Long as the trail in Virginia

The other night in my tent, I opened my blank sketchpad-turned-journal and found myself overwhelmed at where to begin in the day's record: the morning and afternoon had contained multitudes. Evenings on the trail, I often feel similarly-- remarkable since I make it a point to journal every day. Imagine, then, friends, if you will, what feelings overcome me now as I sit for the first time in weeks to record my adventures via weblog when, in the last 2 1/2 weeks I have turned 25 on the trail, had an amazing visit from the ladies formerly known as Penthouse 509, toured Shenandoah National Park, hit the 1,000-mile mark, crossed out of the (never ending!) state of Virginia, registered at the Appalachian Trail Conservancy headquarters as a potential 2009 thru-hiker, passed through West Virginia and Maryland, entered the dreaded Pennsylvania, had four or five 20+ days, and passed the official halfway mark, not to mention grappled with the usual freakish weather/potential drownings and everyday hiker troubles, i.e. sore knees and ankles, frightening things happening on my feet, spots of walking boredom and homesickness (or, more aptly in my case, people-sickness), etc, etc, etc. So...[disclaimer], if you're enjoying today's ramblings at work, wheel in your lumbar-friendly chair, turn down the desk phone ringer, file away those errant memos and TPS reports, and climb aboard the emotional roller coaster. This is going to be a long one.

Transport yourselves back in time to Saturday, May 23rd, 9:30 AM, and in place to Shenandoah National Park, where the A.T. crosses Skyline Drive at Sawmill Run Overlook, and you will see two very happy reunions: one, between myself and the very fabulous Flynn and Maura (and Roark!) of 509B (circa 2005-6), and the other between a bunch of vitamin-deficient hikers and a cooler full of fresh fruit, provided by aforementioned fabulous members of 509B (circa 2005-6), on site namely in celebration of the 25th anniversary of the birth of yours truly, former resident of 509A (circa 2005-6). Hungry hikers will be sporting white tank tops decorated with "Happy Birthday WindUp!", or, in Saint's case, "My Big Sis is a 1/4-century!", or, in my case, "Birthday Girl." The Goonies had surfaced from their respective tents in the morning in said garb, which elicited uproarious laughter. They also have provided me with a birthday ribbon, and book full of temporary tattoos (a town stop favorite!) and each donned a pair of star-shaped plastic sunglasses. And, here, at this intersection of road and trail, my trail family meets my senior year family, who have driven all the way to Virginia to celebrate with me.

Many hugs happened here, and some chatting, and much marveling over food which was neither pre-packaged nor dried, but had been transported via SUV from a magical civilized location called 'Whole Foods'. Flynn and Maura then took my equipment, and that of Saint, Wags, Gangsta and Hermes, to be transported to a prearranged northerly location. This glorious procedure, which allows hikers to temporarily escape from the enormous burden that we carry daily, is known as the "slack-pack." ['NERD ALERT' SIDENOTE: owing to the literal and figurative burdens associated with thru-hiking, after Gangsta decided to name her pack "Esmeralda," I named mine "The Albatross".] Right. So Flynn and Maura slackpacked us, and, subsequently, we put in our longest day to date: 24 miles. The afternoon was well-graded (i.e. relatively flat) and sunny. These conditions were the two things I had jokingly told my mom that I wanted for my birthday. That worked out well, as did the pink tiara my mom sent me to wear. It wrought many enthusiastic birthday well-wishes from dayhikers. At lunchtime, the Goonies surprised me with the quintessential trail cake: a double-decker Fudge Round with a "2" and a "5" candle, which they lit while I went to pump water at a spring. They really did my birthday up trail-style, which I appreciated enormously. Thanks, Goonies.
We continued hiking rather quickly, thanks to the empty packs, and arrived at Pinefield Hut, where my roommates said they would meet us and cook dinner. We had agreed upon this road-accessible location. All were eager for some real food.

