By Karen Miller

The day that Girl Hobo met the Wingman, she had stowed away on a Great Smoky Mountain Railroad train that left Bryson City, NC, heading for the Nantahala Gorge. It wasn’t easy to sneak aboard a railroad car these days, and most hobos rarely attempt to board passenger trains, but Girl Hobo had a system that hardly ever failed her. She makes sure to get on a train with lots of large, noisy passengers, so that she is swept into the car unnoticed, taking a seat quietly in the very back of the train and making herself as small and quiet as possible, hiding her magic bindle beneath her seat, so as not to draw any attention. When the conductor walks through the cars to collect the tickets, Girl Hobo tells him that she is traveling with her grandmother, who is sitting in another car and has her ticket. Usually the conductor shrugs and walks past without further questions.

On this particular stowaway event, though, Girl Hobo was about to get several surprises. First of all, she didn’t realize that the train was on a round-trip excursion, which would take a 44-mile journey along the Tuskasegee River and return to Bryson City later that day. Luckily, there was a layover at Nantahala, and she knew that she would be able to get off there, hoping to find an adventure in the heart of the pristine Nantahala National Forest. The other surprise was that the conductor on this train seemed more ruthless than usual, demanding she show her ticket, then sizing up Girl Hobo suspiciously as she told her customary story. “If your grandmother has your ticket then why isn’t she sitting with you?” snarled the conductor.

“Oh, we had a fight,” lied Girl Hobo. “She told me that if I can’t behave myself she didn’t want to sit with me so I moved my seat here.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” the conductor pursed his lips. Worrying about other people’s family quarrels was not something the Great Smoky Mountain Railroad paid him to do. But he made himself a mental note to search for the grandmother as he collected his tickets, to make sure this little girl was telling the truth. By the time he got to the very last car, he realized that there was no grandmother on board with 2-tickets, and the conductor raged with the thought that he had been fooled by a child.

The red-faced conductor stormed throughout the train, searching for Girl Hobo, but she had disappeared, weaving her way up the aisles to sit in various cars, and eventually ducking into the gentlemen’s restroom, where she knew the conductor would never think to look. By the time the furious man had searched the entire train, the excursion was almost over, and he had to focus now on his other duties, like making announcements over the intercom, and getting the large, noisy people off his precious railroad cars.

This is when Girl Hobo busies herself with sidling up to the passengers, so that when the train doors spring open, she is swept onto the platform with the crowd, completely unnoticed again. She scurries away with her magic bindle in tow, a red bandana tied onto a stick that holds all her worldly possessions, and hides behind an imposingly large waste can. Peering from behind, she can see the conductor’s head bobbing above the crowd, his mean, little eyes darting about, trying to spot the stowaway. Girl watches as silent curse words spill out of his mouth and gasps, “Oh my! I hardly deserve that sort of language! After all I am just a little girl!” She giggles and plops herself into a corner behind the waste can, and, looking down, there she sees four secret hobo signals etched onto the concrete.

The first symbol is a sketch of a train that means, quite obviously, “a good place to catch a train.” “You’d have to be an idiot not to get that one,” mutters Girl Hobo. The next symbol is a circle with a slash through it that means “a good road to follow.” The third symbol is a half circle with a dot in the middle that means, “community is indifferent to a hobo’s presence,” and the fourth is a squiggly line with an “X” underneath and two smaller circles that says “there is camping and fresh water nearby.”

“This looks like a great place to be a hobo!” says Girl Hobo, and as the conductor begins to lose interest in pursuing her, new passengers board the train, and she knows that she is in the clear. The conductor shouts “All aboard!” for the last time and the train pulls away from the platform. Girl Hobo comes out from her hiding place, quite pleased with herself, then reaches into her magic bindle for a handful of secret trail mix, which helps her keep up her stamina and good humor, very important when you’re destined to travel the rest of your life as a hobo. She wanders over to some benches on the platform to sit and ponder where to go next, when she spots a young man balancing an enormous backpack on his lap, adjusting some straps and ropes. His feet were clad in heavy, clunky-looking boots, definitely a traveler of some sort, but appearing to be much more prepared than Girl Hobo.

She sits down beside him and introduces herself. “Hi, I’m Girl Hobo. Where are you going with that large pack? What is your name? Are you on an adventure?”

The young man laughs. “Well, that’s a lot of questions to answer all at once! Let’s see, yes, I’m on an adventure. I’m hiking the Appalachian Trail. I’m headed south right now, for a couple weeks of backpacking. And my name is Wingman.”

“Wingman is an interesting name,” says Girl Hobo.

“That’s my trail name, actually. Everyone on the AT has a trail name. Girl Hobo must be your trail name, right?”

“I guess you could say that, but I’ve never hiked the Appalachian Trail. Where is it? And where does it go?” asked Girl Hobo.

