Mike - love you long time. See you in the fall. Don't get eaten by grizzlies (and everyone's been worried about us and the bears. Hah.)
Wow. It's been a while. You know, while I'm hiking I spend a lot of time thinking about this blog... all the little things I can't wait to report on, all the little literary tricks I can use to really get my point across, how I'll word this and that, and then I get here... The glowing screen overwhelms me and I'm at a loss for words. Not to mention the fact that the figurative ups and downs are almost as frequent as the literal ones. But for every figurative down I've encountered, the Trail has given me a threefold up in return. Luckily, the literal ones are about equal. So I can't complain.
"Hike Your Own Trail" is a saying that is popular among AT hikers, particularly non-purists. "Purists" are people who choose to hike every inch of the AT to get from Georgia to Maine. This seems like the most sensible way - if you're going to hike the AT... well... hike the AT! Pass every white blaze (trail markers)! There are a few problems with that theory though. For one thing, the Appalachian Trail itself is just a path that people have stamped down enough times to make it visible - but not every chooses the same path, and different paths form around obstacles, such as fallen trees... meaning that there is no real trail, just white blazes. In Virginia, the AT runs parallel to the Blue Ridge Parkway for about 100 miles. Since we will be at that section during summer, vegetation blocks any views from the trail, so many hikers choose to walk the road instead (or hitch-hike - "yellow blazing" for the yellow line). They're walking pavement, but still technically passing every white blaze. Does that count? You may recall from my previous post we were tempted to "blue blaze" - take a shortcut. We didn't because we are aiming to walk the entire AT. But, on our way out of Franklin, we were hitch-hiking and our hitch could only take us so far - causing us to miss 3.7 miles of Appalachian Trail. Thus ends our attempt. You can't exactly turn down a hitch. And were we going to hike south 3.7 miles of what we knew was an unexciting stretch just to pass every blaze? Nope. Thus, "Hike Your Own Trail". I'm sure we'll still qualify for the "2,000 mile" club by the end.
The people who started at the same time as us were... well... different from us. Apparently, the ones who start before April are the real "go-getters" - "I'm hiking the AT, past every white blaze, and I'm going to get up at the crack of dawn, hike exactly the number of miles it says on my itinerary, be done hiking by 5:30, eat dinner by 6:30, in bed by 7:30." Well, as you've all met me and/or Jess before, you probably know that's not exactly how we operate. They did make us feel guilty though, like we were doing something wrong. We'd roll out of bed around 9, sit around and eat and drink tea, take our time packing our stuff, and probably be on the trail by noon. The only people we got to know were the ones that stopped to eat lunch with us while we were eating breakfast, then we'd stop and eat lunch while they were eating dinner. We slowly overcame this discomfort by reaffirming that we're not here to complete an assignment, we're here to have an adventure. We also started avoiding shelters, which helped a lot. We just weren't jiving with that crowd (though they were all good people).
I'd also like to point out that most of those "go-getters" got their gear by going to Eastern Mountain Sports and asking the employees to sell them a bunch of stuff because they're hiking the AT without doing any research themselves before hand. Pretty fancy stuff, no idea how to use it, way to much, and way too heavy, or just plain useless. One girl had a 20-lb. limit pack stuffed with 50 lbs. of stuff because she bought 10 lbs. of food before picking up the 20 lb. mail drop she had prepared for herself months ago. Literally split the seams less than a week in. Real "go-getter". Said EMS recommended it, and the tag said "most used by AT thru-hikers". Yea when they drop all their winter gear and are doing 30 miles a day in July in PA, sure. Not in March in Georgia.
Whatever. Hike Your Own Trail.
