I’m writing from my home office in Granville, Ohio. Off the trail for a few days to attend to family business and get some food and rest. While I’m here I’ll have a chance to do some phone interviews with publishers I’ve missed along the way, and add some Ohio publishers
I’ll miss because the fiendish Buckeye Trail keeps me in the boondocks.
I crossed the Ohio River from Parkersburg, W.Va., into Ohio, on a sunny, cool Saturday morning. The omens were all good. I had a belly full of eggs and sausage, I started the day with a shower so I smelled better than average, and best of all, the Ohio terrain was much friedlier than West Virginia’s. Sure, there were hills, but they were relatively gentle and manageable. The meadows and neat farms I passed were just beautiful, and I got cold water and a warm welcome from the Ohioans I met along the way. The Smith family let me pitch my tent under a couple of big pine trees at their house, just west of Vincent.
The second day in Ohio was almost as good. Nice weather, nice people, manageable terrain. My goal and stopping point was Chesterhill, a little town with a grocery store. Not only did the store sell groceries, but they made sandwiches! My dinner was two gigantic ham sandwiches, consumed on a bench in front of Chesterhill’s city hall. As I ate I was surrounded by a swarm of boys on bicycles who wanted to hear all about my trip. I found a quiet spot behind a hedgerow to set up camp for the night.
Then my Ohio adventure took a turn for the worse.
At Chesterhill I picked up the southern leg of the Buckeye Trail, an established hiking trail that circumnavigates Ohio. In Ohio, as in most states, the American Discovery Trail incorporates existing trails, but the difference between the Buckeye Trail and those I hiked in Maryland and West Virginia, is that the Buckeye Trail had been laid out by evil bastards who wanted to do me harm.
The first part of the day was just very hilly, with some segments gaining 200 feet of elevation in half-a-mile, and frequent long uphill grades that made my 50 pound pack feel like I was carrying a Frigidare on my back. But the sadists of the Buckeye Trail saved the worst for
last. I wanted to finish alongside the lake in Burr Oak State Park, and the last few miles into the park followed very rough terrain through a thicket of poison ivy and brambles all the way to the campsite. I covered over 20 miles that day, but it took 11 exhausting hours.
I slept late, made a big breakfast, and vowed to take it easy of Tuesday. I only wanted to travel a little more than ten miles, around Burr Oak Lake to the dam on the other side, and then just into Wayne National Forest for the night. Should have been an easy day, but the
fiends of the Buckeye Trail made sure I suffered grievously. Walking that ten miles took nine hours.
Burr Oak Lake was created by damming up a stream that eventually filled a long, deep valley to form the lake. Running into the valley at frequent intervals were smaller streams that cut deep ravines into the hillsides. So the route around the lake led me alongside the lake for a few hundred yards to the edge of a ravine, which the trail avoided by heading down and away from the water until the stream that cut the ravine could be forded, then back up the steep other side. Over and over and over. Up and down and around the long lake to the other side. Carrying 50 poinds of dead weight on my back. As the crow flies, the distance I covered was about a mile.
I camped on a hillside in Wayne National forest that was so steep that I had to climb uphill on my hands and knees just to exit my tent. But I was so tired and frustrated by the day’s walk that I didn’t care. I just slept squashed onto the downhill side.
The terrain the following day was similar to Burr Oak Park’s for awhile, then onto very steep, very primitive back roads into the town of Murray City. I stumbled into Murray City’s ramshackle little grocery store about 2 p.m., starving (no dinner or breakfast) and demoralized. I cured the starvation by wolfing down a handful of microwave sandwiches and a couple of Gatorades. And then I spotted the payphone. I was so far out in the boonies that I had not had a cell phone signal for three days, so I had not talked to my wife. I had planned to come home Friday, to dogsit while Mrs. Hopson visits her parents, but I decided to pull the plug early. Called home and was mercifully rescued. Beaten down and demoralized by days of hard slogging that yielded very little forward progress.
Got home and stepped on the scale for the first time since April 30. 161 pounds. I weighed 185 when I started walking. I’m just not eating enough to keep my weight and strength at a sustainable level, and not exactly sure how to fix the problem. Luckily my home is central enough to the territory I’ll cover this year that I can get home to eat and rest from time to time.
I’m sure that everyone who attempts this cross-country hike hits a rough patch from time to time, and I’m sure that home cooking, hot water and air conditioning will restore my customary energy and optimism. So for the next few days I’ll eat, sleep late, enjoy my wife’s company, and gear up for an assault on the rest of the evil Buckeye Trail.
