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I parted ways with the students a bit later at a road crossing, and continued my long, wet day. I knew at this point that I would not make the post-office in time, so I slowed my pace and resolved to figure things out once I got into Dalton.
There is a very famous person among hikers in Dalton, a guy named Tom, who since 1979 has been feeding, housing, picking up, dropping off, and giving ice-cream to hikers. He has never accepted a dime from anyone for his services, and I can say that after spending two days with him, he is bar none the nicest, most genuine person I have ever met.
But before I knew him, he was just a name, and I had no idea what to expect, but figuring at the least I could pitch a tent in his backyard, I knocked on his door, which is right on the trail as it goes through town, adorned with hiking poles, and even has its own official AT register.
He answered with a somewhat skeptical look, I can understand that as at the time I was soaked to the bone and looked miserable. After about 5 seconds after I asked to tent on his lawn, he invited me in, made a huge meal, gave me ice cream, and pointed me in the direction of a lovely bed I could sleep in. He then dried all my clothes, and wouldn't even let me do dishes or sweep up.
He houses and feeds about 600 hikers a year, and had a never ending stream of hiking stories to tell, knowledge to share, and advice to give. He complemented me on my gear and packing skills, and I was glad to get the stamp of approval from an old pro.
