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Along the Appalachian Trail
They couldn’t maintain their initial pace. February in North Carolina and Tennessee, especially this February, suffered serious rain events moving up the east coast converging with extraordinary cold fronts from the northwest. The result was a major winter storm along the Appalachian Trail every three to seven days. At lower altitudes ice was commonplace making it too treacherous to hike. At the higher altitudes, the accumulating snow made any passage a long tiresome slog.
Both Todd Adams and Achmed Al Hami lost at least 20-30 pounds, not that either of them carried any extra weight when they entered the trail head in Georgia. They met fewer hikers along the way, and on many days encountered no one. This limited the opportunity to barter for food and other supplies. Things had become so trying they eliminated night hiking and limited their daytime progress between late morning and early afternoon. They finally set aside their limited contact rule and risked establishing camp in empty shelters and lodges along the route.
Worse yet, and of far greater concern, their cash was running low. Even if they decided to walk off the trail into one of the small towns to buy a decent meal or supplies, they wouldn’t have enough cash to do so.
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The small town along the southern Tennessee border had fallen on hard times. The short thoroughfare, around which the town was built, had numerous empty storefronts whose old and weathered signs spoke of better times. There was a small dry goods store, a credit union, and a legal aid society where one paralegal handled everything civil and criminal.
The credit union was started by and for members of the mining community. When employment in the mines dropped into the abyss, membership was extended to teachers, county workers—just about anyone in the community with a part-time job or better.
Temporary Assistance for Needy Families, TANF, debit card deposits took place in the early morning hours that day. Members of the credit union would come to town to withdraw some of their federal cash assistance in hard currency. That was the one day each month the armored truck visited the credit union to deliver the cash required to meet the expected withdrawals.
Talk about serendipity. A day earlier or later, and the opportunity before them could not have existed.
Adams figured the truck had other stops to make that day. He had to move quickly. He found the dry goods store sold burner cell phones—a staple of the illegal drug trade whose presence was especially problematic in the poorest sections of the Appalachians. One of the phones included a pair of earbuds to use with the phone. The purchase left him with less than fifty cents. He had never been so poor, fatigued, sore, hungry, and now desperate in his entire life.
Al Hami leaned against the truck with a cigarette butt he found discarded in the curb pretending to smoke. While he engaged the truck driver in a pathetic attempt in conversation, Adams was under the truck threading the wires from the ear phones through a grommet on top of the gas tank and, hopefully, into the fuel. He wedged the small phone into the truck frame hoping it would stay put.
The armed guards left the credit union and drove away. As quickly as the truck moved away from the curb, Adams jumped up and ran to the only public telephone on the street. Using his last quarter, he dialed the telephone number he committed to memory.
It seemed to take forever for the call to be connected and the telephone to ring. In that time, the truck exited the east end of Center Street and disappeared into the distance. When they heard the explosion, the truck was almost a mile outside of the town limits.
They both ran in the direction of the explosion. They had no physical reserves to call on. Adrenaline and sheer determination carried them to the truck, but left them in such a diminished physical state that there wasn’t much more they could do.
The good news was that nothing more needed to be done. The truck had a nearly full tank of gas. The explosion devastated the undercarriage of the vehicle killing the guard in the cash vault and leaving the two in the front of the truck with serious injuries and unconscious.
It started snowing with a vengeance.
The rear door was ajar. The heavy canvas cash bags remained intact, however. Both Adams and Al Hami carried two bags each as they disappeared into the woods. Back on the trail they recovered their ruck sacks which they stashed before going into town. They resumed hiking through the heavy snow for almost an hour before they heard the sirens of the first responders. They didn’t stop hiking until nightfall. Fortunately, they didn’t encounter anyone along the trail. Toting four large canvas bags with the markings of the armored car company might prove difficult to explain.
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That evening they reverted to the earlier practice of establishing camp a mile or so off the trail using the canopy of a large evergreen to provide shelter from the snow. Three hours after making camp, their footfalls leading to the evergreen were covered by the drifting snowfall marking the arrival of a strong, persistent wind.
The next morning found them still asleep with Al Hami spooning Adams to conserve and share their body heat. They didn’t begin to move until noon. Both agreed to remain where they were for at least another day.
That evening they prepared the last of their food in what for them was a major meal. They used the last of their fuel to melt snow for water to rehydrate the preserved meals and to fill their water jugs. They had consumed the last of their supplies. They were officially on empty.
After a restful night of sleep, they cut open the locked canvas bags. Three of the bags contained checks presented to the small banks and credit unions along the armored car’s route. All of their hope centered on the remaining bag. It didn’t fail them. The bag contained a mixture of old and new bills in denominations no larger than a twenty. All told, the bag contained almost fifteen thousand dollars.
Four thousand dollars were in newly printed bills and bound in packs of five and ten dollar denominations. The bills in each pack remained in serial numbered sequence. Fearing the serial numbers could be used to track the stolen funds, they agreed to bury those bills in a canvas bag beneath the tree.
The cash remaining proved a challenge to carry. They neatly stuffed packs of bills into the large pockets sewn on to the sides of their pants and jackets. The remainder they split and hid in their ruck sacks which were empty of all food and supplies. Fresh water and previously circulated currency were the only items they carried.
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Back on the trail they encountered a group of four southbound hikers who were closing in on a complete traversal of the Appalachian Trail having starting in Maine. The six agreed to shelter together. That evening’s meal was outstanding. The four planned to stop in the small town and replenish their supplies so they were unusually generous.
Adams and Al Hami, in an attempt to hide their desperation, deliberately accepted and consumed small portions of the evening meal graciously supplied and prepared by their new friends. Limiting their food intake at that evening’s meal was among the most difficult challenge they faced thus far.
It took Adams and Al Hami two more days of slogging through the snow and ice to reach another town a short distance from the trail. Like the last, this town had too many abandoned store fronts to suggest any local prosperity. However, it did feature a small motel—a collection of cabins arranged in a semi-circle—and a five-seat diner. The proprietor made it abundantly clear credit and debit cards were not welcome. If they wanted his hospitality, then they’d have to pay in cash.
Al Hami summoned the strength to suppress his abundance of joy and to appear perplexed by having to pay in cash. He argued with the old man. Their cash was limited and intended only for emergencies. He withdrew his wallet—which held no plastic whatsoever—waving it as if it contained an abundance of electronic cash and credit. In the end, they both acquiesced and agreed to the “cash and carry” terms offered. Their performance was worthy of an award.
Again, they limited their evening meal to choices and portions typical of hikers seeking a good meal. They repeated the practice at the morning meal as well after having enjoyed the best night’s sleep they’d experienced in months. The only thing they enjoyed more was the shower—real soap and shampoo they purchased from the owner and the towels he rented for one night’s use.
As they prepared to leave, the owner offered to pack a lunch of BLT sandwiches, chips, and juice boxes. After another flare-up over the mandate for cash, the two stood down and tendered the cash demanded in exchange for the best lunch they’d seen in months.
They returned to the trail in extraordinary spirits. For the first time since they bolted from their respective homes, they allowed themselves to believe they might yet make it.