Happy Feet

I got up early and evacuated my bivouac at Lebanon Coummity (sic) Church, not willing to wait around and see if anyone was upset with my presence there. The ADT goes into Tar Hollow Forest next. I chose to skip the thrills of thorns and brambles, moving instead on state highways. Call me a coward only after reading the following two bits of evidence - let us refer to them as Exhibit A and Exhibit B.
Exhibit A, one of the way points for the trail here lists these directions: Trail leaves Musgrave Rd. and turns left onto the more westerly of the two driveways. In 1000 feet leave driveway and continue south across lawn toward an electric utility pole. Just past utility pole, ford intermittent stream and continue south on mowed path. Trail soon fords a second intermittent stream and immediately turns northwest. For almost a mile the trail will be on old forest road that is intersected by other similar traces. Trail reaches a low ridge and turns sharply south. In 1100 feet at a "crossroads" turn northwest and ascend. In 1200 feet pass old log ridge you can see the pedestrian culvert that passes under highway. Descend to culvert and pass under US 35. Turn south on grassy bench and in 360 feet turn back toward corner of highway fence (no bench)....
This nonsense continues on for another eight lines of print, but I shan't bore you, I think you get the drift.
Exhibit B, a trail journal entry from Andy Niekamp. The most recent person to finish the Buckeye Trail, he completed the over one thousand mile circumnavigation of Ohio on June 14: "The weeds were high, the footpath was faint, blazes were few and limbs covered the trail. Someone had selectively logged a few trees and left the tops to cover the trail. Plus there was an assortment of fallen trees covering the trail.
I wandered off the trail and got lost several times. I had to backtrack. The trail would make tricky turns off the established footpath. The turns would be covered in weeds and I would miss them. Many blazes were faded or obscure. Navigating the fallen trees was hard and dangerous.
My spirit finally broke. Hiking the trail in this condition was too tough on me. I realized that I wasn't hiking the trail. I was fighting the trail instead. I came to the Buckeye Trail to hike it not fight it. The trail had been in bad condition for the last week.
I sat down on a high knoll and got out my smartphone. In frustration I wrote an email to the Buckeye Trail Association executive director, board president, state trail coordinator and a few trustees. I explained how poorly maintained the trail was and pleaded action. They need to know how bad the trail had gotten. I am just one of a series of hikers who hike on the Buckeye Trail in southern Ohio and encounter these conditions. Some hikers quit in frustration and never come back.
I resumed hiking and things got worse. I missed a turn and ended up at an Amish Farm. I could tell it was an Amish Farm because it had the biggest clothes line full of clothes I had ever seen. An Amish lady was outside holding a baby. I asked for directions. She told me to backtrack which I did. I found the turn I missed. I had seen it before and figured it was not the correct turn.
I came to a spot where the blue blazes went in two directions. A faded sign by a logging company said the trail was rerouted in this area. I chose the wrong set of blazes and got lost. I backtracked and followed the second set. The trail disappeared into the woods. Whomever blazed this route spaced out the blazes too far. I got lost a few more times. To me this part of the trail looked abandoned.
I finally got to a road. I was whipped physically and mentally. It took almost four hours to go three miles. I was so disappointed.
I decided to walk to Fort Hill on roads instead of taking trails. There was no way I was going back into the woods on this section. The route by road was slightly longer than by trail but it was easier. My head was spinning from what I had just come through.
I got to Fort Hill and took a break under the picnic shelter. It was shaded, cool and breezy there. It felt good to take a break from the 90 temperatures. After the break I decided to hike a few more miles. But after going about a quarter of a mile and feeling the heat and I humidity I decided to turn back to the picnic shelter and camp there. I set up my tent under the picnic shelter. There was a stream nearby for water, restrooms, picnic tables and trash cans. Nobody bothered me there.
I felt sadness for the Buckeye Trail, the Buckeye Trail Association and Buckeye Trail hikers. Nobody wins when the trail is like this. There has got to be a solution for this."