We spent 2 nights in Franklin, successfully avoiding the snow, and hiked on. The sun finally began to peek out and give us a hint that the rains of early spring were almost over, and little green things started appearing. We started seeing flowers lining the trail that eventually spread over every hill. Short plants taking advantage of the spring sun before the trees leaf started popping up everywhere. But this warmth induced weather we hadn't had the pleasure of experiencing yet - thunderstorms. It was about 4:00, we were half-way to our destination, and suddenly the sun was gone. The skies opened and it poured. Thunder sounds in the distance and some primal instinct is triggered in my head: SHELTER. Suddenly I'm running up the hill I was just staggering up. The storm moves closer and closer and I'm getting closer and closer to the top of the mountain and before you know it we're at the top with the storm directly over our heads. Overwhelmed with adrenaline and I don't even know what as the lightening flashed I stopped and screamed at the sky, and the answering thunder was the loudest I've ever heard, and the lightening would flash and I would scream and the thunder would boom and my insides would shake and I would go running up the mountain dancing and screaming at the sky for more, more, give it to me NATURE, let me bear witness to your incredible power, and just when I thought it couldn't get any more intense, when I thought the electricity running through my veins would connect to the sky and NATURE would overload my circuits past the point of no return... Hail. And even through the pain still we yelled and danced our way down the other side of the mountain. As we got to the bottom, the hail stopped, the clouds parted, and, behold, there were 5 people from Atlanta with burgers and beer for hikers. And that's why it's trail magic.
Oh, yea: the views were nice, too. We could see Fontana Lake from the top of one mountain, and it looked so far away, and you're thinking "Wait... we're walking there?!?!?!"
The next "town" we came to was Wesser, NC, though they recently "lost" their post office, so it's not technically a town anymore. Really, it's a white water rafting/kayaking resort with a hiker hostel. In need of town food, we chose not to stay at the nearby shelter and continued down the mountain, less than a mile, but in the rainy dark. My $5 Target headlamp is no good for hiking at night as it turns out (shocking I know). Our little guide book said there was a pub in town with live music on weekends. It being a Saturday night ~9 pm, we were surprised to find that everything in "town" shut down. We knocked on the local restaurant and a waitress, closing down for the night, told us that the pub was shut down this week only for renovations. Go figure. She felt so sorry for our pathetic souls that she gave us her dinner! 3/4 of a pizza she got from her restaurant, 20 minutes old, free, and absolutely delicious. That's a real trail angel.
On our way back up the hill to the shelter, we ran into another thru-hiker (who we had met at the trail magic mentioned previously), who told us there was free camping down the river in town. The next day we woke up right on the river, sun shining, and the trees leafed out in response to the first really sunny day we'd had, and it was so beautiful we decided to stay there for the day. By that night, 10 more thru-hikers had found our spot and we had our first little party. Unfortunately, Jess is unaccustomed to having a low hiker tolerance to alcohol (something I thankfully already had and have finally gotten used to), and woke the next morning feeling quite ill, so we stayed for another day. We wandered up to the hostel part of the resort and got to use their showers and laundry for free:) Go Stealth Camping! Good thing our tent is green! That night we hung out with Gary, who has thru-hiked 4 times, and he gave us several tips for up the trail, including the "Aqua Blaze". From some point in Virginia to Harpers Ferry we may choose to take the Shenendoah River instead of the AT - it'd be nice to be able to throw our packs into the bottom of a boat instead of on our packs, and to be able to use our arms instead of our legs. Hike Your Own Trail!
We hiked on, now on much tougher mountains as we worked our way into the Smokies. By now, many of the people we started with that we weren't jiving with were ahead of us, and we started meeting April people. This new group is a lot chiller. We also met a few people who started before us and kept to a similar schedule to us, which was a huge breath of fresh air. Instead of having to silently cook dinner for fear of waking the shelter, we actually had a few people to hang out with around campfires.
