Category Archives: November ’09

November '09

Kirkridge Shelter 11/14

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“Hey, we know this guy! Yeah we saw you in the 100 mile wilderness! Yeah you were coming down that steep hill and we were going up!”

“Oh yeah?…oh yeah!! You were standing below me and you were above me on the trail when we talked!”

“Yeah! Yeah! Oh man, you’ve got a beard now!”

“Yeah well that was only a couple days in and now this is nearly three months”

“So how you been doing? Everything going smoothly, you enjoying it?”

“Yeah man, I love it.”

Jeremy and his cousin, I met them on my fourth day out. They were doing just the hundred mile wilderness northbound and then headed home, which happened to be in eastern Pennsylvania. And they happened to be going out on an overnight trip for the first time since then their trip in August. And I happened to have only done a 6 mile day today, a 0 day yesterday, a 25 mile day before that, a 3 mile day before that, a 23 mile day before that and so on.

As the initial questions wore thin I sat there saying every so often, “Man this is crazy to see you guys again.”

Jeremy would agree, “Yeah, definitely. It’s great to see that you’re still plugging along, especially since you got such a late start.”

We talked about things and people we all ran into such as the mosquitoes at Abol Bridge or the man called Padre.

And I sat and wondered, why did I meet them again? Why these two guys? Why two times now? Yeah sure maybe its just coincidence. Maybe its just a funny ‘small world’ occurance going on here and I am reading in to it too much.

Then I saw as I sat in my sleeping bag in the shelter the sky rained down, the night wore gloomier and more pitiful. I saw Jeremy and his older cousin’s faces not grow any dimmer and listened as their laughter stayed strong. I watched their faces glow surrounded by the fire rolling in front of them. What is it though? The rain led me to hike a depressing 6 miles and spend the rest of the afternoon and evening and night in my sleeping bag, warm and dry only leaving to relieve body pressures.

As the overwhelming curiosity we three had of why we met again came to mind one of us would announce “Its great to see you’re still doing well” or “It’s so cool to see you guys nearly a thousand miles down the trail” or “Man, you’re beard has gotten big!”

But what was it they had to offer me and I had to offer them that we all three were together again so many hundreds of miles and many months later?

Maybe it was merely to reinforce the fact that I get to point at everyone who sits in a cubicle all day and laugh. Or I guess maybe I should encourage you all to flick society off at some point and do things your own way.

But honestly, I think the reason Jeremy and his cousin were there at Kirkridge shelter was not to reinforce something they had shown me before, but rather to reinforce something everyone had been showing me and I had ignored. Maybe its as simple as the trail is magic.

November '09

Church of the Mountain Hostel 11/12-11/13, 895.0

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Jeremiah looks into the trash searching for foods scraps tossed out from the night before. Instead some trail magic roller blades had been abandoned. He pulls them out, puts them on and we get some live entertainment from a sore hiker trying to roller blade.

Jeremiah Johnson (that’s actually his name) from Ohio started his hike in Georgia but in Damascus, Virginia decided to go the other way. He took the bus up to Maine and after having started a month ahead of me, we both are in Delaware Water Gap, hiking together.

Koi, from Massachusetts, started only a few days ahead of me but will be leaving the trail in a few days due to lack of funds.

Koi and Torch

Olive oil left Katahdin the same day I did and I actually met her a couple days into our hikes. However, due to two bad knees (hence the trail name ‘olive oil’) and an amazing ability to ‘zero’ multiple days in a row had to skip vermont and new hampshire to get south enough to avoid dangerous weather.

Jeramiah and Olive Oil

And Torch from Indiana, raised mormon, known for lighting a mouse nest on fire with a stick rapped in lighter fluid soaked cloth, did the same stunt as Jeremiah. Torch ‘flip-flopped’ from Damascus at quite a later date though, having needed to finish up his senior year of high school. Torch is not much the talkative time. One night I had an entire conversation with him without him saying a word. I guess rather it was a monologue.

These are the characters that have come together to hike as of now, torch, jeremiah, thirst, olive oil, and koi.

November '09

Brink Road Shelter 11/11, 870.0

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“It’s 11:11 on 11/11, make a wish,” Olive oil says.

While I maybe would have wished for a shelter with more space than my home bathroom, I know I have no need to make any wishes.

