emptied what water was left in it to my empty water bottles.

I finished the day camped under the Conecuh River Bridge. I got there early enough so I could find an alternative place to camp if I didn't like the conditions under the bridge--I learned THAT lesson!--but it looked quite acceptable and I set up camp just short of the town of Dozier.

The next day was clear and sunny, and I was making good progress on the road walks. A bit after noon, a man in an SUV pulled up asking what I was doing. Not THAT unusual, and the man didn't seem threatening. Probably 50 or so. So I told him about my hike.

"You want to...."

I didn't quite catch what he said, kind of mumbling.

"What?" I asked.

"Do you want a blow job?"

What the hell is wrong with this state?!

"I'd rather choke on my own vomit."

And without even saying goodbye, continued walking up the road. He drove off to destinations unknown.

I was stunned--propositioned TWICE in three days.

An hour or so before sunset, a police car stopped behind me and two officers got out. They looked like high school students in costumes, really, and one had a terrible acne problem. Were they even old enough to drink?

They asked the usual questions--what was I doing, did I have ID, blah, blah. They went back in their car to run my ID while I waited outside for the 'clear to go' verdict.

I was rather surprised at the result, though. They asked if they could drive me to the county line! They said they couldn't MAKE me go since I wasn't wanted for anything and wasn't doing anything illegal, but people who saw me walking down the road kept calling the police and they wanted to get me out of the county to get the calls to stop.

TWF?! What ever happened to Southern Hospitality? I've never felt so unwelcomed in my life. I told the officers I'd rather not--the point was to WALK from Key West to Springer Mountain, and they finally left to let me continue my walk.

I could not get out of Crenshaw County fast enough.

I camped in some woods just off the road near Centenary. Fearing creepy people and police alike, I did not set up a tarp so there would be less to see of me from the road, and refused to use my headlamp so as not to draw attention from passing cars with the light. I was absolutely determined to get out of the county the next day if it killed me.

And I spent the night just thinking, "I'm really, really beginning to hate Alabama." And what about those home-cooked Alabama dinners that the welcome kiosk at the state line suggested? No, I'm hiding out, scared to set up a tarp or use my headlamp in fear of attracting too much attention to myself. *shaking head*

Sweet Home Alabama

Amanda dropped me off on the Florida Trail for the last time, just four miles from the Alabama border.

The trail went into the woods, then crossed the road again just 1.2 miles from the border. A ribbon blocked off the trail, the kind I've seen put up because of prescribed burns when they don't want hikers to enter.

NNNOOOOOO!!!!!

Don't tell me I can't finish the last 1.2 miles of trail!

I looked for a note or writing on the ribbon to warn of prescribed burns or dates they were burning but found nothing.

It looked to me like the burn had already happened, so I decided to ignore the ribbon and continue on.

No problems, though. I didn't even find any smoldering logs like I would with a recent burn.

I reached a kiosk just shy of the official state line, but I considered it the end of the Florida Trail because it was here I saw my first yellow blaze.

The trail through Alabama--at least the first couple hundred of miles--is marked with yellow blazes instead of the orange ones that mark the Florida Trail.

There were photos taken. Of orange blazes and yellow blazes, of me next to a yellow blaze, of trees, of plants, and flowers. This point may have been the most photographed location of my entire journey. I even took a photo of my pocket watch with the time and date displayed. I wore out the batteries in my camera.

I signed the register there, a bit sad after realizing that I left my signature stamp in my pack. Since I was slackpacking, I didn't have my stamp, and it seemed wrong not to stamp it in on this historic occasion.

I followed the last of the orange blazes to Alabama where the trail came out on a dirt road. I took more photos of the actual last orange blaze I could find and the first yellow blaze that was actually in Alabama. It was a touching moment.

The rest of the hike was largely uneventful. The trail followed forest roads through Alabama. Only two vehicles passed me all day, both fire trucks with the forest service--probably checking out hot spots from still smoldering burns. (Apparently, Alabama likes to do lots of burns too.)

I hiked a whopping 27 miles to reach highway 136 for two reasons. One, it was a major road and Amanda knew she'd have no trouble finding the trail where it crossed THAT road. She might have a much harder time finding me on those forest service roads--especially since I had the maps for them and she did not.

The second reason for the long trek was because Amanda's last day with me was the next day, and so I wouldn't have to be dropped off on the trail at 3:00 in the morning, I was determined to reach the trail town of Andalusia. If I could hike in the next day, I could sleep in at the hotel then walk back to the trail when I was ready.