We got to Fontana Dam. Our little guide book had labeled the general store there as a good resupply, which it was not. We spent $100 on less than 4 days of bad food. Luckily, we had decided to stealth camp rather than stay at the resort (yes, another fake town). Though we thought we would be in Fontana weeks too early, our slow pace had landed us right in time for the Hiyak "Festival", which was a local band and a handful of thru-hikers. Someone really dropped the ball on getting the word out. We met a ton of awesome people. Finally! We had been feeling so lost - where is our crowd? Where are our people? When I described this feeling to the people we met while at Fontana, they knew instantly what I was talking about - one even called us a Family, and a biker-temporarily-turned-hiker-chick named In The Wind refers to us as The Tribe. If I could describe better what I'm talking about I would. I guess the best I can do is to say that these people aren't out here to complete an assignment either. We still didn't have trail names, and we were wondering if it was because we weren't cool. Well, we met a group that didn't have any either - Marc & Liz, Katy & Jen - but by the end of Hiyak I had been named Graveyard. Yes, Syracuse, it's because of you. Because that crew did get a room, we were once again able to get free showers.
We hiked on, but not on the AT. We knew of an awesome campground on a trail that ran parallel from our previous trip to the Smokies with Syracuse friends over Spring Break of 2007. This particular campground is a huge green plain surrounded by a river with huge granite rocks stacked into 8 armchairs and a fire pit - let me tell you, a chair with a back is no small thing out here. We were so excited to go back, remembering its beauty. The last time we were there, there were 8 people to sit in the chairs. What a lonely place for 2 people to arrive at. We sat down and looked at the empty chairs and were suddenly overcome with such an intense feeling of loneliness and isolation from our friends... I cried for a while. We miss you guys. And we are sooo happy that we found each other, that we're not really alone, and that we'll always have each other, even when we're worlds away from everyone else we love.
The next day, April 20, just as we were almost done packing up our gear, Marc, Liz, Katy, Jen, and In The Wind come waltzing up. What a beautiful thing life is. For life to give us one day to remember the friends that aren't with us and to really meditate our separation with those empty chairs staring at us, and the next to give us 5 new ones so that we know loneliness is a temporary condition...wow. Hike Your Own Trail. We'll see you on up the way.
We walked up Eagle Creek with them, taking the first 9 stream (read RIVER) crossings April 20 and the other 6 and the 2000 ft 1.5 mile up hill April 21. When we got back to the AT it was only 4:00 so we decided to hike on to the next shelter because we were low on the bad food we got in Fontana so we could get to Gatlinburg ASAP. Our little guide book told us the elevation change wasn't that bad. Marc & Liz had friends to meet, so they hiked on with us. Turns out, our little guide book scaled down the Smokies. Hey Syracuse, you remember that really baaad mountain? Yea that's the one we climbed. We got to the top at sunset, absolutely beautiful, but I once again got stuck hiking with my Target headlamp. We got to the shelter at 11:00 pm. When we got there, I was tired and angry and cold and Liz goes "We're ROCKSTARS!" and BAM I felt 100% better.
The next day we didn't leave until 2:30, putting us at the top of Clingman's Dome, the highest point of the AT, exactly as the sun was setting. (Marc and Liz left much earlier to meet their friends at Clingmans Dome.) Wow, what a beautiful sight. Unfortunately we have no pictures - I guess we get to keep that one for ourselves. We hitchhiked down to Gatlinburg, go to one of the motels, and who's signed into the register ahead of us? Marc and Liz. Their room was right next door to ours. We were sooo happy to see each other - we survived! The next day, Katy, Jen, and In The Wind were all there too, not to mention Tent Sticks, Jedi, Knuckle Pancakes and Improv who we hadn't seen since March, and tons of other thru-hikers, and Marc and Liz's friends Anna and Collin. Yea we partied hardy and yea Jess was sick again and yea we're still here. My mom did me the huge favor of adding up our speed and determining that it would take us a year and a half to finish at this rate. Don't you love moms?
Whatever. Hike Your Own Trail.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The First Hundred
We're happy to see that everyone is enjoying the blog (Great to hear from you Natalie!! Drop me an e-mail, love to hear more detail on your recent adventures in the west!). To those of you who expressed concern over the temporary separation (including my darling brother), we appreciate your concern and we can assure you it won't happen again: I've picked up speed quite a bit since then, and now I know that Jess will be waiting for me at the top of every mountain. Hiking up the side of a mountain requires a steady pace, and Jess's is faster than mine - if he walked my speed, he'd get twice as tired twice as fast. But we go the same speed on the downhills, which is the more dangerous part anyway.