“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it before! It’s a wilderness trail that stretches from Georgia to Maine, climbing all the highest mountain peaks, and linking wilderness areas together. Every year, thousands of hikers try to hike the whole trail from end to end. I’m what you call a section-hiker, though. I hike a hundred miles or so each year. I figure in a few years I will have done the whole thing. So what’s your adventure, Girl Hobo, if you’re not hiking the trail? Most of us folks are here for hiking the AT or kayaking the Nantahala River.

“I’m a hobo, not a hiker, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t hike the AT, could I? I never make any permanent plans – every day is an adventure for me! I just go where I want and do what I want to do. Are you hiking today? Could I come along?”

The Wingman laughed and looked at her red Keds sneakers and magic bindle. “First of all, how does a little girl like you have all this freedom? Do your parents know where you are? And secondly, I don’t know how those little shoes and bandana on a stick will get you up those big mountains.”

“I don’t have any parents,” said Girl Hobo in a practical manner. “I’m free to do as I please. My creator stated that it is my destiny to be lifelong hobo, so that’s what I am. My “little shoes,” as you call them, have held up quite well in my travels so far, and this is hardly a bandana on a stick. It is a magic bindle that provides me with everything I need.”

The Wingman laughed again. “Well, Girl Hobo, you seem quite sure of yourself so I certainly welcome you to come along. The only thing is… the thing you have to remember… is that all of us hikers hike independently. We all have our own gear and travel at our own pace. So if you can’t keep up, I can’t wait for you. You’ll just have to take care of yourself. Can you do that?”

“Pfff!” Girl Hobo rolled her eyes. “I certainly don’t expect you to take care of me. I’m a hobo, after all!”

“Good!” said the Wingman. He hoisted his pack and motioned Girl Hobo to follow along. “Today we’re going to hike from the Nantahala River to Wayah Bald. It’s about 17 miles, so we’d better get going. We go north to the Nantahala Outdoor Center, then the trail climbs up from there pretty steeply – 3000 feet to be exact. Are you up for it, Girl Hobo?”

Girl Hobo laughed. “I sure am! Let’s get going!” She takes a handful of trail mix from her magic bindle, tosses it into her mouth, then gets a drink of water from a public water fountain at the train station, and the two hikers are on their way.

Girl Hobo was surprised as to how difficult it was to hike in sneakers, and how steep the trail was. Most of the time the Wingman was ahead of her on the trail, but occasionally she would catch up, having the advantage of carrying only a magic bindle and not a heavy pack like the Wingman. A little out of breath, Girl Hobo decided to engage her companion in conversation. “Tell, me, Wingman, how long has this trail been around?”

“A really long time, before we were born, Girl Hobo,” says the Wingman. A man named Benton MacKaye came up with the footpath idea in 1921, but it was 1937 before the entire thing was competed. Back in those days, you had to be a pioneer to hike it. It was rough, and you’d have to sleep on the ground – many people had heavy bedrolls and not even tents. There weren’t any cell phones to call someone in an emergency, so if you got into trouble you’d better be sure you could get yourself out of it. There was no such thing as fancy stoves and ramen noodles! You’d eat dried meat, berries and whatever water you could find. Nowadays, though, anyone can hike it – there are shelters along the way, information kiosks with maps and even trail angels who will give hikers rides to grocery stores and such. It’s still a hard hike, but the friends you meet along the way make it easier and more fun.”

“Why are you called the Wingman?” asked Girl Hobo.

“Well, that’s kind of a sad story… are you sure you really want to know?”

“I do want to know!” said Girl Hobo. “Can we stop for a break? How many miles have we gone so far?” She wiped the sweat from her forehead and neck.

“Sure, let’s take a little rest – we’re about 5-miles into it, now. I could use some water. Then I’ll tell you about the Wingman.” Wingman pulled a tube from his pack and sucked some water out of it, sharing a sip with Girl Hobo, then began his dark tale of how he got his name.

“It all started when I was a very young boy. I was kind of small for my age, like you, and a little shy.” The Wingman cleared his throat. “My mother was kind of protective of me and I guess I got a reputation for being a sissy, because kids at school started to pick on me and tease me.”

“Most of it was okay, I mean, I could handle it, but there were these two really mean bullies who were older than me and a lot bigger than me, and they taunted me and challenged me every day when I walked home from school.”

“That’s terrible,” said Girl Hobo.

“Yeah, it really was. I mean, it got to the point that I was scared all the time. I didn’t want to go to school. I felt sick to my stomach every day. My mom would take me to the doctor and they would never find anything wrong. I was just so scared of the bullies I actually made myself sick. And I was afraid to tell anybody what they were doing to me. They said if I squealed on them they would kill me!”

“Oh Wingman! That’s awful! What did you do about it?”

“That’s the thing,” said the Wingman, sadly. “I didn’t do anything about it. I just let them bully me day after day, knowing that one day something terrible would happen to me. I could feel it coming. They threatened to kill me and I believed that one day I would die. And then it happened. The most terrible thing, One day, I actually did die.”

