The Sugarloaf Trail?

Good Morning Sunday, the sun is out and it looks like a good day for a hike. Let’s get online to find a trail reasonably close that is not too strenuous so all the dogs can enjoy time outside, including the senior members of the pack. I find one called “Sugarloaf,” described as a 3-mile loop going around several ponds, easy and well marked. Perfect!

There were a few red flags to start the day off. I take Woody out front for a quick walk and he manages to poop right in front of Dora’s door on the passenger side. I go back inside to get a plastic bag and grab some dogs to load up at the same time. When I return, Woody is headed straight out onto 4^th Avenue so I drop everything and chase after him and well, you guessed it. I step right in the middle of his earlier deposit as the plastic bag lay on the ground marking the spot. I panicked when I saw him in the street and temporarily forgot about the poop but it somehow found me. After loading the dogs in the van, picking up the reminder of the mess, and cleaning the bottom of my shoe we were off, to an ominous start in search of Sugarloaf. On the way I get a call from my local hiking buddy asking what we were up to. I tell her we are going hiking at Sugarloaf and her response is “where’s that?” – second red flag.

A few wrong turns, a few corrections on GPS and we finally reach the trailhead shown on the Internet. The parking area is strange and looks just like private property with an outbuilding. I leave the dogs with their excitement and protesting barks in Dora long enough to walk around the building to investigate. Sure enough there is the row of ponds as shown on the website, and what looks like a trail leading down and around them. I return to Dora, let the dogs out and we were off. On the way down the hill my feet get tangled in extremely tough, stringy vines sending me forward into a chest plant – similar to the face plant earlier this year in San Diego, minus the tequila. The dogs didn’t miss a beat as I struggle to pick myself up with Anne desperately pulling me with her leash - red flag #3.

Blazin' the trail

After going only 300 yards the water ends and we are in the middle of a plowed area with a trail around the edge. We walk through a field covered with rotten pumpkins that the dogs thoroughly enjoy, followed by apple trees with loads of fallen apples covering the ground that they also love. DoDog manages to find a pile of dung that she rolled around in smearing her neck, throat and harness with a lovely aroma that I can only hope will dissipate by the time we return to Dora. The trail continues to wind through several fields and eventually we end up on what looks like a dirt road for farm equipment. In fact we see miscellaneous tractors and apple crates sitting along the trail. It seems odd not seeing another soul, and there is no signs markings the trail as indicated on the Internet.  But, the road is weaving to the left looking like the loop described on the website.

Anne wonders where we are going?

 We continue walking and the dogs are having a blast eating the apples along the way and crawling under electric fences that are obviously turned off. We finally come to the end of the trail and find ourselves at the intersection of a major country road. What the hell? There is a house off to the left so we hike up the hill in search of someone to ask about the trail, but first we have to pass an open barn with a large curious collie and a freaked out cat that jumped to the rafters after seeing the herd of dogs approaching. No worries we all manage to get up the driveway except DoDog, who is delayed by a Blue Healer refusing to let her pass. He actually had her rooted to the spot and I knew we would find her there when we returned. She can be extremely stubborn when she doesn’t get her way and an obvious stare down is in progress with this bossy healer.

The garage door is open so we knock on the door inside the garage. An elderly lady opens it and I explain our situation. Her response is “are you looking for my daughter?” I quickly realize she didn’t understand what I was talking about, probably because I lack her accent so I thank her, and decide we are going to go back the way we came. The hell with the loop! It obviously doesn’t exist. By this time we have hiked at least five miles, maybe farther and I hate to turnaround and admit defeat, but it is time. We are all getting a bit weary. 