If I had written last week, I would have been exuding joy and oneness with the universe and all things nature. Even the rain didn't dampen my spirits, and all doubts of finishing vanished. Every morning, we woke up already in our favorite place: the woods. The walking, walking, walking was more awesome than I could have believed - my body felt great, and every step quickly disappeared into a "hiking trance", where my mind could wander freely and every green thing in this early spring world was a small miracle to behold. The first week we broke in our hiking legs, but in the second, we had to break in our hiking souls. Though the sun was shining when we left Helen, by the next day the rain was back - and it didn't leave. At first, I saw its beauty - the trees disappearing into the mist, the diamond-like drops clinging to branches, the relief from the burning sun in the heat of the day. Even through day 6 of rain hiking, I still clung to the notion that if it rained now, at least it wouldn't rain in the Smokies (arguably the most difficult section of the whole hike), but by day 7, with our food supply dwindling (our lunch consisted of Spam pieces and cheese chunks in a bag with tortilla pieces; the rain prevented even mayo or mustard), the dreariness, lack of good views, and general dampness of everything I own finally beat my optimistic nature to the deadpan lack of emotion that comes from determination to go on despite the odds.
And then there was Day 8.
The night before, with a soaked tent and sunset immenint, we stumbled into a packed shelter. Though there were nearly 20 people inside, everyone was asleep or reading (we keep a somewhat later schedule than many, particularly shelter folk), so we silently made dinner, set up our little area under the ladder to the loft, and tried to go to sleep. Of course, we landed next to THE snorer (a charming little middle-aged woman), and I spent most of the night worm-kicking her from my sleeping bag. Finally, the sun rose (to reveal a grey world), and the snores stopped - Finally, I could get maybe 3 hours of sleep before our 12 mile hike. But no. Many of the occupants of the shelter were middle-aged couples, and all the middle-aged women woke up and started chit-chatting loudly about the most inane, frustrating things. I recall one of them saying they should make the Appalachian Trail into a reality show, and having the strong desire to punch her in the face. After a while of this, people started grumbling and, having no other choice, started getting up and getting ready. I made some kind of passing comment to my snore-ful neighbor about how I hate shelters, which sparked a sarcastically-toned conversation about snores and rude people. So I came out looking a little rude too in the end, but at least everyone was already awake.
Jess and I waited till everyone else left, and boy it was cold outside. Not raining too hard, but definately the coldest day yet. Someone who had been tent camping nearby came over, and he was really cool, and we talked for a bit about shelters and how they're lame. He then told us about a blue trail. For those of you who are unfamiliar with trails, they are marked with painted squares on trees - sometimes as close as 50 ft, sometimes not to be seen for a mile. The Appalachian Trail is marked with white blazes, and other trails in this area are marked with blue blazes. Blue blaze trails usually lead to shelters or water sources, but sometimes they are also shortcut trails. This particular blue trail was about 5 miles, and would cause us to miss 14 miles of the AT, which would put us in Franklin a day early. Between our low fuel and food supply, our low moral, and the Hiker Fools Bash this past weekend that we would otherwise miss, we decided we didn't necessarily need to be "purists" (people who believe that you must pass every single white blaze in order for your hike to count) and headed off down the AT toward "Deep Gap", 11 miles away and the location of the shortcut.
