Gatlinburg is bizarre. Bill Bryson describes it so well in his book "A Walk In The Woods". It is a bizarre, somewhat depressing town with 3 Ripleys Believe-It-Or-Not museums, a Hard Rock Cafe and at least three bars that have karaoke on the weekends. The streets were littered with aggressively made-up and hair sprayed teeny bopper cheerleaders and their overbearing mothers wheeling them through the streets to the convention center for the local cheer competition, overweight tourists in town just to drive up to the top of the mountains to see the views that we have toiled so hard to reach and spring breakers eager to overindulge, purchase customized tucker hats and ride the gondola up and down the mountain.
As I mentioned - Gatlinburg is a bizarre place.
I did, however, thoroughly enjoy the weekend karaoke scene and tore up the stage at Shamrocks with some rousing renditions of "Thrift Shop" and "Call Me Maybe". I attempted to rap battle with one gentleman singing "I Like Big Butts" but he wasn't having it one bit. I sung along anyways.
By the time morning rolled around I had enjoyed just enough civilization to make getting back on the mountain traumatic. I so wanted nothing to do with another 30+ miles of the Smokies and instead to head home for some late night date night with my man and a glass of vino at Carpe. My body rejected the mountain so violently that I started to cry and shake, unable to move towards the trail. Beetlejuice and Trucker gave me a quick pep talk and convinced me to keep walking but the day was just starting to get interesting.
At about mile 6 or 7 my Achilles' tendons swelled up on both my ankles to the point where I could not take a single step without paralyzingly pain shooting up my legs. Immediately I stopped and applied some tiger balm and switched into my Chacos but at that point the damage was done. Even the pressure from the thin heel strap of the sandals was enough to cause enough pain that tears were streaming down my face as we walked over the remarkably docile ridge line.
At mile 8, I stopped to duct tape the back heel straps to the bottom of the shoe which helped, but only marginally when compared to the selfless act of trail magic that I was forced to accept. Trucker and Beetlejuice each took some weight from my pack and, when I wasn't looking, Beetlejuice scooped up my entire lightened pack and ran off a few hundred yards down the trail. I felt like a pansy but could not have been more grateful. The four Advil helped as well.
After 7 more miles slipping through slushy or, worse, icy snow we arrived at the shelter with about 20 others and set up camp. It feels fantastic to be in a sleeping bag and I can't wait to get out of the Smokies tomorrow to hopefully see a doctor about my ankles.
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