Now, because Flynn and Maura are amazing, and also because of their respective personalities, and our shared history and penchant for generous celebration, I had a sneaking suspicion that they would go big in making dinner. However, by no stretch of the imagination could I have conceived of the veritable catering session that occurred at Pinefield Hut that night. It was legendary. Literally. As in, people are still talking about it: "Oh, WindUp! I heard about your birthday party!" I arrived at the shelter, having to cross the water source, which was a small stream. In it, there was a wall of beer, fortified by a bottle of Absolut and several cartons of wine.
"Oh my goodness," I said aloud, at which point there was a shout from the shelter above.
"Hey birthday girl! Look, I made a beer dam!" Maura. Amazing.
I approached the shelter, and there were about twelve or so people that had collected during the day, some of whom I knew. Around the fire there were packages and packages and packages of food wrapped in tinfoil, and my two roommates orchestrating the entire production. There was sea-salted popcorn, chips and hummus, guacamole, herb focaccia and cheeses- including goat cheese and brie. "Appetizers!" Flynn said. This was already ridiculous. For main courses they made (get ready): strip steak, cube steak, steak tips, chicken and beef kabobs, salmon burgers, pesto salmon, corn on the cob, broccoli, asparagus, and steamers (No, really, steamers. Steamers in the backcountry!), all cooked over an open flame.
"Um, the sea bass isn't ready yet," Flynn said.
"There's sea bass!?" I laughed.
There were eight thru-hikers and five or so dayhikers/weekenders at the shelter and we still had food left over. They lit some candles on a delicious cake for me, and then we made s'mores and drank beer and wine and oh-- let's not forget the cooler of Sangria with the quartered fruit floating in it-- and we traded stories and laughs and smiles. Flynn kept saying, "I couldn't be having more fun!" and I think everyone else felt the same. I certainly did. I kept thanking them repeatedly, trying to express how this was the most ridiculous celebration to ever occur on the AT. Then, just as I thought the night couldn't get any better, my long-lost fourth roommate, Sarah, and her fiancee Tim, showed up after dark, via flashlight, having located the shelter with only a mile marker on Skyline Drive for directions. And suddenly, after over two years, Penthouse 509 (circa 2005-6) was reunited... in the middle of the woods in Shenandoah National Park. And it was glorious. I missed those ladies muchly.

Essentially, then: best birthday ever. And I don't just mean on the trail. And I don't just mean mine, either. It meant so much to me to share my new trail life with some old friends, and also to share a piece of my other life with my new trail friends. Plus, now my trail friends know what I mean when I'm always talking about how I have the best friends in the world. Exhibit A. So thank you, best friends in the world, for being the best friends in the world. Thanks for all the phone calls and cards and texts and shouts and love. It is so appreciated.

As I bid farewell to 509 (including Roark, our top-secret last-semester English Bulldog resident), we the Goonies drifted back into the woods (fully loaded again, sigh), for the remainder of Shenandoah National Park. I think the first instance of the 'Virginia Blues' set in after my roommates left. Partly, I think, I felt the sting of having glimpsed my home life and some of the people in it. But the other part stemmed from long days on the trail in SNP. Unfortunately, the trail shot through the center of the park, circumventing most of the waterfalls and precious views that make the park impressive (excepting those waterfalls flowing down the middle of the trail during the 2-day deluge that closed out our Shenandoah adventure... woh wohhhh). Having driven through the park before, I know how beautiful it is and what we missed. It depressed me. And, of course, through the most notoriously bear-infested stretch of the entire AT, I didn't see a single one. I think they were off molesting the Memorial Day weekenders cooking hamburgers in the campground. Though, despite my overall disappointment with the trek through SNP, I must say that the wayside blackberry milkshake did indeed live up to its reputation. But, in general, all agreed that the visit from my roommates was the highlight of Shenandoah National Park.

Highlights of the next section included areas of relatively flat land, making for easy hiking. We were excited about the opportunity for some high-mileage days. Unexpectedly, though, the lack of trail diversity made for flat moods as well as flat terrain. I got bored. Apparently, I'm out here to climb mountains after all. And I missed the rush.