It was so cold. Rain, whatever, we have rain suits and garbage bags lining our packs for a reason. But it was so cold. You'd hike along and build up a sweat, stop for a minute to catch your breath, and be freezing in less than 30 seconds. To the point where you stop taking breaks to catch your breath. You have to keep plodding along, no matter how your muscles protest, ignoring the stitch in your side, just keep slogging through the mud. As I approached the top of a mountain, about 2.5 hours into the day, a sudden pain tore through my abdomen. Keep in mind, 75% of the weight of your pack rests on your hips, via the belt strap, wrapped as tightly as possible around (you guessed it) your abdomen. I tried to power through and keep climbing (for what other option did I have, really?), but the pain intensified and I ended up yelling in pain hanging from a rhodendendron on the side of the trail so I wouldn't fall to my knees (how would I get back up?). The pain passed, and I journied on, but less than 5 minutes later it was back. This time I did fall to my knees, nearly crying. It passed, and I soldiered on until I reached the top and, more importantly, Jess (who this whole time had been less than 50 yards away, and I only couldn't see or hear him because of the mist). I told him of my problems, and he put me in front of him for our descent down the other side. To my suprise, going down was worse. The jostling of the pack going down put even more pressure on my abodomen, and I quickly collapsed on a nearby log, now literally crying and Jess a little freaked out. "Jess," I said, "I have to do it in the woods," (all stumpies rejoice). I stumbled down the 45 degree slope, threw my butt over a log, clung to a rhodendendron branch so I wouldn't go rolling off down the hill, and prayed that it would all be over soon.
Meanwhile, Jess prepared O-noodle soup for lunch.
I returned, and proceeded to gulp down scalding hot soup in the hopes that it would warm my marrow. If I thought I was deadpan before, it was nothing to this state. No emotion. No thought. Just scalding hot soup buring my tounge. Slowly, slowly, my bones did begin to warm, and my brain rebooted. Still no emotion, but one thought. "Why am I here again?"
"Why am I here again? No, seriously, what the am I doing here? What could possibly have been going through my mind? Am I insane? What just happened? Why am I here? This is my free will? I'm finally a "grown-up" (whatever that means) with my fancy degree and my fiance and all that bologna, what the <> am I doing here????"
And I contemplated the next six months. And then I contemplated the next six miles, which I had no choice but to hike, regardless of any other thought processes. And then I contemplated my life, and the choices I have made, and the choices I thought I would be making in the future. And I really retraced the thought processes that had brought me to this time, place, and situation in general. Really analyzed my "logic", more so than I had before I left for this whole adventure. Remembered, slowly, that I hadn't wanted to do the the whole "job" thing yet; that I had endured 19 years of school and deserved a "vacation"; that I had spent the last 4 years learning about the environment but speding little time in it; my frustration with society, and the human race at large, which is so obsessed with its own superiority to the actual Earth that we Live On that it is slowly poisoning it and DOESN'T seem to CARE; and my desire to distance myself from popular culture and, yes, the human race at large; really thought about all these things and realized that, yes, I would still rather be here. "Wow," I thought, "what a world I live in."
I felt better. We walked on. What choice? None. We got to Deep Gap, the location of the shortcut. And lo and behold, there was a tent, and in this tent were two men, father and son, who had hiked the trail in '02, and decided to bring some Magic to the Trail. In the form of beef stew. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, beef stew to finish off one of the more miserable days of my life. The white blazes work in mysterious ways. Because they fed us dinner, and breakfast the next morning, and lunch before we left, we had enough food to take the AT to Franklin. But more importantly, we had the spirit. The next morning, the sun rose, and the world wasn't grey. We took the long road, and we got to Franklin just in time to avoid the 6 inches of snow the Trail has gotten since we left. Bam-shaka-laka.
Though we missed the Hiker Bash, we met a few interesting hikers in Franklin, and I came to learn something that I hadn't understood about the trail previously. Between the begining of March and the end of October, about 2 million people get on the trail at some point for some purpose for some length of time and travel north for some distance. Some hop off and others hop on as it proceeds up the east coast. This is the size of a small city. Some people have never hiked before, but most have and have returned for years to thru-hike again, or section hike, or to provide trail magic, or just to jump on the bandwagon. There are people who have been "on the trail" for twenty years. I met a dog that has 6,000 miles under his belt. A DOG! And this small city has a society, and elders, and norms and codes of behavior and standards and practices and even "Rainbow Hikers" who are the Trail equivilant to bums but all hikers are bums really (unemployed and homeless, benefiting off the kindness and generosity of others), the difference is they apparently come out with NO gear or food or money and live off the hiker-helper attitude (AT thru-hikers are famous in these parts because we are kind, helpful, and grateful). Bottom line? My whole escape society thing isn't going as well as I thought it would out here.