I was told to take control of my life by one man, and by another to take responsibility.

I knew what both of them meant and I knew that when 11:11 rolled around each night I should not have been making wishes. Yeah sure I could put the responsibility all my trouble on some higher power.

” I wish I get a higher GPA this semester” or ” I wish I don’t screw up” or “I wish everything works out”

I needed to be saying that I am going to take care of things. I am going to work to fix my life rather than letting it flow down the drain like an unplugged wishing well.

So I stepped back. I left the rush of reality that was overwhelming me. I needed to respond to no one at home. I turned my life completely stress free so that I could start from the beginning. Now I have no obligations, no worries, and most importantly, no fear. Some things at home are not as I would like them to be but rather than wishing them to change, I’ll take care of them or leave.

My environment drowned me last year. I was unhappy with my brother in Richmond and unhappy with the party lifestyle of college. I was trapped running between the two at 97 miles an hour, having no idea of a sanctuary. Neither place I could go and feel comfortable and safe and neither place I could change.

So now I am out here surrounded by bears, poisonous snakes, many hunters with a high B.A.C. and ticks carrying lyme disease. But I am more comfortable away from the rush and the confusion and the forced decisions. I am not mature enough to tango with drugs and doubt I’ll ever be. And I’m not strong enough to watch others confusion take hold of them. And I’m not strong enough to ward off violent acts upon me in Richmond.

So thanksgiving will be uneventful but stress free. I feel Christmas may be the same. I like it out here and while I wish I could go home and feel content and safe, I know the truth is only being masked by my mom’s comfort words preached to me. The woods are calm and peaceful and out here I am free.

From here on 11:11 will be the time I remind myself “no thanks, I’ve got everything under control.”

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In the car ride to the trailhead, Dick drove me and Jeramiah while Butch drove Koi, Olive Oil, and Torch. I asked Jeramiah which shelter he wanted to go to, the one three miles away or sixteen miles away.

Having picked up the Giardia bug, he responded, “To be honest, that three is sounding really nice.”

“Man I feel completely the same. Olive oil was talking about a twenty eight though. She won’t do it but I can’t imagine her changing her mind from thirty to three.”

When we got out of the cars, I said to the other three “So, what are you guys thinking about as far as mileage today?”

They all looked at each other before Koi said “We were thinking about three miles.”

It was not even ten a.m. by the time we arrived at the shelter. What better way to enjoy the morning than napping?

So we all pulled out our sleeping bags and pads and slept into the afternoon. I was the first to rise and went to gather more wood for a potential fire despite the clear “NO FIRES” sign.

Soon after rousing and cooking dinner, Torch had a fire blazing. As the boredom kicked in batteries began to be thrown into the fire. After a disappointing blue flame and no explosions, Olive Oil pulled out a canister of Butane. I ran to behind the shelter when Torch put it in. I sat on a stump back there, looking up at Torch standing next to me, utter enthusiasm displayed on his face. Before long I hear the bang, accompanied by a bright flash, lighting up the trees and Torch’s grinning face. I stood up to see a plume of flame and embers rocketing into the sky above the shelter.

I step out from behind the wall and see the devastation. The fire was completely out, coals scattered in a thirty foot circle all around where the fire once was.

Torch sweeping the scattered coals

“That. Was. Awesome.”

November '09

The Outhouse, Unionville, NY 11/9-11/10, 843.3

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“You a vegan?” asked Bill.

“A vegetarian, yes”

“Ooo, you owe me a quarter. Why are you a vegan?”

At the former mayor’s house in Unionville, New York hikers are housed and fed by abiding to three rules. 1: Do not call any of the three guys running the place, Dick (the mayor), Butch, or Bill, ‘sir’. 2: Stay out of the damn kitchen. 3: Do not say any words over three syllables.

“I saw a chicken truck driving down the road and I thought it was messed up.”

“What, you want them to walk? You sicko. ‘Here ya go chickens, walk to the butchery.’ I mean those people are at least nice enough  to give em a lift for cryin out loud,” said Bill.

Bill is your stereotypical 80 year old New York/ New Jersey grump, except hilarious. I never saw him crack the slightest bit of a smile however despite the comedy routine he surrounded himself in.

“He ya go, you schmuck,” he said to me as he dropped a veggie burger on my plate. Honestly, I don’t even know how to spell “schmuck” and I definitely have never actually had someone call me that.

