The dumbest thing I ever did on the AT happened mostly because I was so excited to return to the trail.
From 2007 to 2018, I backpacked the AT with one or both of my sons, from Springer Mountain to Atkins, Virginia. I didn't do a trip in 2019. By 2020, I was ready to return to the trail, this time solo, as both of my boys were otherwise engaged. The planned trip was from Atkins north, perhaps as far as Pearisburg or to whenever my stamina and morale ran out.
I was darned excited as the day approached. I went to bed early on the eve of departure, around 8. Too excited to sleep well, I got up and left home at midnight, beginning the six-hour drive up I-75, I-40, and I-81. The trip went fine, as I listened to late night music on scattered southern stations. Sometime around 5, there was a stop at a McDonalds in Virginia for breakfast and a short nap in my rental car in a hotel parking lot. At 6, I parked at the old hotel at Rural Retreat, paid the clerk, and began walking.
It was a nice summer morning, a bit on the cool side compared to Georgia in mid-July, and humid. I soon passed the Davis Cemetery, climbed through pastures, and reached the 1/4-to-Katahdin mark after only 13 years of sectioning. The first break was at the picnic table where the old Davis Farm Shelter once stood. The second was at Reed Creek to pump water. The climb up and down Walker Mountain went well. Everything seemed great.
The next stretch was steeply uphill through a pasture exposed to the early afternoon sun. By the time I reached the woods line, I was exhausted, rattled, and suffering a crisis of confidence and morale. I had done about 10-11 miles but couldn't imagine doing much more. I stopped for a break on the little concrete bridge over the Holston, met a southbounder who told wild tales of the Three Ledges far to the north, and looked forward to finishing the day soon. The next mile climbed through more open pasture, moderately but still uphill, so that I arrived at Bear Garden Hostel in rough shape. The plan had been to continue north to Knot Maul Shelter, just another mile or two north but with a stout climb. That didn't seem possible, so a stay at Bear Garden seemed in order.
The thought of continuing the morrow through more open pastures, and the stout climb up Chestnut Mountain, seemed overwhelming. July wasn't the best time to be on the trail. I wanted to go home. Bear Garden's owner had a pickup truck and offered to give me a ride back to Atkins. By 6 p.m. I was back in my rental car, heading south. Were I to drive straight through, I would get home by midnight. That would be some kind of record: driving six hours to Virginia, backpacking 12 miles, and driving back home to Georgia, all within 24 hours. But after the sun and the miles and a night without sleep, I couldn't make it all the way home. Near midnight, I pulled into a hotel parking lot south of Knoxville to take a nap. I slept for about five hours. When I woke up, the car wouldn't start. I'd forgotten to turn the lights off. My contact lenses were stuck to my eyes, so I couldn't see well. The button to unlock the car electronically didn't work, of course. Putting down the windows didn't work. I couldn't find a way to manually unlock the car door since it was pitch black and my eyes were covered by dried pieces of stuck-on plastic. I felt the door for a lock mechanism but there wasn't anything obvious. I've never had a smart phone or cell phone, so I couldn't place an emergency call. I thought to use my Garmin to send a text message to AAA's 800 number, but there was no reply. Apparently, AAA doesn't accept text messages, at least those not coming from a phone.
The summer sunrise finally came. I wondered if the morning sun might bake me inside my rental car. I hoped somebody would come out of a hotel room soon and hear my yells for help. Then it got bright enough that I could see the manual latch to unlock the car door. I got out, breathed deeply the fresh air, and went to the hotel lobby to ask the lady clerk to lend me her phone so that I could call AAA. She looked skeptical. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I've been backpacking the AT and locked myself in the car and killed the battery and need to get a jump-off and don't have a phone. Can you help me?" She dialed and, at arm's length, handed me the phone. AAA came, and I was home by late morning.
My wife was already at work, and there was nobody at home since we are empty nesters. She received a call on her smart phone, which showed the home number. "What the heck?" she thinks. "My husband is in Virgina. Who is calling me from home?"
"Hello, sweetie. I'm home. It's a long story."