If I had written last week, I would have been exuding joy and oneness with the universe and all things nature. Even the rain didn't dampen my spirits, and all doubts of finishing vanished. Every morning, we woke up already in our favorite place: the woods. The walking, walking, walking was more awesome than I could have believed - my body felt great, and every step quickly disappeared into a "hiking trance", where my mind could wander freely and every green thing in this early spring world was a small miracle to behold. The first week we broke in our hiking legs, but in the second, we had to break in our hiking souls. Though the sun was shining when we left Helen, by the next day the rain was back - and it didn't leave. At first, I saw its beauty - the trees disappearing into the mist, the diamond-like drops clinging to branches, the relief from the burning sun in the heat of the day. Even through day 6 of rain hiking, I still clung to the notion that if it rained now, at least it wouldn't rain in the Smokies (arguably the most difficult section of the whole hike), but by day 7, with our food supply dwindling (our lunch consisted of Spam pieces and cheese chunks in a bag with tortilla pieces; the rain prevented even mayo or mustard), the dreariness, lack of good views, and general dampness of everything I own finally beat my optimistic nature to the deadpan lack of emotion that comes from determination to go on despite the odds.
And then there was Day 8.
The night before, with a soaked tent and sunset immenint, we stumbled into a packed shelter. Though there were nearly 20 people inside, everyone was asleep or reading (we keep a somewhat later schedule than many, particularly shelter folk), so we silently made dinner, set up our little area under the ladder to the loft, and tried to go to sleep. Of course, we landed next to THE snorer (a charming little middle-aged woman), and I spent most of the night worm-kicking her from my sleeping bag. Finally, the sun rose (to reveal a grey world), and the snores stopped - Finally, I could get maybe 3 hours of sleep before our 12 mile hike. But no. Many of the occupants of the shelter were middle-aged couples, and all the middle-aged women woke up and started chit-chatting loudly about the most inane, frustrating things. I recall one of them saying they should make the Appalachian Trail into a reality show, and having the strong desire to punch her in the face. After a while of this, people started grumbling and, having no other choice, started getting up and getting ready. I made some kind of passing comment to my snore-ful neighbor about how I hate shelters, which sparked a sarcastically-toned conversation about snores and rude people. So I came out looking a little rude too in the end, but at least everyone was already awake.
Jess and I waited till everyone else left, and boy it was cold outside. Not raining too hard, but definately the coldest day yet. Someone who had been tent camping nearby came over, and he was really cool, and we talked for a bit about shelters and how they're lame. He then told us about a blue trail. For those of you who are unfamiliar with trails, they are marked with painted squares on trees - sometimes as close as 50 ft, sometimes not to be seen for a mile. The Appalachian Trail is marked with white blazes, and other trails in this area are marked with blue blazes. Blue blaze trails usually lead to shelters or water sources, but sometimes they are also shortcut trails. This particular blue trail was about 5 miles, and would cause us to miss 14 miles of the AT, which would put us in Franklin a day early. Between our low fuel and food supply, our low moral, and the Hiker Fools Bash this past weekend that we would otherwise miss, we decided we didn't necessarily need to be "purists" (people who believe that you must pass every single white blaze in order for your hike to count) and headed off down the AT toward "Deep Gap", 11 miles away and the location of the shortcut.
