After one month and 344 miles clomping up the Appalachian Trail (352 miles including approach), my shoes obviously experienced wear. Unfortunately, this wear exposed a drip line-thick lump (like irrigation piping) at the heel of my left shoe, where the upper attaches to the sole. My left heel has hurt for a few days, and until now, I could not tell why. Today, like the princess identifying the pea under the mattress, I found the lump under my insole, the source of discomfort.
Rhetoric and I talked days ago at some length about pain management. Rhetoric attempted the AT two years ago but ended the journey prematurely from an overuse injury. After, he asked a physical therapist, “how do I know what sort of pain is acceptable versus the sort of pain I must pay attention to because itβs warning me of an issue?β Great question (and not a rhetorical one). After some consideration, the physical therapist responded that pain in the morning is a red flag because it indicates incomplete recovery overnight. On the other hand, transitory pain and achiness after a long day of hiking merits less concern.
So my heel pain, which emerged after this conversation, concerned me because I felt it in the morning and throughout the day. Thinking of Rhetoric’s warning, I knew this must be somehow addressed. My plantar fascia (the common cause of heel pain) felt normal. The heel bone itself felt no tenderness, nor was there any pain walking barefoot. A mystery. We love that detective action, figuring out what is wrong and devising a solution.
What a relief, then, when my sleuthing revealed the issue to be a deformity in the shoe. A material fix rather than a bodily fix. Without being dumb, I could not continue given the shoe condition, so I spent the day figuring out how to get a new pair of shoes quickly. The outfitter in Erwin, the cute town I arrived at yesterday, had nothing workable, so I had to get a ride 15 miles down I-26 to Johnson City (home to Winged Deer Park and the first Mountain Dew soda). A call to a wonderful AT shuttle driver and visit to the friendly Mahoney’s outfitters later, I could set out again with a new pair of Hoka Speedgoats (a pretty classic thru-hike shoe).
Cruising to town
The hostel I tented at last night – Uncle Johnny’s – is also an AT classic. They offer complementary bicycles to ride the 4 miles into Erwin, something I (for no real reason) looked forward to since before starting. I exuberantly took advantage both yesterday and today. My steed, the object of my irrational excitement, was a creaky old cruiser with shiny baby blue paint, single speed, push back to brake, with prominent “Live a Great Story” sticker. Doing my best, dear sticker.
Down a strip of asphalt through the trees next to the interstate we rumbled. Roots heaved the path, that old cushy cruiser seat absorbing the shock quite well. Why don’t I always ride a bike with a cruiser seat? The change of speed, the wind of freedom – even a bitter chilly wind – fulfilled my hopes. Could this glorious cruiser make it to Johnson City to retrieve the new shoes? I considered for awhile, but blue bike was not up for the task.
Chefs need a stove
Making more miles along the trail would obviously be preferable to sitting around for most of a day, but on a long trip like this, things inevitably deviate from plan. What fun is a plan without Improvisation? Erwin in particular, offers distinct conveniences for those stuck in town for a day. For the first time in about 270 trail miles, I shopped at an actual grocery store. Fruits and vegetables! Gifts from heaven: a salad bar, produce section, and selection of cheeses after the desert of hiker resupplies. Another day to eat excessive quantity of food to compensate for the more meager days on the trail. One should not stay in town too long lest the cravings destroy you.
Hanging out with an assorted crew at the hostel bunkroom, all drawn to the high quality heat source like moths flock to headlamp, I cooked pickled red cabbage and melted cheese and avocado Kings Hawaiian sliders on the cast-iron woodstove. The radiant metal top was hot enough to boil the cabbage in a mere five minutes. I guess these devices used to both heat people’s homes and cook their food all over America. Pretty neat. Now they’re consigned to mountain cabins and a few corners of Appalachia.
We love when you said, “I’m doing my best, dear sticker.” π
π this felt like something you would say, Kim