Butch is just as much of a character.

“Here’s the shower. Towels are there. Soap and shampoo are in the shower. The door does not lock but you don’t have anything down their anyways”

Rule four is that every hiker must watch a twenty minute inspirational video. No one really minds because well, dinner smells good and the bunks in the basement are warm and comfortable.

He leads into the video with a monologue saying why we must all watch it but the lead in could not have summarized slightly the clip from “Britain’s Got Talent.”

Paul Potts, employee at Cell phone warehouse hides a great talent, the ability to sing opera. He did a great job, he conquered all odds (including him not fitting in with the group in middle school, being ‘a little bit different from the other boys’) and finally came out on top. How fancy and cliche. What does this have to do with hiking? Well, the last three words of the song Potts sings, “we will win” repeated.

Anyone who goes out on a 2178 miles trek through the woods needs to assure and reassure and assure again to themselves that we will win. And the wonderful thing about this adventure is that the ‘I’ only lasts mere days and tops weeks. Hikers come together to win together. We help each other, feed one another, and provide company and friendship to people that were once strangers trying to do something seemingly impossible. The odds against us are obvious. To vacate that much of our lives to anything would be nearly impossible. Going into the hike knowing that around 1700 people do not finish out of less than 2000 who attempt the hike, it is impossible to underestimate the ridiculousness of finishing.

Dick and Butch

Hikers rely on places like the outhouse. We rely on successes like the Paul Potts story to know despite the low plausibility of finishing, it is possible. And we rely on people with humor and good hearts like Dick, Butch, and Bill to help refresh us for the next few weeks of rain and struggle.

However, I don’t think I’ll meet many people like those guys again. As Twisted Hair said “they should make a t.v. Show featuring these guys.”

November '09

Wildcat Shelter 11/7, 814.3

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Its 2p.m. She’s insane. I know she is. She’s rocking back and forth and she has not stopped talking since she got here.

Its 2p.m. I have no tent but the weather is supposed to be nice. She is insane. I cannot imagine tolerating this for much longer.

Its 2p.m. It’s 12.4 miles to the next shelter. I’m really tired.

She’s a heroin addict, or former at least. It took her three times for her to finally understand that I had not seen the sights she had seen. I am hiking south, she is hiking north. No I do not know what the Cat Rocks look like. No I do not know if they were fun.

Tonight there are more people I have ever seen at one campsite. Four of us in the shelter. A Nazi camp of tents down the hill in the valley just 20 yards away, two tents behind us, and thirty-five boy scouts and troop leaders on the other side of the ridge. Too many people, sensory overload. Do I keep hiking?

November '09

Fingerboard Shelter 11/6, 800.0

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We drop down from the friary high on the ridge into the valley where I walk a mere twenty yards off the trail to resupply at a shell station.

We are not in Maine anymore.

Four mile later, we drop down off another ridge overlooking the Hudson. We pass the time talking about movies and Dragonforce and Jack London.

Soon we are road walking on the Bear Mountain Bridge passing Suicide Hotline signs. “Don’t do it Jeremiah!”

We double back on the other side of the road. The entrance to the zoo is over there, the first and possibly only bears I will see.

The trail passes through the zoo and lets out on a city park. There are a lot of people out running today, a lot of high school students. Maybe they practice here.

Then, the gun goes off and dozens of cross country runners race around the windy lake in their flapping singlets.

They turn back and run on the A.T. for a bit, passing me with gentle long strides, breezing by at over ten miles per hour, six minute-miles. I walk my twenty minute-miles, my three miles an hour.

I crest Bear Mountain, the New York City skyline in the distance, a heated lookout tower on the top.

New York City Skyline

What did happen to my wilderness experience?

In the valley I sprint across a four lane highway as traffic speeds the thirty-two miles to N Y City. At least where I sleep it will be quiet.

At least I’ll fall asleep stress free, happy.

November '09

Greymoor friary 11/5, 779.4

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The girl she says “I hear its different when they’re your own kids.”

He is quiet. I say “How many kids do you have?” But I have forgotten his name and he is ignoring me, blowing the question off as if it were directed to someone else. Possibly, maybe he thinks I am asking someone else. “How many kids do you have?” He has one of those names that just never seems to stick.

