As I noted previously, there is no monument marking the northern terminus of the Benton MacKaye Trail. There is one blaze marking the way south on the sign for the Baxter Creek Trail right in front of the bridge. One lonely white diamond. But that is it. If you’re hiking northbound, only you will know the journey you have completed. I looked around at the groups of people laughing, playing, enjoying the creek and each other’s company and felt a little out of place. But, the reality was, I was doing the same thing – just out enjoying nature. I’d just been gone for a little while longer.
I walked over to one of the empty picnic areas and sat at a table. I took off my pack and pulled out the last Butterfinger I had saved for just this moment. This was the last of my Stonemont Stables vending machine cache, a great reward and a reminder of the unexpected good things that I experienced on this journey. I stared at the river as I ate my treat in all its sugary deliciousness. I thought about the hike. I was grateful for such beautiful weather for the finish. Old growth forests, flame azaleas, wildflowers, lush green moss – nature’s red carpet lead me out of the forest, right up to the end of the trail. Baxter Creek Park itself was quite tranquil, even with the people there. It felt like a natural transition point now that the hike was over. I sat there for about 30 minutes, drinking some water to hydrate after the Butterfinger was gone. It was time to move on though. I still had to walk 3.3 miles to I-40, and since the day was still early and it would be a while before my wife arrived at the highway, I had decided to hike up to Standing Bear Farm. I was hungry and could eat some food there, and it would be a nice walk down memory lane. As I headed out of the park through the small dirt parking lot, an older-than-me gentleman was issuing parking tickets from his motorized wheelchair where people had parked in the no parking zone. Yet another sign that I was back to reality – the reality of rules and regulations other than those of the natural world. I watched as a guy came up and tried to negotiate his way out of a ticket, even though he had parked right in front of a no parking sign. Humans are puzzling creatures indeed.
The walk to the highway was fairly pleasant, as far as road walks go. I walked right by the whitewater boating put-in at the Pigeon River. The last time I was there was to kayak that section of river, years ago. I walked along the river and then passed over it on the same bridge I had crossed when I hiked the AT in 2018. Instead of hiking the AT up to Standing Bear Farm, I decided to walk the gravel road up and then hike the AT on the way back. I was curious if there was anything else on the road, and also thought it might save me a bit of time. I actually don’t think it saved me any time, and there was nothing else to see on that road, but it was fine and I got there all the same in due course.
Standing Bear was as I remembered it. Coincidentally, I spotted one of the AT thru hikers I had met at Fontana Village in the kitchen area at Standing Bear. He was deep into a philosophical conversation with another hiker. Trail life, much like traveling and staying in hostels with other travelers, is conducive to these wonderful, boil-the-ocean type conversations. I purchased some food and sodas and set about a celebratory lunch of Jimmy Dean breakfast croissant sandwiches, oatmeal creampies, and diet Coke. Yeah, I got diet, because, you know – the hike was over. I needed something to give me an artificial mental offset for the oatmeal creampies. I chatted with the other hikers, and also with an older-than-me gentleman who was doing a work-for-stay arrangement there. He said that he was voluntarily homeless and just travels and hikes places, working as he needs to. He was retired – an adventuring nomad. I listened to some of his stories and was impressed by his intrepid spirit.
One of the ladies at the hostel complained that people were leaving all of their dirty dishes in the sink rather than taking responsibility and washing them. I decided to wash them before I left. I had the time, it would feel good, make her day better, and I could continue to eavesdrop on the philosophical discussion happening behind me. Despite this, I never did quite figure out what those guys were talking about. Maybe I couldn’t focus because of all the sugar I had just ingested, or maybe my mind was wandering to other places. Where, I don’t know – sometimes I just drift away like that.
I left Standing Bear with a full belly and hopped on the Appalachian Trail to get back down to the highway. Gillian would be there soon to whisk me away to our own little relaxing adventure at the cabin she had booked. It was a pleasant and enjoyable walk. I remembered heading north on this section. When I hiked the AT, I ate and resupplied at Standing Bear, but then continued north a short distance before camping for the night. I remember the sounds of other hikers yelling at night to scare away a bear that had come down towards their camp. These memories flooded my mind as I walked along to the ever-growing sound of the highway.
