Call Me “Lucky”

Lucky
Lucky

NOTE: Yesterday was the three-year anniversary of the first day of my thru-hike of the Appalachian Trial. How time flies.

Almost every thru-hiker I met on Appalachian Trial in 2015 had a trail name, as did most section hikers. A few waited to get a name more or less assigned to them, growing out of some incident on the trail. But that strategy was fraught with peril — you could fall in the mud and get a name like  Dirty Bottom. So most hikers picked their own name.

When I decided to hike from Georgia to Maine several friends told me how “fortunate” I was to have the health to at least try –I had a birthday on the trail and was 73 years old when I finished — and a wife who had said, “Yes.”

“Fortunate” didn’t resonate with me, but “Lucky” did, so I made that my trail name.

I don’t know the real names of most of the hikers I met.  Some I know now because we’ve gotten together for reunions of sorts, or I’ve kept in touch by email. But we still call each other by our trail names.

Here are some of the people I met on the A.T., and the origin of their name.

GRRRR

GRRRR
GRRRR

GRRRR got his name from his youngest daughter, who is called “Goose.” When GRRRR came home from Viet Nam he brought with him a painting of a tiger. He and his wife would asked Goose, who was just learning to talk, what a tiger says and she would answer GRRRR. And then she began calling her daddy GRRRR.  I met him on the A.T. but since then we’ve gone kayaking together, more than 100 miles down the Roanoke River this past spring.  I posted this story about our river trip.

 Temper

Snacks and Temper
Snacks, L, and Temper

She was not a big woman, I’d bet she didn’t weigh much more than 100 pounds. But when I first met her I figured it was best to avoid any disagreement. You just know, with a name like Temper she must have a short fuse. But, turned out, her name had nothing to do with anger management or lack thereof and everything to do with an unusual job — she had worked in a chocolate factory where she “tempered” chocolate. After I finished I got to play trail angel at Snowbird, in the mountains of North Carolina, for Temper and her boyfriend, Snacks, after she finished the northern half of the A.T. and began hiking south to Georgia.

Crockman

Crockman's crocks
Crockman’s crocks

Back in the real world, Crockman was a carpenter, so his name had nothing to do with his occupation. It came from his footwear.  He didn’t wear boots, he wore crocks, the only hiker I met who did that.

O311

This man got out of the Marines in the summer before his thru-hike. His MOS –Military Occupational Specialty — was 0311 — Infantry.

Iceman

Iceman
Iceman

He was a section hiker and trail angel par excellence. He brought ice to a little girl who had broken her arm on the trail. She named him. And he helped me multiple times.

I wrote about my last encounter with Iceman here. It was this past summer, on the A.T. in Pennsylvania.

Since 2015 Iceman has finished the entire A.T., section by section.

Iceman, Viking, and Nine!, a man I hiked a Grand Canyon back country trail  with last October, and I are trying to get permits to hike the John Muir Trail, in California, this summer.

Eddy

Eddy
Eddy

She is an expert kayacker – she runs Class 5 rapids. And an eddy, of course, is a river word, “a circular movement of water, counter to a main current, causing a small whirlpool.”

Last summer Eddy rafted down the Colorado River with a bunch of other folks.  Early in the trip someone accidentally hit her in the mouth with his paddle and knocked out four of her front teeth.  She stuck them back in and continued the trip.

California

California
California

California was an EMT who was moving to the East Coast, to a new job. He had some time off in between and decided to hike a few hundred miles of the A.T.

We hiked together for a week or 10 days and any time I whined about anything he would tell me, “It’s all good, Lucky.”

He was from — how did you guess? — California.

Tadpole

He planned to join the Navy after his hike with a goal of becoming a Seal, a modern day frogman. And, as you know, a tadpole is baby frog.

Cashmere

She was a 50-some year old college professor who taught organic chemistry. 

And her trail name?  She said she sweated a lot. Get it? Sweater? Cashmere?

