Mile 1529. The White Hart Inn.

The white hydrangeas are extra fluffy here.   Children are playing on the lawn.   I’m sitting in an Adirondack chair, sipping a Château Montaud rose under a 100-year maple tree.  The whispering breeze whisps the little pieces of my hair that don’t fit into my braids - they tickle my sunburned nose.  

Just being here at the White Hart Inn makes me feel like a human again.  

In this moment, I allow myself to pretend that I fit in with this denim and lace scene.   Never mind my pants and shirt that now are two sizes too big; never mind the grey hairs taking over my red; never mind my swollen eyes and sagging face.

I close my eyes and allow the fatigue to wash over me.   My arms droop over the chair arms like bean bags.   My shoulders finally let down.   I can breathe again.

“I bet they have fluffy down pillows here,” I think to myself.    

I need this place.  

I’ve hiked over 1500 miles.  I haven’t slept in two weeks.  My body is teaming with steroids following my Oscar-winning asthma performance. 

It’s way outside of my budget.  But I neeeeeed this place.   I must find a way to stay here.

It doesn’t hurt to ask, right?   I smooth my hair, straighten my clothes and stand up tall as I approach the registration desk.

“Do you have through-hiker discounts, by chance?” I ask.  

“We sure do,” Caleb responds.  “We love hikers and let them stay for half the rate during week days.  Shall I book a room for you then?”

“Yes please,” I smile, relieved.

I’m going to sleep well tonight.