It was so cold. Rain, whatever, we have rain suits and garbage bags lining our packs for a reason. But it was so cold. You'd hike along and build up a sweat, stop for a minute to catch your breath, and be freezing in less than 30 seconds. To the point where you stop taking breaks to catch your breath. You have to keep plodding along, no matter how your muscles protest, ignoring the stitch in your side, just keep slogging through the mud. As I approached the top of a mountain, about 2.5 hours into the day, a sudden pain tore through my abdomen. Keep in mind, 75% of the weight of your pack rests on your hips, via the belt strap, wrapped as tightly as possible around (you guessed it) your abdomen. I tried to power through and keep climbing (for what other option did I have, really?), but the pain intensified and I ended up yelling in pain hanging from a rhodendendron on the side of the trail so I wouldn't fall to my knees (how would I get back up?). The pain passed, and I journied on, but less than 5 minutes later it was back. This time I did fall to my knees, nearly crying. It passed, and I soldiered on until I reached the top and, more importantly, Jess (who this whole time had been less than 50 yards away, and I only couldn't see or hear him because of the mist). I told him of my problems, and he put me in front of him for our descent down the other side. To my suprise, going down was worse. The jostling of the pack going down put even more pressure on my abodomen, and I quickly collapsed on a nearby log, now literally crying and Jess a little freaked out. "Jess," I said, "I have to do it in the woods," (all stumpies rejoice). I stumbled down the 45 degree slope, threw my butt over a log, clung to a rhodendendron branch so I wouldn't go rolling off down the hill, and prayed that it would all be over soon.
Meanwhile, Jess prepared O-noodle soup for lunch.
I returned, and proceeded to gulp down scalding hot soup in the hopes that it would warm my marrow. If I thought I was deadpan before, it was nothing to this state. No emotion. No thought. Just scalding hot soup buring my tounge. Slowly, slowly, my bones did begin to warm, and my brain rebooted. Still no emotion, but one thought. "Why am I here again?"
"Why am I here again? No, seriously, what the
And I contemplated the next six months. And then I contemplated the next six miles, which I had no choice but to hike, regardless of any other thought processes. And then I contemplated my life, and the choices I have made, and the choices I thought I would be making in the future. And I really retraced the thought processes that had brought me to this time, place, and situation in general. Really analyzed my "logic", more so than I had before I left for this whole adventure. Remembered, slowly, that I hadn't wanted to do the the whole "job" thing yet; that I had endured 19 years of school and deserved a "vacation"; that I had spent the last 4 years learning about the environment but speding little time in it; my frustration with society, and the human race at large, which is so obsessed with its own superiority to the actual Earth that we Live On that it is slowly poisoning it and DOESN'T seem to CARE; and my desire to distance myself from popular culture and, yes, the human race at large; really thought about all these things and realized that, yes, I would still rather be here. "Wow," I thought, "what a world I live in."
I felt better. We walked on. What choice? None. We got to Deep Gap, the location of the shortcut. And lo and behold, there was a tent, and in this tent were two men, father and son, who had hiked the trail in '02, and decided to bring some Magic to the Trail. In the form of beef stew. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, beef stew to finish off one of the more miserable days of my life. The white blazes work in mysterious ways. Because they fed us dinner, and breakfast the next morning, and lunch before we left, we had enough food to take the AT to Franklin. But more importantly, we had the spirit. The next morning, the sun rose, and the world wasn't grey. We took the long road, and we got to Franklin just in time to avoid the 6 inches of snow the Trail has gotten since we left. Bam-shaka-laka.
Though we missed the Hiker Bash, we met a few interesting hikers in Franklin, and I came to learn something that I hadn't understood about the trail previously. Between the begining of March and the end of October, about 2 million people get on the trail at some point for some purpose for some length of time and travel north for some distance. Some hop off and others hop on as it proceeds up the east coast. This is the size of a small city. Some people have never hiked before, but most have and have returned for years to thru-hike again, or section hike, or to provide trail magic, or just to jump on the bandwagon. There are people who have been "on the trail" for twenty years. I met a dog that has 6,000 miles under his belt. A DOG! And this small city has a society, and elders, and norms and codes of behavior and standards and practices and even "Rainbow Hikers" who are the Trail equivilant to bums but all hikers are bums really (unemployed and homeless, benefiting off the kindness and generosity of others), the difference is they apparently come out with NO gear or food or money and live off the hiker-helper attitude (AT thru-hikers are famous in these parts because we are kind, helpful, and grateful). Bottom line? My whole escape society thing isn't going as well as I thought it would out here.
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