Day 62: Unnamed campsite to Middle Creek Campground — 19.9 miles

On June 13th, Ash, Rob, Etienne, and I wake up and hike twenty miles. We’re still on the section of trail that I’ve done before, and I know that Middle Creek Campground is a short shuttle away from the trail, and there, we can find showers. We just left Megan’s house in Daleville yesterday, but I have no desire to repeat my nine-day stretch of shower-free thru-hiker life. I don’t mind living a little outside society’s expectations for daily hygiene, but that was just unpleasant. But more importantly, Middle Creek has burgers and milkshakes. The miles pass quickly. It’s still not effortless—I always imagined that after months of this, the miles would start to feel effortless, but now I understand that no mile of the Appalachian Trail can be traversed without effort – but it does feel automatic, like something my body can do without conscious guidance from my brain. I can lose myself in books or music or my own thoughts and the sounds of the forest.

We call for the shuttle when we reach the trail head, and after a few minutes on a bumpy dirt road, we arrive at the campground. There’s one other thru-hiker there. We pitch our tents, then head for the pool. Middle Creek has a large swimming pool and a small lake that features inflatable slides and other bounce-house-like floating structures. We swim out to the center and wrestle for control of the tallest slide, shoving and dragging each other into the water, as if the twenty miles we walked to get here were nothing. That night, the extra exertion catches up to me, and I’m exhausted.

The next morning, the rambunctious boy scouts camped next to us have already departed, but a small pile of food remains on the picnic table between their tent sites and ours. At first, we think they forgot it, but then realize that the Nutella packets, Clif bars, candy, and fruit snacks have all been counted—five of each, left beside the tents of five thru-hikers. Trail magic, not the pre-meditated kind that you find at road crossings, but the good old-fashioned kind. Spontaneous, anonymous, little acts of kindness that make you smile and take heart at the quiet generosity that we’re all capable of offering to anyone, at any time.