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This is Gene, so you know | |
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I sighed and unzipped the lower portion of the bag and settled back in anticipation of the cool reprieve. A small scuffling near the upper right corner of my thin tent riveted my attention immediately. All background sounds faded into a great white noise. The minute sound of a dry leaf tumbling in the slight breeze made it to my hypersensitive ears. There... I heard it again... a small snuffling and scratching noise near the foot of my tent.
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As he glided by, nimbly stepping over rocks, I gasped, "What's your secret, man? I'm about to fall out!" He paused in his next step, stopped the strange sort of repetitious throwing gesture from his right hand and said "The portability of pot."
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| The seams on the old tent were like sieves, water came trickling in but couldn't leave because the fabric itself is waterproof. As the floodwaters rose in harmony with the staccato beat of thousands of gallons of rainwater striking the tent roof, Yo and I gathered our bags around our bodies and scooched to the highest ground within the tent. Now, it's not very much fun to try and sleep while you're crammed into one corner of a hot tent next to a sweaty and smelly friend (unless it's a member of the opposite sex or same sex, if that's your thing).
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"Alright, alright," the frog said. Yo and I looked at each other, dumbfounded. We nodded knowingly at each other, the smile back on our lips as we prepared to enjoy the ride as Yo's face started to twist and reform into unexplainable, bizarre formations of liquid skin. His Asian face danced and sang to become a jellyfish? Clouds skirted quickly through branch windows above. The waning dark pall created by the trees shaded the sun and turned sinister, then, at the same time, the shafts of sun, cutting through the clouds and to the forest floor brought flies of light towards my eyes, banishing my black fears. While my mind reveled in revelations and cornered some conflicts, Yo got up and stumbled over to the brook and plunged his head into a small pool.
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The last few miles, however, turned into a mad, rock-hopping scramble to the top. A few skinned knees and scrapped knuckles later and we made it to the first campsite. Unbeknownst to us, it was to become the only campsite. After we burst out of a thick rhododendron thicket and slowly pedaled down a service road, we came upon the Blue Ridge Parkway. The campsite we had chosen for our first night was located right off the scenic road. At the time it seemed mildly acceptable since our next two campsites were located deep within the forest and away from sightseers. Yo and I rubbed sore thighs out and pitched the tent and cooked some grub and hit the sack (both sacks, actually, the weed and the bed). Little did we know that all hell was going to break lose at 5:45 a.m.
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The chilly morning greeted us with the sun. Another quick meal and visit to the stunning falls and the requisite bowl, and we were on the trail again. This trail wasn't no joke, neither. The Slickrock Creek Trail covers about ??? in ???. My out-of-shape ass was not ready for this. Yo and I eventually huffed and puffed our way to the top. The trip up was mostly an extended, sweat-filled blur... but I remember pushing through rhododendron-filled slopes, agonizing over each leaden step up make-shift log steps helpfully placed along some of the steeper portions and sweating like a pig. (Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, I bought some new socks before the trip that had these Teflon portions sewn into the heels and toes. Unfortunately, I got the wrong size. So, on the descent the day before, they seemed fine. But on the ascent, they slipped around on my heel like a wet tongue. Needless to say, I got some fat blisters.)
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