La Sua Bella Mente

Chapter 11: Nice Ass

Date: March 17, 2003

Starting Location: Blue Mountain Shelter

Destination: Deep Gap Shelter

Total Trip Miles: 63.3

BPOV

I struggle not to react, keeping my eyes on the table in front of me and glancing up only briefly to gauge Curly Dan's reactions. He doesn't seem to notice me however, all his attention focused on No Filter as he reads the words on the page. I'm shocked to hear them. They are intense. Angry, hurtful, slashing words that explode in the air as he speaks them aloud. Accusations and insults and blame wrapped in enough profanity to surprise even Jacob. I can barely believe I wrote those words.

The hushed silence when he finishes reading is finally broken by No Filter's loud, whooshing, "Whoa! That guy is one lousy motherfucker and that is one badass, really angry woman."

We laugh, our chuckles breaking the tension. Before anyone else can comment, Curly Dan jumps up from the table, announcing we're wasting daylight, and it's time to hike. Soon we're cleaning our surroundings, shouldering our backpacks, and heading up the trail.

I find myself sandwiched between the two men. When I step to one side to let No Filter pass me––proper etiquette for slower hikers––he just waves me on, telling me he always brings up the rear.

"I've been following Curly's ass for more miles than I care to think about. It'll be a nice change to have a different one to stare at; although, I have to say Daniel does have a very fine butt." He laughs when I involuntarily glance toward Curly, who is quickly disappearing down the trail ahead of us. "Told you so!"

Shaking my head at his nonsense, I turn and begin heading up the trail. We hike in silence for some time, but something he said keeps mulling over in my head. Finally, I stop and turn back to him.

"We're less than fifty miles from Springer. How could you have been following Curly Dan for more miles than you care to think about, if that's where you started?"

"Ah, who says we started hiking at Springer?" he questions me teasingly. "Sorry," he adds at my answering frown. "Actually, you could probably say this journey started about five years ago at Campo."

"Campo, on the PCT?" I ask, referring to the small border town where the Pacific Crest Trail begins its trek from Mexico to Canada. "You and Curly hiked the PCT?"

"Yes." No Filter chuckles at my astonished question. "And then we went to Montana and hiked south to Crazy Cook Monument in New Mexico on the Continental Divide Trail."

"Oh … my … God," I whisper as I stare at him in absolute awe. "The PCT, the CDT, and now the AT—you and Curly are triple crowners!"

"Well, we have to get to Katahdin first," he agrees with a chuckle. "But, yes, eventually we'll be triple crowners."

"Wow," I murmur, shaking my head in disbelief. "You have been following that ass for a lot of miles. Almost 8,000 by the time you get finished," I add, calculating the distance they will have to walk. "You two are like hiking royalty!"

No Filter grins broadly at me. "It's no big deal, girl. Just one step at a time; one step at a time."

"But it is kind of a big deal," I argue. "Just the two of you hiking that far, having to get along, the resupplies, the logistics, it's just … well, it's just an amazing feat!"

No Filter glances away from me, his normally pleasant expression morphing into one of sadness. Shifting his feet nervously, he looks back at me, studying my face intently.

"Did I say something wrong?" I ask. "I'm sorry if––"

"No, no," he interrupts. "We, uh … there used to be three of us." Sighing, he reaches up to run his fingers through his non-existent hair, chuckling when he remembers he's bald. "Sorry, can't seem to kick that nervous habit. Anyway," he begins again. "I met Daniel and Jeffrey during the PCT kickoff party at Lake Morena. We were all so different, but we just clicked, you know. We became friends, hiking buddies, and then … ah … partners."

He hesitates, watching me for some type of reaction, but I just smile, nodding at him to continue. Motioning toward a couple of trailside boulders, No Filter invites me to sit beside him, saying it's time for a snack break. We rummage through our food bags, grinning at each other when we both pull out a Snickers bar.

While we eat and drink, No Filter continues his story.

"We were the Three Amigos, the Three Musketeers, the Three Stooges. We were brothers-in-backpacks, lovers, family. I've never been ashamed of my sexuality, Rella, never tried to hide it or pretend to be something I'm not, but for all my bluntness and lack of filter, I keep some things to myself. Jeffrey was openly gay, sometimes almost flamboyantly so. He was out and proud." A big grin splits No Filter's face as he reminisces. "Dear Lord, but he was one crazy dude!"

"He'd strut down the trail like he was on a catwalk, greeting people we met with this high, falsetto voice calling everyone "darling" and "sugar" just to see their reaction. He loved ridges and rock falls. He used to skip and hop across them, sometimes doing pirouettes on the tallest rocks, laughing when Daniel and I would yell at him to be careful. Sometimes, he would sing. He'd just belt out show tunes at the top of his voice as he hiked. He was so full of life and just joy … you know. I named him Rock Dancer, and he loved it."

No Filter stares off into the forest around us for a long moment before shifting his focus back to me. "Sorry," he says. "My mouth is running again. I shouldn't burden you with this story."

