4/26: A Day in Denton

This is the day that we may, quite possibly, look back upon as the day we hit our stride.
After our conversation Saturday, we awoke in the field with a decidedly different mentality: relaxed & unhurried; side- car passengers. We had been working into a pattern of rising earlier, and were up and out of bivy on our way to the Shell station by 9:30. The dayplan: hitching a ride. My heel needed a break, and Chris was enthusiastically taking to the Relax- Enjoy- Slow Down method. This day had a much different feel to it than the rest.

The weather was sweltering, with a blistering sun, and temps hovering in the low 90's all day. We set up on the Shell's sidewalk, a ways away from the entrance, and spent the first part of the day writing, chatting, and just enjoying the, for lack of a better phrase, liberation of surrender to fate. I knew we'd get out eventually but I was smitten with Denton, so even if it took a day or three, my heel would be healing the entire time and I'd come out the other end better off.

We began by essentially replaying my first days in Ft. Morgan last May. Just hanging out, making use of the handy water- spicket to keep cool, while minding our own business hoping to strike up a conversation that would lead to Lewes. With a similar result as Ft. Morgan: Sunburn. We eventually made up a sign that said "Lewes", to no avail, and around 3 decided to change locales, to the roadway.

We leaned Chris's pack, with sign attached, against a sign post then reclined against the guardrail for the rest of the afternoon. Not once did we raise a thumb... again repeating the ineffective tactics from early in last year's trip. Inexplicable.

There were a few humorous moments, mostly borne from boredom and borderline heatstroke. We created our hitchhiker boy- band characters. I was going to be the brooding, quiet, sensitive one (getting all the chick's moms) who would ride in the pickup bed. Chris would be the pretty, affable one who had all the 13- year olds swooning. He would also be the one who entertained the driver. I'm not sure he was happy with the casting.

Another was the Saga of Nibblitz. For Bill, and all the other South Park fans, Nibblitz would be the Kenny of squirrels. I was entertaining myself by trying to toss peanuts into Chris's hiking boots, when one or two went into the highway. The narrative then developed about how the friendly, cuddly, creature- Nibblitz- would bound happily into the highway chasing his bounty of nuts, then would promptly be flattened by an environmentalist in a Prius. Like Kenny however, Nibblitz would be resurrected to die another day. It would later be from cardiac arrest after spilling some instant coffee on the ground. Ahh, hitching.

Ultimately, Chris decided we should wander back to Food Lion, where we would be curiosities rather than hitchers. I reluctantly agreed, acknowledging that we had not exactly blazed a trail east using the current technique. If Food Lion failed, we'd then wander toward Martinak State Park, which was perhaps a mile away, since there was also a compound the librarian had referred to as The Brotherhood adjacent to it. We did manage to meet some kids in their late teens or twenties who thought we were completely awesome, and as I overheard them say on the way to their car, "two of the coolest fuckers ever." They obviously had heard our boyband.

Other than adolescent idolatry, nothing came of the Food Lion trip. We bought the night's "dinner" at the Dollar General, and began to make our way toward the "Brotherhood" and the state park as the sun fell. I discovered through the day that I could walk quite well in my sandals, so I strapped my boots to Elmo and steadily hobbled along.

The Brotherhood and the state park lie down a sleepy side road, about a half mile off 404. As the road got darker, I began to wonder what other meanings there could be to "Brotherhood". We weren't in Mississippi, so I thought it unlikely that this wholesome librarian was sending us to the doorstep of the Grand Dragon of the Maryland Chapter of Hooded Klansmen. As we arrived however, I confess I saw the scene from O Brother, Where Art Thou, where they stumble onto the meeting. The sign signified that this was a camp of some sort, rather than a shelter, run by the Church of the Brethren: Brotherhood. The driveway leading to it was ungodly, and rather cultish, so we decided to skip the sure spiritual enlightenment in favor of Martinak State Park.

As we arrived, we saw that there was a Day Use sign posted, which brought back memories of Muir Beach. We had also been scoping for stealth camping sights along the road, but I was quite ill- equipped to be trekking around the woods with ticks and Widows... since I was sock- less and in sandles. We were unsure about how to proceed at this point, so we flagged down an RVer who happened to be leaving to ask about camping. I believe the sight of two dirty vagabonds appearing out of the dark frightened him, as he refused to roll his window down any further than a crack. As soon as he left, fate intervened. A man had apparently noticed us lingering and was walking down to check on us.

