Two weeks in...

Ah yes, two weeks in. And so far it has been just lovely. So many things to report, with so little time to write (i have 19 minutes so here goes).

To say the past fortnight has been long is an understatement. The woods play tricks with time. Rich, my faithful comrade, and i have been submerged in arboreal amazement the entire time. Currently sat in the Budget Inn in Franklin (what a smashing establishment - much better then that Anderson Shelter of a motel in Hiawassee!), i look back with terrific fondness. I have experienced many firsts - the first time having visa trouble getting into the US (praise the lord for sorting that one out!); first time seeing a many fall into a bonfire (oh, that poor poor jacket); the first time hearing a boy scout emit a "blood curdling" scream in the middle of the wilderness in the dead of night (the little mite claimed he was sleep walking and got lost, but i suspect he was probably attempting a sneaky late night poop); the first time on an internal flight, which hauntingly resembled a plastic plane i once threw down the stairs and subsequently broke; the first time an airline decided not to put our luggage on the plane because they wouldn't fit on our Playmobile 747 - what a hoot that was; and the first time i ever ate so much that i repeatedly burped bits of sick into my mouth for about an hour.

After a playful few days entering the US, we headed from the wooden sensation that is the 'Hiker Hostel' in Dhalonega (no idea if that is right) up some stairs by some waterfall (it might have been the highest one East of the mississippi, why not) and along some annonymous woodland paths to the top of Springer Mountain, where rather conveniently, Rich and I enjoyed a Sam Adams (what a day, what a view, what a beer) and stayed in our first shelter at Stover Creek [note - this shelter has mice]. It was from this point that our meal times have become somewhat of an event. We were politely mocked [read envied] for our choice of food on this first night - Chicken Franks! with Crying Tiger Hot Sauce (excellent name). From this point on, we've really pushed the boundaries of what can be achieved in the great outdoors with crap food and a broken stove. Mash and Pasta?  Why not. Super Cheesey Ramen Noodles? Yes sir bob. Slim Jim Suprise? Magnifique. Yes, people judge us (especially since our delicious cup of elm tea) but we seem to have pulled  off a delicate blend of cooking and science, much like that bald headed chappy from North London whose name escapes me. That reminds me, i must go buy some more pans.

The people have been extremely lovely and welcoming. We seem to have formed a kind of team (Team One!) of select hikers and prowlers, with the sole mission of walking up some hills and through some lovely woods. Yes sir bob (note to self, dont use this phrase again for a while). Of course, there have been some losses as is the nature of the trail. Rip, RIP. Andy, may you go get your motorcycle instead of walking. I could go on....  We've also met some "characters" (thats right, they exist outside of british pub chat - "oh here comes john, you'll like him, hes a right character..."). Noteable ones include the chap who is riding a scooter along the whole trail, somehow putting the trauma that i'm putting my body through into perspective, and a guy who is essentially homeless, so decided the woods would be better than being in a city. Lovely stuff. Trail names have been hard to come accross - we've been collectively known as England or the Brits for a while now, but that didnt seem to suit as it suggested we are merely a concept. And i don't know about Rich, but i'm not a concept, i'm a real boy. No, we are now Crying Tiger (what a bloody great sauce, what a distressing trail name) and Steve Irwin (just ask rich to see his town clothes, and you shall understand why).

Yes, its time to hike again, my 19 minutes are nearly up. I should say, however, that the weather has been tremendous except the first night (Bugger me its cold!), i keep forgetting to brush my teeth, and i have had to say goodbye to many bits of beloved but broken kit. The most traumatising of all, however, is my boots. Oh Death! Oh Sorrow! Good bye old friends, we've shared  an emotional 10 years together. But your journey continues into the next life, in the bin of the Budget Inn, Franklin, North Carolina. Its how we all want to go, i'm sure.

And now, i head back into those intrepid but lovely woods. Adios.