“Could we get an egg with that?” I asked our server as she placed the loaf of freshly baked bread on our table.
My daughter Elisabeth and I had backpacked into Nantahala Outdoor Center the day before and were resuming our southbound hike on the Appalachian Trail that morning. But not before enjoying a hearty breakfast at Slow Joe’s Riverside Café!
Over the past few days we’d steadily honed our camping and cooking skills – seemingly in direct proportion with increasing stamina and appetites – as we made our way southward from the very edge of Great Smoky Mountain National Park. The moment we’d arrived at NOC we’d leaned our backpacks against a tree and fished out a credit card to rent a pair of inflatable kayaks called “duckies”. We’d changed boots for sandals, stashed our packs behind the rental counter and – within minutes – had boarded a bus to take us upriver to the put-in point.
We spent a few hours in sheer delight splashing our way through rapids, taking occasional swims, relaxing in the sparkling sunlight – and letting the river do the work instead of our legs! After we each successfully maneuvered through Class 3 Nantahala Falls, we turned in our boats and crossed the footbridge to Slow Joe’s for a late lunch. That’s when we’d ordered the loaf of bread for pickup the next morning.
“How would you like your egg?” our server wanted to know.
“Raw!” I replied.
Looking concerned she exclaimed, “We can’t serve raw eggs!”
“But we don’t want the egg to eat now!” I explained. “We want it for making French toast tomorrow morning.”
Now she looked genuinely perplexed. “Huh?” was all she could say.
Elisabeth chimed in, “We backpacking the AT and ordered the bread to use for breakfast and lunch tomorrow on the trail.”
“Oh!” exclaimed our server. “Let me find out …”
From our table we could barely hear her end of the conversation.
“They want one egg.”
Something unintelligible …
“Raw – still in the shell.”
Something else unintelligible …
“They’re hikers!”
Moments later she returned and placed a single egg next to our loaf of bread.
“Enjoy your French toast,” she smiled, “and … have a good hike.”
“It would appear,” I speculated, looking at Elisabeth, “in a community of paddlers, hikers are weird!”