I opened my eyes the next morning feeling stiff; regretting my drunken decision to sleep in the cramped back seat of the rental car instead of setting up my tent. I lifted my head and immediately laid back down as the hangover hit me. I had one hand clamped my throbbing head while the other blindly rooted through my pack feeling for the ibuprofen. I found the medicine and my Nalgene and forced myself to get out of the car. Breathing in fresh air, I stretched and then trudged through the mostly quiet sea of tents and cars to the bathroom.
Erin stood at the sink washing her hands. I grunted good morning and went into an open stall.
She cleared her throat, “So. You were mad at me last night.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
She laughed. “Yeah, you were.”
I laughed, too. “Yeah, I was. Whatever, I was drunk.”
“We all were.”
I flushed and walked out to the sink, catching her eye in the mirror. A memory from the night before flashed.
“Oh god. Did I tell Ben I was a good girl?”
Erin’s eyes widen. “Did you? Holy shit, that’s hilarious!”
“Fuck. That’s so embarrassing,” I hung my head and caught the time on my watch. I brightened, “Oh! We need to get to our hair appointments!”
We made our way together, tension from the night before forgotten, back to the campsite. Weeks earlier, we’d arranged with See Blue’s girlfriend, Roxy, to cut and color our hair at Trail Days. And so, in the middle of the field, with supplies she’d brought from home, Roxy went to work.
“We’re like real women again!” Erin told Roxy as we both admired our new looks in the mirror. Erin ended up with long layers and I got a shoulder length bob with pink and blonde streaks.
Around lunch we wandered down to the main street and found Mike and Ben sitting on a picnic bench watching a bluegrass band.
“Free hot dogs!” Mike yelled as they scooted over to make room for us. We grabbed handfuls of free food and talked excitedly about everything that had happened since the last time we’d seen Mike. Mike said he’d hiked with Nasty and Shaman, until he’d run out of money.
“And then I got to Damascus and spent a couple of days doing odd jobs for the guy who owns the diner until I had enough money to get back on the trail,” Mike told us. Neither Erin nor I were surprised; when we’d hiked with him, Mike had always been almost broke, needing one of us to front him until his parents sent more money.
“So, when did you guys start hiking together?” Erin asked, starting on her second hot dog. I was devouring my second bun loaded with ketchup, relish and mustard—a treat I’d started eating in college when my friends would visit the aptly named Hot Dog Lady after a night at the bars.
Ben told us that earlier in his hike he’d found an ID on the trail and had carried it with him for weeks.
“I was in town around a bunch of hikers one night and I pulled it out to ask if anyone knew this guy and Mike was one of the hikers I’d asked. I didn’t even recognize him.”
Mike said, “I was like, I AM that guy!”
“And then your eyes met and you knew it was true love,” teased Erin.
“Totally.” Ben smiled.
I watched Ben easily joke with Erin and decided that if things between us had felt flirty the night before, it was because he was just a friendly, flirty guy. Over the next hour our group grew and shrank as a few people Ben or Mike had met along the trail came over to catch up and then wandered off. See Blue and Roxy sat and talked for awhile and Brian and his friends stopped by on their way to check out the gear and craft fair.
We all exploded into cheers when faces familiar to all of us, Turbo and Lawn Ornament, walked over together. Turbo, who Erin and I had last seen at Miss Janet’s in Tennessee made me laugh so hard I cried when he told us how he’d hitched hiked down to Damascus.
“So, what’s it… I got a ride with this trucker who took me all the way here,” he said, hands flying, eyes big, “because he thought I was Jesus. And I didn’t say I was, but I didn’t say no, you know.”
Soon after they’d arrived, the hiker parade started. We’d all decided not to participate in the yearly spectacle of thru-hikers from past years who dress up in crazy outfits and parade down the main street. The hikers from the current year always brought up the rear and drew the most applause from the bystanders.
“You guys are the only other hikers I know. Everyone would think I was lying if I said I was thru-hiking this year,” I’d said when Mike asked if Erin and I were going to join in.
The bulk of hikers started anywhere from late March to early May and spent their days surrounded by other hikers and their nights at crowded shelters, whereas we’d only met a handful of thru-hikers during our months on the trail. It was one of the reasons why Erin and I were so excited to see Lawn Ornament, who we’d only hiked with a few days and hadn’t seen since our third night on the trail. Besides Soft Serve, she was the only other woman thru-hiker we’d met. After the parade, the three of us wandered around the craft fair looking at poorly thrown pottery and mostly crystal-based jewelry, and discussed one of the foremost concerns of women hikers; peeing.
“I hate how long it takes to pee,” I’d complained. “The guys don’t even have to stop what they’re doing. Sometimes I’ll be talking to one of them and the next thing I know, I look back and their back is turned and all I hear is a stream hitting a tree. And then the next second, they’re hiking again.”
“I think the best day was when Sal and I mastered the pack-on pee,” Erin said, referring to our newfound ability not to have to stop and unstrap our packs every time we went to the bathroom, which ate up precious hiking minutes. In the beginning, our legs weren’t strong enough to support ourselves if we tried to squat down with our heavy packs still on, a sad lesson I’d learned after I’d once tipped over backwards, shorts around my ankles, directly into my own pool of urine.
“I’m getting pretty good at not even squatting all the way,” I bragged.
Lawn Ornament stopped and gave us both a serious look. “Dudes. I don’t even pull my shorts down.”
“WHAT?!” Erin and I gasped in unison.
“Yeah,” she said, a look of pride in her eyes. “I don’t wear underwear so I just pull my shorts over and pee standing up.”
“How do you not splash all over yourself?” I asked, incredulous.
“I don’t know, I just don’t. Must have a super straight stream.”
Late in the afternoon, I’d found an empty phone booth to call Kevin and my parents and was heading back to the campsite to meet up with Brian and Erin. As I walked up Main Street, I heard someone calling my name.
“Not Yet! Sally!” Ben yelled, running across the street from the local outfitter.
Without explanation, he handed me a small jar of Burt’s Bees lip balm.
“What’s this?” I asked, confused.
“Last night you said you’d run out, so I grabbed you some while I was shopping.” He said plainly.
“Oh yeah… wow… thank you,” I stammered. “How much was it?”
“Nothing. It’s a gift. I’ll see you later,” he smiled and ran back across the street and down towards the craft fair, leaving me standing alone on the sidewalk, feeling both touched and slightly taken aback, holding a jar of lip balm.