I’m not proud of this but one of my favorite songs on my Apple Pride Party radio station is Glamorous by Fergie. Yes, Fergalicious Fergie. The lyrics are a silly fantasy about flying first class, drinking champagne, chaperones and limousines. It’s exactly how I feel my first week off the Trail.
I’m sleeping under a down comforter with three pillows. The air conditioning is cranked low and I make freshly ground drip coffee in a Chemex. I bought beautiful hand painted coffee mugs today in a fancy gift shop. And best of all – I scored a bottle of Hildon this afternoon. If you don’t know about Hildon then I am sorry for you. It’s the best water in the world and a favorite of Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor – the Queen of the United Kingdom and fifteen Commonwealth realms (thank you Wikipedia). I dreamt of Hildon on the Trail. It is lightly sparkling and heavy on minerals – delicious. Just ask Hildon. Their website demurely describes their product as a “quiet appreciation of nature’s untouched simplicity.” Humble much?
This is indeed glamorous living. I was also accused of bourgeoisie living on the Trail by my hiking buddies because I had an inflatable sleeping pad and carried sugar for my coffee. These were extravagant indulgences that proved I was platinum blazing. The worst insult a thru hiker can muster. The Trail means suffering and pain. The summit had to be earned – not bought.
So I bought a little of the Trail. Sue me. I’ve worked hard and if there was a little luxury to be had on the Trail then I wanted a piece of it. in Daleville, I insisted on staying in a name brand hotel that was miles away from the flop house hiker inn right on Trail. Mallwalker was not happy about it but the sheets were amazing.
At the same time, I am also trying to hold onto the best of the hard work on the Trail – walking. Before my thru hike I wouldn’t have thought to walk to a gift shop three miles away in the blazing Atlanta afternoon. It was really pleasant. I didn’t carry a pack and it was a great way to run an errand. What do I care? The sweaty clothes go right in the washing machine. Now we are talking glamorous. Fergie should have listed her washing machine in that list of luxury. It costs a little extra but as Fergie puts it “if you ain’t got no money take yo’ broke ass home.”