After silence he looks to me and says “Who me?”

I cannot imagine not being proud of my family, especially one I raise and watch grow. He has three kids, two boys and a girl sandwiched in between.

He is still married yet he sounds unhappy. I ask him how long he is out for.

“If I hike for three weeks I get less crap over it than if I go three times for one week,” he says.

It is obvious he is not looking for sympathy. I just hit a sore spot. He is unhappy and I can tell that hiking is his way of escaping all the troubles he has in the world and I wonder, am I doing the same?

This girl, at thirty seven she still seems just that. Just last year she completed a thru hike of the Appalachian trail. She looks at me and envy’s every bit of my life. She wants freedom and more importantly, she wants to have answers.

On the trail, we hike and we eat and we sleep. Of course we have to treat our water, resupply, and general necessities are fairly inconvenient and luxuries almost always come at high expense. But life is truly simple and stress free.

She lives in New York City and her first year anniversary was less than a month ago and she is discontent.

I want to tell her, “Do not have kids. You will not be happy and they will not like you. You will not be a good mother and they will be unhappy children” But I hope she figures that out on her own. That way she will be sure of it.

She lay in the shelter discussing how she does not want to become a mother before she is ready, before she has lived her life of adventure, before she has experienced all that she wants to. “Kids would just take away my life and my time,” she says.

And I realize, I am not running from my problems. I am running, true from unhappiness and depression and troubles, but not from personal problems. In reality, I am facing the issues which cluttered my life. This life of simplicity is opening me up to the mess I have have been in and helping me escape the life I was not supposed to be living.

She is not a mom. She is a little girl that took too long to grow up. He is not a dad. He is a young boy who tried to grow up too fast.

I hope that I never have to return to the trail for sanctuary. The stones to rock hop across creeks and streams do not slide and turn underneath my feet anymore. I think my footing is secure and when I get to Georgia I hope to return with full excitement to my life I left behind. Next time I’m going to do it right.

November '09

RPH Shelter 11/4, 760.6

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I look down the ridge at the darkened black woods scattered in the valley contrasting neatly with the crisp white houses centered in lime green grass fields. The clouds cover any hint of sun yet the temperature is far from bitter.

My feet cry from the seven-hundred miles of beating on rocks and roots. My back screams from the months of load bearing. My stomach, even when fat and full yells to me “Is that all you got?” I’m always cold and usually wet. But if you asked me, I’d respond “I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

I look down into the valley at the rushing interstate, splitting neighborhoods, splitting woods, splitting mountains, splitting lives. Those bored people on that boring road with bleak colors drive to their boring jobs and live their boring lives.

In Fahrenheit 451, Clarisse asks “Are you happy?”

If Maine is birth, and Georgia is death, then why take the highway, the speedway? The man says “Oh yeah this road’ll cut fifteen miles off your hike!”

But you say “Maine is not birth and Georgia for sure is not death”

And I respond “The hike is transition. When you hike, you live in transition.” I say “Many people come to the trail and are reborn, interstate dwellers, the map quest fury: 24 hours 5 minutes, 1402.27 miles. “Yeah and if I stay on that road to Blacksburg, VA it will cut nearly six hundred miles off my hike!”

“Maine is the beginning of life for many, recognition of the adventure that awaited them ever since the first light. And Georgia is the death of the idea of normalcy and pattern.

“So yes those people in the valley will sleep in their beds tonight. And yeah they have a knob they turn to dictate what degree temperature the house will be. But I promise you, they’ll sleep no better than me, and that extra twist from seventy-two to seventy-four will feel no better than my sleeping bag. And I guarantee you that they will complain more if that degree is not right or their sleep was without pleasant dreams.”

For comfort and pleasure do not dictate happiness. That comes with adventure, growth, and discovery.

And the fool who sleeps in the woods, I still say “I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

November '09

Telephone Pioneers Shelter 11/3, 743.8

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After my trip home for a week it is great to be back out on the trail again. A couple of days to adjust back to non-civilization and I am settled again. It was awesome getting to return to see friends, family, and even show up at Virginia Tech for a Thursday night football game.

Despite being slightly hesitant about returning to my tiring life out here, I knew it is where I belong. Despite tasting the comfort of home, I am back out hiking, continuing on my journey. That test must stand for something.