This woman could really hike.  She finished the A.T. in less than four months –the average hiker finishes in just under six– and, last I heard, was hiking the 2,650-mile Pacific Crest Trail.

How long did I take? I’m glad you asked: four months and some few odd days. OK, OK, four months and 29 days.

J

J
J

J, just the letter “J,” a retired firemen from Georgia, picked that name in memory of his brother, John, who died in infancy.

J and I hiked a little over 100 miles together, over mountains in North Carolina and Tennessee.  The closer we got to Damascus, Virginia —town food, hot shower, clean clothes — the more we wanted get there. So one cold, snowy night we agreed to skip breakfast and get an extra early start, leave before sunup and hike by headlamp.  J was an early riser, he like to drink coffee before the day began.  That morning was no exception; he had his coffee and then called out in the dark, “Lucky?”

“It is time?” I asked, and he said yes.

 I rolled out, dressed, and packed up as quickly as I could. It was still snowing. 

As we were leaving, J asked me to check the time.  I did.  It was 4:20 a.m., almost two hours earlier than the start time we had agreed on.   J insisted that he had no idea, and he sounded so sincere. I told him, of course, to sell that somewhere else.

[J did not finish in 2015 but in 2017 he started over, and hiked from Georgia to Maine.]

Verminator

Mice had eaten holes in his backpack and he was determined to trap and kill as many of them as he could.

The Hiking Vikings

The Hiking Vikings
The Hiking Vikings

This is easy.  Take one look at their head gear, knitted for them by a sister-in-law, Sara.   I guess I hiked 1,000 miles or more, off and off, with The Hiking Vikings.  They were fun to hike with in part because they were always in such a good mood, no matter what the weather was like, or the trail.  My wife, Donna, and I have been on holiday with them since the thru-hike and the Viking and I did a 100-miler on the A.T. in Pennsylvania this past summer.   I think The Hiking Vikings, AKA “The Famous Hiking Vikings,” are going to be hikers for life.  They’ve named their firstborn son Asher Thomas — A.T.

Lucky and The Hiking Vikings
Lucky and The Hiking Vikings

All in due time I’m going to post several stories about those two.

Viking and I plan to do another 100 miler in May, on the A.T. in Virginia.

Slowman

How slow was Slowman? Pretty slow. I passed right many

Slowman
Slowman

thru-hikers who were laying around in town, taking a day off. Or in shelters, sleeping in.  But I only passed three on the trail: One was legally blind.  One was injured.  And Slowman.

WYSIWYG, pronounced Whiz-e-wig

You might never have guessed this one. It’s an acronym for “What You See Is What You Get.”

 Between

Between and his mother, Mother Nature
Between and his mother, Mother Nature, at the end of the hike.

He was 17, going on 18, between high school and college.  Between hiked with his Mom who was called Mother Nature.  The three of us were together at the end, on Mt. Katahdin in Maine. Between and his mother are German. I met three other foreigners thru-hiking the trail including Canada’s most honored Olympian, who called herself Red Feather.  

Not Yet

It was his first day on the trail, and he wasn’t going anywhere special, certainly not starting a thru-hike. He was just trying out his equipment.

Someone asked, “Do you have a trail name?”

And he replied, “Not Yet.”

NOTE: GRRRR told me told me about a hiker who tried go by his initials, “DJ,” but word had spread and every time he arrived at a shelter someone would ask, “Are you the one they call ‘Ice Pee?'”
Seems that DJ hadn’t wanted to get up one cold night so he peed in his Jetboil — his cooking pot.

“The temperature dropped to 15 degrees and all water froze,”” GRRRR said.  “Next morning he had to cook his pee to empty the pot. Hence the name, ‘ Ice Pee.’ “

 

Scout
Scout

Other hikers I met on my thru-hike: Apollo, Atticus, Attrition, Badger, Bolt, Bridges, Blissful, Blister, Bruin, Claus, Cork and Daddy Smurf.