“What do you mean, you died?” asked Girl Hobo, startled.

“Yup.” The Wingman shook his head. “The bullies did what they said they would do. As I was walking home from school, there they were, on the side of the road near a rock quarry near our neighborhood. They yelled stuff at me, and said they were going to kill me and I started to run. They threw rocks at me and I started to cry. I felt so ashamed.”

“Then the bullies caught up with me and dragged me to the edge of a pit with lots of rocks in it. They grabbed my feet, each one had hold of each of my feet, and hung me upside down, and told me that if I didn’t stop crying they would drop me on my head.”

“I can’t believe this happened to you!” said Girl Hobo. “What did you do to get away?”

“I didn’t get away,” said the Wingman quietly. “They dropped me, right there on my head. And that’s when I died.”

“What did it feel like to die?” asked Girl Hobo.

“The funny thing about it is, it didn’t feel like anything at first. There wasn’t any pain, more like a big jolt and then nothing. But after a bit, the most remarkable thing happened. I believe I died, right there, and my soul floated up, over the quarry, and I became like a kite, floating, looking down, seeing the bullies standing at the edge of the quarry and my body lying there in that rock pit. And it’s hard to describe the feeling… but it was the nicest feeling I have ever had. It was different than flying. It was peaceful and exhilarating at the same time. It was downright crazy. Here I am lying dead, and I’m feeling happier than I ever have in my life. I will never forget that beautiful experience as long as I live.”

“But then what happened? What happed to the bullies.. and somebody must have rescued you, right?”

“An ambulance came. Apparently the bullies ran home and called for help. I don’t think they realized what a terrible thing they had done until they saw me in that pit. Then I went to a hospital where I was in a coma for several days. And then,” said the Wingman matter-of-factly, “I just woke up. Just like that.”

“What happed to the bullies?” asked Girl Hobo.

“It’s so weird, I really don’t remember. I know that they never bullied me again. In fact, nobody did after that. I kind of became the boy-who-died-and-came-back-to-life. And everybody thought I was an amazing kid.”

“And sure, I was happy to be alive, but the strangest thing happed after that incident. I couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of floating, flying, being up there in the air, euphoric and happy, and I wanted to have that feeling again. I got into flying kites as a hobby and that was fun for a while. But then kites weren’t enough for me, I didn’t want to fly a kite, I wanted to BE a kite. So I got into hang gliding – that is – jumping off mountains wearing wings, and also power kites, where I strap myself to a kite and get lifted into the air.”

“That sounds so dangerous!” exclaimed Girl Hobo.

“I don’t think about the danger,” said the Wingman. “No matter how many times I jump off a mountain with my wings, I still can’t experience that perfect feeling I had as a boy, that time when I believe my soul left my body and was free at last. But I still love to do it, and that’s how I became the Wingman, flying, floating, being high in the sky, that’s how I escape from all my problems. See, here, even in these tall mountains, when I’m on top of the highest peak, I feel like everything is okay, that I’m away from anything that is bad, that no one will ever harm me again.”

“That’s an amazing story,” said Girl Hobo. “You really have had some interesting adventures. I want to stand on the tall mountain and feel the way you feel. Do you think we can get to that Wayah Gap before dark?”    

“We’ll be close, at least, but let’s stop talking and let’s get going!” said the Wingman, smiling broadly. “We’ve still got 11 miles to go!!”

It was a long day of hiking for Girl Hobo and the Wingman. They decided to stay at a primitive campsite right before Wayah Bald, and hike to the top in the morning at dawn, since it was getting dark, and Wingman said you should always get settled to sleep before the sun goes down. Girl Hobo munched on some trail mix while Wingman brewed some tea, then he rolled out his sleeping pad and sleeping bag. Girl Hobo went about her tasks of getting ready for bed, drinking water from a nearby spring, washing her face and hands, and brushing her teeth, then piling up some leaves and curling up in them like a puppy dog. The temperature started to drop as twilight came, and the Wingman wondered how Girl Hobo was going to stay warm in that pile of leaves, but remarkably, some stray cats came out the forest and draped themselves over Girl Hobo as she slept, purring and keeping her warm. The Wingman snored loud Wingman snores, which resonated throughout the forest, keeping the mice and raccoons away.

That night, Girl Hobo dreamed that she was a big, yellow kite, with an enormously long tail. She was drifting above the earth allowing the wind to take her higher and higher. And hanging onto her kite-tail was the Wingman as a little boy, with a beautiful smile, his face turned up toward the universe. And below the Wingman were hundreds of other smiling children, faces turned upward, as well, all happy to escape their bullies, all being brought high above the clouds by Girl Hobo the Big Yellow Kite. And when Girl Hobo had gone as high as she could go, higher than any kite has ever gone before, she felt her soul soaring, just like the Wingman described. That’s when Girl Hobo reached out her little kite hand, and touched the edge of heaven.

© 2009, Karen Miller. All rights reserved.