Day 22-4/1-Cosby Knob Shelter to Davenport Gap-8 miles

My knee felt fine in the morning so I got a decent start and was looking forward to making the Standing Bear Hostel in the evening; I thought it would be an easy 10 miles of mostly downhill. A couple miles in I hit the split for the Mt. Cammerer trail, which I was assured would lead me to a firetower worth the half mile of hiking not on the AT. This stone tower awaited me, apparently one of the last in the East. It was restored fairly recently, and was more elusive than firetowers previous. Most of the ones I have climbed so far have been tall steel structures, but this was a short masonry lookout which climbed not so far above the surrounding rocks. The views were impressive, despite the haze that limited visibility. They don't call it the Smokies for nothing. I spent about an hour lounging around in the sun, and took advantage of the elevation to text some April Fool's pranks, which were well received. Then it was off for what I had hoped would be another three hours free of knee pain. I was wrong.
The trail continued downhill for what seemed like an eternity. I have never prayed for an increase in elevation like I did then. The brief respites of level ground quickly gave way to more downhill and excruciating left knee pain. I was bummed about the pain, but more bummed that I would have to take more zero days ahead for some time to heal up. I get very anxious when I am not moving. I made it to Davenport Gap, with a few miles to go before reaching the hostel, but decided discretion was the better part of valor and called for a pickup. The owner met me within twenty minutes and took me the 15 minute drive down gravel backroads to the hostel. I grabbed a bunk at what was an empty house and checked out the accommodations. A bunkhouse with 20 beds, an old school outhouse, and even older school laundry with a washboard and rollers, and a resupply room all on the honor system. I am typing this on a desktop that might as well reside outdoors with a dial up connection at one dollar for every 15 minutes. The people are definitely relaxed and a creek runs right through the middle of the property. I even have the choice between indoor and outdoor showering.
It wasn't long until a beer run was discussed, involving an 10 minute one way trip up to the next exit and a gas station. They also sell fried chicken. My main reason for going was to get some ice for my knee, but the beer was an ancillary benefit. I gathered some cash from the others interested and we were off. After dodging a rock slide on I-40 we were quickly there, and my choices of beer had enthralled me. My driver, a temporary employee of the hostel, had struck up a conversation with a local he knew in the parking lot. Before I could decide on a brew that was both cheap and tasty the local, a middle aged woman with a wrinkly face and quick smile, had approached me in the store. She asked if I would buy her beer. I was stunned, not knowing if she was really asking charity for alcohol. After some questioning she handed me six dollars, the cost of the six-pack. This confused me even more, as she was clearly of drinking age. Assuring myself this wasn't an attempted straw purchase, my curiosity was piqued. She quickly explained herself by leaning in and whispering, "I need to get out of her; I have a possum on my head." At first I assured myself by assuming a diminished mental capacity, being very familiar with the issue given my previous profession. Then I actually looked at the top of her head.
I cannot make this stuff up, people. There was a possum on her head. It was small, and considering its eyes were closed I couldn't be sure if it was real, but it had blended in with her graying hair. After a brief movement that could only be attributed to either a living creature or animatronics, I admitted to myself that she might have been truthful in her previous statements. Either way I had her money so I couldn't see the downside on my end.
A few cases of beer and some fried chicken later, I had made it to the parking lot. My new friend quickly took her beer. She informed me that she was a mammal rehabilitator and that she would be over to the hostel shortly to hang out. I stopped asking questions and just went with it. Once returning to the hostel the beer helped settle my nerves and the chicken my stomach. The rest of the night could only be downhill from here.