I plopped down by the side of the exit road. My wife would come straight down the exit and could turn off on Green Corner Road at the junction where I was. I took my smelly socks and shoes off and put my flip flops on, trying to make myself as presentable as possible, and giving Wilson and John McEnroe some space to breathe. I swapped my hiking shirt for my long-sleeve camp shirt, which smelled slightly better. After ten minutes, I saw a silver Prius slow its approach as it came down the exit ramp. I waved frantically, trying to make sure she saw me. She pulled onto Green Corner road, but I realized it was an older-than-me lady and not my wife. I was jumping around and waving my hands grinning, and I think I must have looked like a crazy hobo trying to walk towards her car. She immediately turned her car around and went under the highway bridge, stopping on the other side, but not getting out of her car. Great. Not only was I mortified, but I was convinced she was now calling the cops. What are the chances she would be driving what looked like the same car as my wife’s? Fortunately, Gillian pulled up just a few minutes after, and I went over and threw my stuff in the trunk, triumphantly validating my presence at the intersection. A pickup truck was stopped in front of us, and I then saw the lady in the Prius driving back over. She pulled in between us and the truck and got out.
“I’m so sorry!” I shouted. “I thought you were my wife!” I’m not sure this helped, but I felt the need to explain. The clear evidence of my innocence was right there in front of me – an actual wife, driving the same silver Prius, and I was throwing my hobo gear in the trunk. She cracked a smile and said she was waiting for someone. I think she was picking up a hiker – I am quite sure that other hikers catch rides there. Either way, Gillian and I were about to take off. As I was getting into the car another aspiring, filthy, AT thru-hiker was emerging from under the underpass and hobbled past.
“Are you headed to Standing Bear?” I asked. I don’t know why I asked this, but I did. I wondered if I came off as weird or creepy – a random middle-aged dude asking where some young fellow was going to camp for the evening. It was awkward, but I just get excited when I see thru-hikers. In fairness, I was still in hiking attire myself and quite dirty.
“No. I’m going to push on. I’m not that far from Hot Springs,” he replied. Spoken like a true thru-hiker.
As we started to head off, we realized that we had quite a bit of time to kill before we would be able to check into the Airbnb. Gillian had never been inside the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, so we drove right back to Baxter Creek Trailhead. This way, she could officially enter the park, and we would have a beautiful little picnic area to enjoy for a while. We sat on the same picnic bench where I had finished my final Butterfinger, eating apples and mozzarella cheese sticks (acceptable post-hike snacks) and enjoying the view. There was something comforting about sharing the place where I had finished the trail with her. I wanted her to see the beauty here. We noticed a cat wandering around the parking lot, presumably from one of the RVs in the RV lot not far away. I thought of Lucy back home and wondered what she was doing, whether she was gazing out the window, or secretly peeing on things, thinking I was gone forever. She does that sometimes. It isn’t her fault. She has issues….
When I left the park a second time, I wondered if I would ever be back. I don’t know yet if I’m the kind of person who repeats hikes, or who always looks for something new. Only time will tell, I guess. After any major journey or long-distance hike I’ve done, I’ve always said that, if faced with the choice and knowing what I know having finished the trail, I would still do it all over again. But would I repeat it? If I did, it could still never be the same journey. It would be unique in its own way. So maybe I will hike the Benton MacKaye Trail again at some point, and maybe I will find myself at some of those places in the future, whether in the Smokies, on Big Frog Mountain (hopefully not in another lightning storm), by Lost Creek, or along the Hiawassee. But for now, as we motored down the dirt road away from Baxter Creek Park, I knew my BMT experience was transitioning to memories. I could see all of the places I had been coming to life in the cloud of dust over the road behind us. Just like that cloud, I knew they would fade over time. But the spirit of the trail and the adventure of the experience – those would never leave me.
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