"No, it's okay. What … Can I ask what happened?"

With another sigh, he begins the rest of his story.

"Well, we finished the PCT together, and it was such an amazing adventure that we decided to do the CDT. So, we moved to Portland, worked and saved our money for a year, and then went to Canada and started hiking south through Montana. One weekend, we left the trail to resupply in this little mountain town in New Mexico. We checked into a hotel, cleaned up, and went for hamburgers and beer at a local hangout. Rock Dancer was his usual crazy self, maybe even more so because of the negative reactions he got from some of the locals. Anyway, the next day, the sheriff gave us a ride back to the trail, which was basically a dirt road at that point, and told us to keep going south. We'd been hiking for several miles when we heard a vehicle behind us. Curly and I were ahead and off to one side talking about something or other and not paying a lot of attention. Rock Dancer was behind us. I remember he was belting out Smash Mouth's All Star, dancing down the middle of the road and singing about being a shooting star when the sound got louder. We turned just in time to see an old, dirt-covered truck speed up and head straight toward Jeffrey."

No Filter's eyes flick back to me when I gasp. "Oh, no."

He just nods, sorrow filling his eyes. "He tried to get out of the way, but it was too late. They never swerved or tried to miss him. They didn't stop, either, but barreled on by us yelling "fucking faggots" and disappeared down the dirt road in a cloud of dust. It took hours to get help, and by then, it was too late. It was a senseless, stupid murder, all because he was gay!"

He leans forward, elbows on knees, resting his head in his hands. His voice breaks with anger and pain, and he takes several shuddering breaths before he speaks again. "Curly says I blame myself for not paying enough attention to our surroundings. But I have to think if we had all been a bit more aware of what was going on, Rock Dancer would be doing this hike with us."

For a few long moments, we sit silently, each of us lost in our thoughts. I struggle to think of something to say to ease the pain of those memories. I've only known No Filter for a few hours, but he's already a friend. Before I can speak, however, he straightens, swallows hoarsely, and then turns to me with a sad smile.

"It took a few months, but we went back to that same spot, erected a small monument to Jeffrey, and then Daniel and I finished the CDT. Doing the AT and becoming Triple Crowners was always Rock Dancer's dream, so we're doing this in his honor. We have a small rock engraved with his name on it that we're carrying with us. When we reach the sign on top of Katahdin, we'll leave it there."

"Oh, I like that, and I hope I can be there when you leave it." I smile back at him. "Do you mind if I ask you one more question though?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"The bald head; Curly said you guys shaved your heads on top of Springer. Was that for Rock Dancer, too?"

This time No Filter's laughter fills the woods around us. "No," he finally manages to answer. "No, that was payment for a dare Curly lost. It's a pretty good tale. Come on," he says, getting up. "I'll tell you as we hike."

Grabbing his arm, I stop him before he goes any farther. "Thank you for sharing your story," I tell him. "And I want you to know your secrets are safe with me. I'm not a big talker, and I would never break your trust."

He nods back at me, smiling in agreement. "I know. And I want you to know that your secrets are safe with me, too, RAW."

"RAW? What do you mean?"

The mischief is back in his eyes as No Filter smirks at me. "RAW," he answers. "Really Angry Woman."

"Go on." He waves at me, shooing me up the trail and laughing at my dumbfounded look as I realize he is referring to my anonymous entry in the shelter register. "Move it, hikergurrrl," he growls, deliberately drawing out the 'ur' sound. "Curly Dan is so far ahead of us, he'll think we've fallen off the trail or something."

Shaking my head at his silliness and still trying to figure out how he knew I was the one writing the entries, I turn and begin climbing the winding trail in front of me. I can hear No Filter chuckling behind me, and when I peek over my shoulder to see what is going on, he just smiles at me. "Nice ass," he says.

His chuckles turn into a full belly laugh when I raise my middle finger and flip him off.

.

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AN: Your reviews are wonderful! Thank you so very much for the lovely words. Ipsita and Sally find my mistakes. And then I make more.

Quick note about trail registers and shelter registers. The trail registers are notebooks left at certain points on the trail to help track trail use and hiker movements. They're usually left by government agencies like the forestry service or local law enforcement agencies. Hikers are asked to sign, usually with their real names, and the date. If someone gets lost or goes missing, these trail registers can be used to help pinpoint where they have been. Bella would have signed the one on top of Springer Mountain before writing her thoughts to Edward on a different page. I remember a register at the entrance to the Smokies and at Shenendoah National Park.

Shelter registers are ususally left by local individuals who have an interest in the trail. They can also be used to help locate a missing hiker. Hikers use them to express their thoughts, warn other hikers about problems on the trail, or just spread gossip! People write all over them and they can span several years depending on use. The letters Bella writes to EC are in these shelter registers. She is not signing or dating them and she usually flips toward the back of the notebook to help disguise when the entries were left. I should have made that fact clearer in the story. Sorry.

Lots of things have changed with the use of smart phones, so I don't know if the registers still exist or not.