So I did a 27-mile hike to highway 136, where I found Amanda sitting out in a portable lounge chair relaxing and reading a book. She seemed considerably happier this time.

We stayed in the Sunset Inn, a cheap motel about 0.2 miles off the trail and about 17 miles from where Amanda picked me up. An easy hike into town.

The next morning, Amanda dropped me off on the trail. And this time, she had no plans to pick me up. I intended to walk to the motel and meet her there.

The trail came out onto dirt roads then onto the dreaded paved roads. I knew it was just the beginning. I'd be following paved roads for over a hundred miles now. On the road again...

I hiked to the motel and knocked.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent preparing for Amanda's departure. I resupplied food and supplies. I fixed up some last minute details on Atlas Quest.

And once again, Amanda snuck that little bag of joy into her bags and stole off in the middle of the night.

A Run For the Border

A remarkable thing was happening. I was a measily 28 miles from completing the Florida Trail. Technically speaking, I could be done in just one more day. More likely, I'd finish in two, but either way, I was almost done with Florida.

This particular day happened to be Amanda's birthday, so I joked that for her birthday, I'd take her out of Florida. She often complains about Florida--the heat, the humidity, the flatness of it all. She'll complain about South Carolina and North Carolina for the same reasons (minus the flatness), but I'd NEVER heard her complain about Alabama, so I joked that for her birthday, I'd take her out of Florida and into Alabama.

"You must like it," I reminded her, "because I've never heard you complain about it."

"That's only because I haven't spent any time there. Just you wait!"

So Amanda dropped me off back on the trail. My minimum goal for the day was a 20-mile hike to a certain road crossing, and if I was still up for it, to push on another 4 or so miles past Hurricane Lake to a second road crossing a mere 4 miles from the end of the Florida Trail.

There's not much to report about the hike. It was a largely pleasant walk through the woods. A time to remember adventures past and think about the challenges yet to come. Had I chosen to stop at the end of the Florida Trail, I'd have taken the fork that ended in Pensacola and probably be going home by this time tomorrow.

Instead, I have another month and 560-odd miles to Springer Mountain. But at least soon, I will have joined the ranks of successful Florida Trail thru-hikers. Memories for the ages.

After 20 miles, I stumbled out of the woods at a road. To the right, the road was paved, but it turned dirt towards the left over a bridge--the direction I was supposed to go according to my map though I couldn't find any blazes marking the route.

Amanda was nowhere to be seen, so I figured she was probably waiting further up the road. I crossed the bridge, just as Amanda pulled up from the other direction. She parked on the far side of the bridge, got out, and started tapping her foot.

Uh-oh. That can't be a good sign.

She'd been driving around for hours trying to find the trailhead. It didn't help that she didn't have good road maps for the area, but even when she found the correct road, she couldn't find any blazes or signs to mark where it crossed the road and had driven back and forth on it several times trying to find it.

She expected to drive out a couple of hours early, lounge around reading a book, and instead crossed into Alabama several times and only just arrived and hadn't read anything at all. She was not happy.

She had, however, stopped to pick up a sandwich at Subway for me which she pulled out of the ice chest. I ate the sandwich and drank a cold soda, then went back to hiking. I still had miles to do.

I continued down the road. My map looked like the trail ducked back into the woods where I came out after crossing the road, then crossed the road again another half mile up, but I found no blazes.

When I reached the road for the south campground for Hurricane Lake, I knew I'd passed the trail, annoyed at having lost the trail and completely understanding Amanda's anger.

I followed the road to the south campground knowing the trail was supposed to go near it figuring I'll catch it somewhere around the lake.

I did finally find a blaze about 30 feet deep in the woods and tromped out to the trail wondering how I missed where it crossed the road, but happy to be on it again.

It didn't last long, however. The trail crossed over Hurricane Dam to the north campground, and I lost it again.

ARGH!

I wandered around the campground, trying to find another blaze somewhere on the other side, going so far as the youth group site but finding no sign of a trail or any orange blazes.

I finally backtracked to the entrance of the campground (for cars) where I finally found a blaze and continued my trek.

The rest of the took me through still smoldering forests--one last fire, I suppose, before getting into Alabama--but otherwise was non-eventful.

Amanda was waiting at the road crossing, not having nearly the difficulity finding this one as the last one.

It was just four more miles to the border, but I'd save it for the next day.