Bob used to be a Park Ranger, and still lived on the property. He seemed a bit suspicious at first, but when we told him what we were doing and we were seeking accommodations, he turned into one of the friendliest people we've met. He told us that there was indeed camping, then personally led us to the spots. We quickly determined that we would probably be paying for the site, so just decided to go with it. The campground was nearly deserted, so we had our choice of sites. We had just set our packs down, when Paul drove in.

Paul was the Park Ranger on duty for the night, and again, beyond friendly and helpful. Must be something in the Denton water. We told him about the website, a few of our experiences, and pretty soon, we were all laughing like we were old schoolmates! When I told him about my heel, he took me to the truck and provided first- aid supplies from the most bountiful kit ever assembled. He then pointed out the SHOWERS (!), then offered use of the washer & dryer! It gets better. When I asked him the about registration and payment, he said we'd already done it. We had a slab of ground nestled in a piece of Maryland Heaven... for free. Again, it seemed like things had laid out perfectly... all we had to do was follow. That would most certainly continue.

When Paul left, we were aglow. This mindset was paying dividends, and I was thrilled to see Chris notice, then embrace it thru the day. We spent the rest of the night next to a fire and watching spider- eyes glow in the grass.

I Love Denton.. pay a visit sometime!

4/25: Denton, MD

I initially thought I would be writing a virtual novel for this post, but instead I'm going to refer you to Chris's posts. He spent all morning writing about the mental gymnastics of Friday and Saturday, and articulated it perfectly. There's no use writing virtually the same thing here, other than to add that it's funny how often these little psyche- disturbances turn out to be valuable indicators that you're off course.

I point to that when trying to explain to people why I was so miserable doing radio; miserable to the point of hurling stacks of CDs across the studio, becoming (even more of) a total prick to work with ... and not being able to explain why. I firmly believe many people suffer from this peculiar affliction, but are ill- equipped (or afraid) to investigate it. Instead they accept the notion that they're simply "depressed", and run to the pharmacy, or do nothing until the pain becomes to great to bear. I can empathize with that, and it deserves more pity than criticism; it's how we're engineered. In that sense too, those whose barometer is active are blessed.

Saturday was a bit more difficult for me than the previous 12- days, and it was due "solely" to my feet, my left heel in particular, which had been getting progressively worse since Tuesday. It's a chronic problem, unless I have shoes that fit perfectly, and are broken in before I engage in marathon walking sessions. I'm using the same boots that I used last year, with great success, but I purchased them a scant two days before we left, so the leather had not had time to mold to my feet. After our chat Saturday morning (Chris's post), I had some miles left in me, yet was running short on blister- dressing. I was reusing the same bandage, simply adding more duct tape to secure it. That made it bearable but, after the few miles into Denton, I realized the tape was preventing air- circulation causing a problem of its own. Loose skin now spread the entire span of my heel. The actual blister was healing very well, but where the loose skin was meeting the intact skin was cracking, causing even more pain.

After Saturday morning's hurried, narrow escape from Hillsboro's abundance of Black Widows and ticks, I'm nearly in love with Denton. It reminds me of Pleasantville, without the creepy- factor. Our first stop was the library where we found some of the friendliest & helpful librarian folks you'll ever see. After two hours of Internet, and cell/ camera charging, they pointed us in the direction of the pharmacy, where I could buy some Moleskins. We walked about half way there when we got our first ride from a special- kind- of- crazy local and his wife, who were on their way to the store too.

Rite Aid happens to be literally next door to Food Lion, so we could conveniently replenish our dwindling food. Only after purchasing everything did we realize that there was a Dollar General two- doors the other way. I had learned the usefulness of the Dollar Stores from my carnie friends. Carnies are not the most savory of creatures, but one of their redeeming qualities is a special kind of fiscal savvy. You need that spend- thriftiness when your first priority is beer (or heroin) AND you plan to eat!

After the shopping, re- packing, and re- re- bandaging chores were completed, my heel began to dry, making it extremely painful to walk. We had come to the conclusion that we were going to set up Camp Denton, and begin the attempt of hitching to Lewes. This reminds me a bit of my central- Idaho experience last year, except there are no trucks to hope for, and no Mormons to fear me. Hitcher says, "Boo!" Hitcher also thought this may take awhile.

By sundown, the Food Lion shopping center had taken on the "small- town Saturday- prom night" vibe. I was feeling rather traumatized after dealing with pain all day, so we crossed paths with a pack of feral cats feasting on Food Lion waste, and found a place to camp hoping to get an early jump on Sunday.