#164 Eagles Nest Shelter to Windsor Furnace Shelter - Day 89: MM1211.2 - MM1225.9
Mountain Drew was wise to camp in the field - though he didn’t know what was coming to the shelter…or did he?
4-15-2023
It rained all night. I’m thankful my shelter mate doesn’t snore.
The combination of all night rain and a non-snoring shelter mate adds up to a great night’s sleep. I’m getting used to this Therm-a-rest foam pad I picked up last week in Duncannon PA.
It begins to sprinkle. It looks like it’s going to continue a while but it turns out to be short lived. The weather is tricky in the mountains. I wish I’d not taken the time to throw my poncho over me.
Keeping my eyes on the rocky ground I come face to face (to face) with a wooden two-faced totem sitting just off trail. Short in stature, the blue and orange stacked faces point in directions. There’s no signage with info as to why it’s standing there.
Lickety-split-trip-lickety-quick, I’m sliding face-first down the steepest part of the rain-slicked trail. Able to stop myself from falling over a small cliff by grabbing tree about the width of a baseball bat. Back on my feet, covered in mud, grateful for the tree, but I don’t remember reaching out for it.
Where did my hiking poles go?
Hiking poles come with straps on the handles, so you don’t lose them in this situation. As I discussed in an earlier chapter - I hate those straps. My friend Beast gifted Princess and I each a new set of Black Diamond poles before one of our earlier hikes. I tried to use the straps and they caused me to lose control of my poles. I took my knife out and cut the straps off them. They had flown during my fall, but I was able to find my strapless poles off trail without too much searching.
At the bottom of the mountain, I reunite with Copter. We cross multiple sets of train tracks, over the Schuylkill River into historic Port Clinton.
There are so many options for food and lodging here, all locally owned establishments in historic buildings, but we work our way past them to Port Clinton Barber Shop / Antiques & Collectables.
Frank, the head barber and musician, greets us, offering coffee and cookies, as he does with all hikers and anyone else who walks through his door. He asks us to sign his hiker register and write a unique but brief story from the trail.
Men sitting in chairs waiting their turn in the barber chairs are either reading newspapers or tapping on phones - the dividing line seems to be age, as though they dare not cross over the generation gap.
Frank seems to be cutting the hair of the older fellas, while the lady cuts the hair of the younger, more fashionably coiffed guys. Whatever the arrangements, the whole scene takes me back to my childhood, when we’d wait our turns at the chair with a Ski in hand, playing checkers, as the old guys talk about life and play chess in the corner.
Posters of Jimi Hendrix, Frank Zappa, and many other legends line some of the walls. Personal photos and antiquities line the others.
Guitars and other instruments are staged for sale beyond the short petition dividing the rooms.
One great song after another plays through speakers at just the right volume - loud enough to enjoy but soft enough to participate in lively conversation. Each song jives with the vibe of the room and the art on the walls.
Steve, a retired salesman who is unofficially the official must-have shuttle driver in town, agrees to run us down the highway to neighboring Hamburg, Pennsylvania. Though a short distance, the highway is too dangerous to walk.
I’ve still not replaced my slow-charging phone block, so I leave my phone plugged into an outlet in the barber shop while I’m away.
Copter jumps in the front seat and I take the back - with a stuffed animal about as big as me.
Our driver lit one up with a match, shook it out, then tossed it out the window, old school - just like I remember my great grandfather (Pappy) doing back when he was about this man's age, back when that man was my age, back when I was my son's age, back around the time my son was just being born.
In my rush to get through the store quickly, I forget to buy a new charging block. I guess I’ll have to tolerate the super-slow charge of mine until the next town.
Our chauffeur asks if we’re in a hurry. He seems delighted in our answer, and he happily drives us around Clinton pointing out this and pointing out that. He seems proud of his little town.
Outside the barber shop we load our packs at the picnic table as not to Sprawl-up his fine establishment. Sometimes resupplying a pack can get messy.
After thanking our new friends for their hospitality, we hike back through town onto trail.
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