Bunny looking for apples

We pick up DoDog on the way still in a stare down with the Blue Healer, and begin backtracking with only a few stops for more apples, dung rolling and water. Finally, we see the van. By this time we have been gone several hours and are really happy to see Dora the Explorer waiting for us – we have no idea at this point how lucky we really are to find her there. All the dogs have slowed down to a meandering pace and are more than ready to get inside the van. Luce and Woody at 15 and 14, were troopers but I can tell they need  a bowl of water and then a nap, in that order. I’m loading the dogs in the back when two women and a small boy come walking across the field toward us and one said: “what are you doing here, this is private property. There are no trespassing signs everywhere,” although I hadn’t seen a one. I tell her just a minute as I get the dogs settled and pour them some water, first things first. I then go back out and explain that we were hiking the Sugarloaf as she eyes me suspiciously saying there is no Sugarloaf Trail here;  something about owning 35 acres and me being on that property. What? But, I found this trail on the Internet I say and show her the driving instructions I have written down leading us to this very spot. She is confused, I am confused and the other lady asked where I am from in Alaska. I tell her Homer and she said she was stationed at Fort Richardson for a year. Small world, but back to the situation at hand.

Lady #l Kathy, tells me that the Sheriff has been there looking inside the van to find a receipt on the floor with my name on it, noticed the Alaska license plates, and saw the keys dangling in the ignition. I always leave my keys in the car figuring if someone steals it, well then they obviously need it more than me. It’s never happened. However, that’s not how the Sheriff saw this situation at all. It was apparent that the woman owning the van had been abducted, driven to this spot and taken off to the woods for God knows what? I’m having a hard time comprehending all this logic as I continue to try and explain my Sugarloaf story. In the meantime Kathy is on her IPhone calling the Sheriff to tell him I have arrived back at the van unharmed, looking for some trail that I found on the Internet. OMG! I’m in the twilight zone in the hills of North Carolina.

Kathy ends her conversation with the Sheriff and then tells me that they were in the process of getting a tow truck to pick up Dora and then put out an APB on me. “You mean like an Alls Points Bulletin?” Yep, that be the one. I am more than flabbergasted and having a hard time keeping a straight face. If this weren’t so damn dramatic, it would be hysterical. Really.

I finally get Kathy to do a Goggle search on her phone for ‘hiking trails in Hendersonville’ but I can’t tell which link I clicked on to find this so-called Sugarloaf Trail. In the end I get her email promising to send her the link so that she can contact the powers that be to get her property removed from the list of available hiking trails in Hendersonville. She kept saying it wasn’t the trespassing that bothered her; it was the fact that they were sure a lunatic had abducted me. I apologized for being on her property and we were finally able to laugh about it, and the dogs and I head home. But not before another warning from her: ‘ be careful here this time of year, there are lots of psychos out.” Holy Shit, now what do you suppose that means?

On the way home we stop at the doggie wash for a much-needed DoDog bath and a complimentary one for BunBun. By this time I am hungry, as I didn’t sample the rotten pumpkins or apples on the trail, I stop at the Fresh Market, similar to a small Whole Foods store to get dinner. I settle on a scrumptious chicken breast that has been marinated in white wine and baked to perfection. We are less than a mile from the house when the aroma of that chicken breast overtokes the inside of the van and it slowly dawns on me. OMG, as I slam on the brakes, pull Dora off the road into a parking lot, and start yelling at the dogs. Five of them are accounted for but when I open the back of the van, there she is – Ms. America, aka DoDog trying to jump back over the seat before I actually catch her. Too late girlfriend, you are so busted! All that was left of the chicken breast was the aroma and an open, empty container. She had consumed the entire thing, including the bones in a flash. Pissed off to the max, the other dogs are running for cover because they know it and regret not getting in on the action before it was too late. But DoDog was quick, even quicker than Anne this time and that is amazing.

I drop them all off at the house, put Ms. DoDog in her kennel and go straight back to Fresh Market to get yet another chicken breast. The clerk at the deli reminded me that I was just there and the cashier commented, weren’t you just here? The sad part of this story, well the breast I just bought weighs less than the one she ate. And I’m still not over that one.

So much for our first day of hiking solo in the hills of North Carolina, I guess more research is in order before our next major outing. But the good news? Well the dogs had a terrific time and could care less about private property, tow trucks, APB’s or wrongly marked trails. They are asleep, twitching at my feet as I write this, probably dreaming about rolling in dung, eating apples and pumpkins, sniffing wildlife and chasing barn cats. DoDog is still smiling over the chicken breast, and occasionally licks her lips to remind me how much it was worth the scolding that she took with her head down and her tail tucked. Isn’t that just like a hound dog? 

Woof! Woof!.