Last week when I arrived to Asheville, I went directly to a Dickey's barbeque. Before walking in, however, I took off my soaking wet socks and shoes, slipped on my Crocs, and basically wobbled indoors. I sat inside for a few hours, mostly sipping on glasses and glasses of lemonade, but also messaging family from back home, and eating a few of the sides that were on my plate. My hope was to get in touch with the trail angles I met back when I was lost in the Middle Prong Wilderness; they offered me a place in their home upon my arrival to the city. Unfortunately, I was unable to get a response, so I Expedia-d a hotel, picked up some groceries from the Walmart next door, then had an Uber drop me off at my place of residence for the evening. As I walked in the hotel, heels blistered to the Bone (at least that's how it felt), with a pack full of wet supplies and gear, two grocery bags in my hand, and a take home cup of lemonade, I told the lady at the front desk, autumn, tha