Lowlights of the next section included my taking a wrong turn out of a shelter's side trail one morning and walking .6 miles southbound. Embarrassment and frustration followed, but, frankly, I'm surprised this was the first time it happened. Hey, the woods all look alike sometimes. I also fell twice on the same day, one in which I was feeling particularly lethargic and could not will my feet to cooperate properly. It happens. But the same day we reached the West Virginia/Virginia border! I don't think any state line was or will be as celebrated as that one. Well, maybe Massachusetts... boo yah. It felt like an enormous milestone, I suspect, primarily, because it was. We passed nearly 560 miles, and 1/4 of the whole trail, in Virginia. It took forever.
In rapid succession immediately afterwards, I was almost killed by a falling tree and then we hit the 1,000-mile mark. Such events provoke deep thought.

I suppose having a tree almost fall upon one's head launches a myriad of contemplative processes. I barely registered the 1,000-mile mark, but I stood staring at that tree trunk for at least five minutes. Wags and Gangsta caught up in a frenzy. G had heard me yell and had seen the end of the fall, when the tree hit the ground. "I thought it fell on you! You scared the hell out of me!" she said. She had run up, her head dancing with visions of trying to pry an enormous fallen tree trunk off my crippled body. I think I just stared at the fallen mass, whispering surprised expletives to myself. It wasn't particularly windy that day. Apparently, that tree was dead and it was just its time to go. I was glad it wasn't mine. And, when the three of us hit the 1,000-mile mark (more an educated guess than an actual labeled occurrence) shortly thereafter, my mind was making bigger strides than my boot soles while crossing a phantom line. Though, I joked, my soul would have laughed at the irony of a quasi-treehugger slash nature enthusiast, who has dedicated so much of her energy to ensuring proper recycling practices in her home and workplace, suffering death by falling dead wood. It would have been even better than when Gangsta, the ornithologist, got shit on by a bird outside of The Homeplace Restaurant in Catawba.

These days, and the next few, were devoted to "girls weekend," where we separated from the guys for a few days. Though I'd like to say I missed the heightened decibel level and constant stream of "Seinfeld" references, well... no. Not so much. In Front Royal, though, I found a used bookstore, and oh, glory of glories, I was in my element. It was the first I have seen. After much internal debate, I picked up a copy of Utopia, which gets my brain working a bit again. I wrote many of my questions and thoughts in my journal, to which I have devoted myself diligently every night since Springer Mountain. It is my most prized trail possession.

Though the days sometimes drag, the weeks disappear out here. In the blink of a hiker eye, we had crossed into West Virginia, where we earned some local celebrity when we three thru-hiker ladies met three dayhiker ladies by the border. We talked to Phyllis, Catherine and Donna for quite a while, answering some trail questions and chatting in general. Occasionally, we have these interactions that allow us to look with fresh eyes at the journey we have undertaken. When I meet someone who marvels at the distance we have crossed on foot, the mountains we have climbed and the adventures we have experienced (slash, at times, endured), I am sometimes called into wonder myself. I guess it is pretty unbelievable. Sometimes I forget.

In West Virginia lies the Appalachian Trail Conservancy headquarters and the unofficial halfway point of the trail. During this much-anticipated day, we registered at the ATC as potential 2009 thru-hikers and had our pictures taken for the log. We celebrated reaching this milestone in historic Harpers Ferry. I even did my first night hike with G and Wags to celebrate (picture: darkness, headlamps, general intrigue). It was only the next day that the afterthought arrived. It turned into an enormous emotional backlash. "We're halfway there!" struck like a double-edged sword. My goodness. We're only halfway there. As we sunk deeper into the woods of Maryland, this reality seemed to nest in each of us and feed parasitically on our psyches. It manifested itself differently for each; some had unusually short tempers, some launched into quietude, some into a brief but intense depressed mood. Wags, G and I, still hiking together, ended up sitting down in the middle of the trail for a breakdown and therapy session. We were all surprised at how Harpers Ferry had frightened as well as invigorated us. My brother said it was the first time he thought seriously about going home. I didn't so much want to go home, but I did think about home more than usual. I think I made a lot of phone calls, but like always when we reach town in the middle of the week, friends were difficult to contact.