So I road-walked to Richmond Dale, 12 miles or so from my starting point and had a very nice, uneventful day up to that point. I spent some time at the store and then the library, where I learned that a couple of trail angels, Connie and Mike, lived next door. I went over to say hello, but they were not home. There was nothing to do but get back on the trail and head to Scioto Trail State Park, about eight miles away, where there was a place to camp.
I had traveled a mere two blocks before a small car stopped and the man inside started asking me hiking questions. I knew almost immediately that I was speaking to Mike. Connie was returning from the store (I would have run into her five minutes later if I had missed Mike) and took me back to their house for a shower and a drink. My left foot was starting to bother me so I was more than happy to call it quits for the day.
Once we arrived at their house, the two of them kept coming and going in an almost comedic fashion, so that we were having alternating conversations and my tired brain could barely process what I had said to whom. Eventually I realized they had invited me to stay in their home and slackpack for the next couple of days until Mom and Colin arrive.
Later on in the evening MC, as I will now refer to the duo, took me out to nearby Chillicothe for a nice meal and then showed me a bit of the city where I will be staying with my family. One particular space on the north side of Chillicothe has been used for an amazing variety of purposes over the centuries. You can stand on burial mounds used by a group of Native Americans known by anthropologists as the Hopewell Indians and admire the two state penitentiaries on either side. The old Erie canal also ran right through here during the 19th century and World War I saw a huge training facility called Camp Sherman hastily built right atop the burial mounds.
I'm really enjoying my time with Mike and Connie, their hospitality is out of this world and their knowledge of hiking dos and don'ts will no doubt be of great service to me as I move down the road. Most of all, holy cow am I excited about slack-packing - after forty days the burden of the massive pack will be lifted from my shoulders for a short while. I imagine I will burst out of bed and get a running start in the morning.

12 miles/671 miles

Festivus For the Rest of Us

June 12: I had promised Michael and Sabina not to go until after breakfast, so my departure was delayed by their binging of the night before. By the standards of my friends I had taken it easy, just a few beers and in bed before midnight. Others may view my behavior as rampant alcoholism. All value judgments are relative I suppose.
At the crack of eleven Michael rose and cooked a tasty breakfast of eggs, hash browns, and Bangladeshi tea. We said our goodbyes, but my woman's intuition tells me we will meet again sometime in the future.
I moved on as I always must and joined country roads for the majority of the early afternoon. I saw little traffic and met only one human, Gwen, who gave me water and told me of her husband's recent battle with liver and hip ailments. May you have many more happy years together Gwen!
I also learned important news from Gwen. My terrible timing had caused me to miss Logan's washboard music festival, the only one of its kind in the United States - and no doubt for good reason. I'm on a bad streak, missing the Nelsonville Music Festival, held very far from the landfill I pray, and the New Straitsville Moonshine Festival (a highlight from 1978's event is pictured above).
By quarter til four the Buckeye Trail entered Hocking Hills State Forest and I disappeared into the brush. The setting was the same as yesterday, but writ large: ancient forest and hills with formations of sandstone rising above in their rocky glory. I had hoped to see Old Man's Cave today, but I made slow progress and when I reached the Hocking Camping Area around 7 I decided to call it a night.
Ten miles = 641 for the trip.

Serendipity in Them There Hills

June 11: The time has come to put on my big boy pants and hit the wilderness. I had taken a scare at Burr Oak and left the not exactly well-tended Buckeye Trail for a few days. Alas, walking on highways is just a slow motion version of driving them. Sure you make some miles, but what do you actually see? For days I had heard from Ohioans that Hocking Hills was a special place not to be missed.
My first glimpses of the park's periphery are making me a believer. There is a primeval feel about the place. A variety of evergreens grow high and thick in the dark forest like that tall, mysterious, and handsome man you've always wanted to meet. The real draw, however, are the rock outcrops and overhangs that dot the park. There are caves here said to have been inhabited many thousands of years BDC (before Dick Clark), adding to the aura of a land that like Mr. Clark has seen many ages come and go while remaining unperturbed.
I managed to meet a group of people as engaging as the scenery. Traipsing thru Wildcat Hollow in the early afternoon I ran into a spot of ground dotted with tents and caravans. There were no obvious signs indicating a campsite so I tentatively wandered in to investigate.
I was greeted by Michael and Sabina Koehler, who quickly made me feel welcome, filling my water and explaining that this was a private site their friends and family (of which they have many) had rented for the weekend. We chatted awhile and they invited me to stay the night. I'm trying to slow down so I don't overshoot a rendezvous with my family and they mentioned something about beer, so I was glad to accept.
We spent the afternoon in the solitude of the cave at the back of the grounds, getting to know one another as a small waterfall dripped playfully over the rocks behind us. Occasional sips of Red Stripe and Great Lakes Lager, my first Ohio brew, added a buzz to the proceedings. Great Lakes Burning River IPA, which celebrates one of the great moments in Cleveland's history, is a must try for the future. Michael and Sabina's terrier Griffin provided entertainment, brutally attacking dogs twice his size and paying the price on every occasion.
In the evening we sat around the fire and told traveling tales. I heard the story of a cross country bus ride full of thieves, prostitutes, and lunatics that made the dangers of my trek pale in comparison. Making matters worse, their journey ended in Detroit. Talk about going from the frying pan...
For dinner Michael's brother John grilled some mouth-watering barbecue chicken. As the guest of honor I got the second best piece.
I could write much more about Koehler and friends but I shan't bore you with details. Just know that I met a battalion of intelligent, giving people with interesting personalities who possess tremendous group chemistry. I reckon I'm pretty glad I decided to head for them there hills.

11 miles/631 total miles