Tweet
Tweet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Also, Deadline, Desperado, Dude, Elf, Elmer, Felix, Gator, Goat, Good Knight, Goodpeople, Griswold, Honey Bunn, Hulk, Ironman, Ivy, J-Squared, Jax, and Jingles.

Griswold
Griswold

Krumzs, Little Debbie, Lunchbox, Mango, Mashed Potatoes, Medicine Man, Nemo, Old Man, Ox, Pa Bert, Pac-Man, and Pacidor.

Rambler, Rebel Yell, Rising Sun, Sasquatch, Scout, Selfie, Sheepshead, Smiles, Smokes, SNAFU, Snowshoe, Storm, Stretch, Styles, Sycamore, Thunder, Tweet, Twisted, Wallace, Wayfarer and Yoyo.

Coming Monday: What Is The Point?

Lucky’s Best Story [Video]

NOTEWhen I hiked the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine in 2015 I hiked a good part of the way with “The [Famous] Hiking Vikings.” [My trail name was “Lucky.”]  One day when we stopped for lunch Viking whipped out his camera and asked me to tell my best story, which he put on his YouTube channel. So you can listen to “Lucky’s Best Story” or you can read it, below. Or both.

Here it is, the video version: Lucky’s Best Story

 

And the written version….

I smelled her before I saw her.

She was old woman walking slowly, carefully, down the aisle of Memorial Auditorium in Raleigh, directly toward the section where my wife, Donna, and I were seated.

We had arrived early for a performance of Riverdance, a wonderful Irish dance company that I was eager to see.

Please, I thought, please, don’t sit anywhere near me.

But she came closer and closer. And then she turned down our row, squeezed past us, and sat down in the seat right beside me. The woman had not had a bath in quite some time and she had tried, without success, to disguise her body odor with cheap perfume.

If I were the fainting type, I would have fainted.

Instead, I put my arm around my wife and leaned my head on her shoulder to get my nose as far away from the woman as I could. People behind us must have noticed, and thought, “Look at that dear old couple, still in love after all these years.”

When the performance began I hoped I would be distracted.

I wasn’t.

Or, maybe, I would just get use to it.

I didn’t.

I took a deep breath, through my nose, hoping that terrible odor would numb my sensors.

No luck.

I pressed the Riverdance program to right side of my face, to create a barrier between the woman and my nose.

Didn’t help.

And then, for some reason, I put my hand in my jacket packet and felt two ear plugs. I pulled them out, big, orange earplugs, and I knew immediately what I would do with them.

I stuck them up my nose.

The orange earplugs helped a lot but they did not solve the problem. The woman who had sat down beside me in Memorial Auditorium smelled that bad.

Riverdance: the best show on earth.
Riverdance: the best show on earth.

I couldn’t focus on the Irish dancers performing on stage.

Luckily, there were some empty seats far away from her and Donna and I decided to move at intermission.

I went to the Men’s Restroom and, to my surprise, the line was out door, like it almost always is for women. And, inside, the Men’s Restroom was packed. After I peed I stood in line again, to get to a lavatory.

While I was washing my hands I decided to pull the ear plugs out of my nose, as unobtrusively as possible, of course.

The first one was a little slimy and it slid right out. But when I tried to pull the other one out, it was gone! I stuck my little finger up my nose as far as it would go but the ear plug just wasn’t there anymore.

It has slid up into my sinus.

Now what was I going to do? It didn’t hurt, but you just can’t just leave an orange ear plug in your head. Was I going to have to go to the hospital emergency room after the show? Was somebody going to have to cut my face open?

And then I thought, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Maybe, just maybe, it would come out if I blew my nose.

So I leaned over the lavatory and blew. The ear plug popped right out. I picked it, put it in my pocket and squeezed past the men all around me, went to our new seats, and enjoyed the rest of the show.

But I’ve always known that several men had to have seen what happened. And they must have returned to their seats and said to their wives, “Hon, you are not going to believe this. I just saw a man blow a big, orange goober out of his nose. And then he picked it up and put it in his pocket!”

Coming Friday: The Gentle Strong Man