I found strength here and there, in those little moments that bring the trail experience to life for me. A bunch of cars beeped and waved as I paused on the footbridge over I-70. It made me smile. I met Wags' parents, and their enthusiasm about our trip refreshed me. The ice cream might have helped. The rain started again the next day and didn't let up for 47 straight hours. When water soaked everything I owned, and it was so cold that I had my winter gloves on again, it became one of those days where we question our motives for being on the trail. With small ponds growing in my boots and Wags walking in front of me, I started laughing.
"What?" she turned to ask.
"I was just wondering what the hell I'm doing to myself!" I chuckled.
She laughed too. "I was just thinking the same thing."
Sometimes we just have to laugh at things, at the absurd conditions and frequent torture that we have voluntarily subjected ourselves to in the name of a silly dream. That evening we arrived at Caledonia State Park in Pennsylvania, where we pretty much camped out in the restrooms all night. I know, friends, that given my germaphobic tendencies, such an event must seem impossible. Fret not, however, for we made sure to document it with video and photographic evidence lest you should not believe that I voluntarily stayed in a public restroom for approximately four hours (see above mentioned reference to self-imposed torture). I strung up a clothes line; we showered and cooked dinner and journaled and read. On the floor. And, shockingly, after two days of feeling like frozen prunes and smelling like wet dogs, we found ourselves clean, relatively dry, warm, thoroughly amused and generally spirited. In a bathhouse. Having hit an all time homelessness low. I am continually amazed at the events of this trip.





In the morning we met Wags' parents again for a slack pack to Pine Grove Furnace State Park. And after that, we practically ran. I have never hiked so fast in my entire life. And on this day, too, we hit the actual halfway point of the mileage on the trail. It was another arbitrarily-chosen point, because, as the mileage changes ever year, so does the halfway point. It is thus unmarked. Wags and Gangsta chose one large puddle, and started dancing in it while singing Bon Jovi. I laughed. See accompanying Facebook video footage.
As a result of the halfway point, Pine Grove Furnace State Park is home to the "half-gallon challenge." Thru-hikers, to celebrate their accomplishment, are invited to attempt to consume an entire half-gallon of ice cream from the camp store. As we arrived, Saint and Hermes had already completed the task, and Rusticus was just beginning. My other friend Jeremiah Johnson was unsuccessful (though, I stress, "success" at half-gallon challenge generally meant intestinal unsuccess later in the night). And, boys being boys, they had clocked themselves and were comparing times. I was already half-frozen from another sopping-wet hike and opted for the "half-pint challenge." I came running out of the store with the 2-scoop dish raised over my head victoriously. That drew a few laughs. I don't think Wags and G ate any ice cream at all. After mine, I joking took the "large hot coffee challenge," which, to be perfectly honest, I enjoyed more than the ice cream. Is it June?

That night we stayed at the Ironmaster's Mansion hostel in the park. The building was built in the 1700's and was once part of the underground railroad. It was a very cool place. Unfortunately, owing to a disappearing hostel manager, we had to give ourselves the grand tour. Don't worry though, that didn't stop us from investigating every section of the old building until we found the secret room. I think I enjoyed the exploration, er, "self-guided tour" more anyways. I just wish we'd been able to get some more information on the place.

La la la so back into the woods, etc etc, you know the drill. And here I am, in Duncannon, Pennsylvania (mile 1,137.3), staying at the legendary and reputedly haunted Doyle Hotel, enjoying my first day off in a long long long time. Much needed. There's more... including my solo camping session a couple of nights ago, which involved a frightening beartryingtostealmyfood incident and a bizarre nighttime interaction with a young local. But that's a story for another time. I think I've gone on long enough already.

You're in my thoughts as always, friends.
All my love.

WindUp