As I round out the last evening in a very jam-packed home stay weekend, I am inclined to reflect on what it means for me to have left my home, or, for that matter, what home means in itself. My "respite" contrasted starkly with that of Saint, Hermes and Rusticus (also crashing for the weekend), who almost spent the entire time on the couch. I instead opted to run around like a mad woman, presumably because I have long since realized that what I most miss is connection and belonging. I constantly consider what this trip would have been like if my best friend had come. And when Teenie came to hike in Connecticut for a bit, I caught a glimpse of that which I left behind, and have been unable to duplicate on the trail. It saddened me. I say it wholly, honestly, constantly and always from the heart: I have the best friends in the entire world. And they, you, are my home.
I had built this visit up in my head; I came seeking reconnection. But in the swirl of friendly gatherings and drinks and dinners and dancing and storytelling and catching up, I never had a single one-on-one. Those are the interactions upon which I thrive, the ones dependent upon a mutual comfort that allows for deeper connection. Everyone so generously made plans around me all weekend, and I saw in the flesh many of the people toward whom I have mentally turned on the difficult parts of this journey. But I was still starving.
I was able, through some more very generous schedule rearranging, to have a long conversation, solo, with a best friend tonight. It felt like a deep breath. For the first time I gave voice to a lot of the emotional stress of the trail. I didn't have to play entertainer, relaying bear stories and storm stories and tales of food and equipment and statistics about weather and miles and state lines crossed and vistas seen or missed/enveloped in cloud. I could say, without fear of judgement: this is so hard sometimes. Quietly, it has been an emotional weekend, not at all what I expected and chalk-full of reminders that when I return for good I have a rebuilding to do. Until I came here for the weekend, it had not crossed my mind that I still might be wandering even after I finished this trip. I had not thought about that fact that after I pulled out of the race for a while, I might be left in the dust when I tried to get back on the track. This realization made me extremely uncomfortable; it caught me completely off-guard. I had turned to one of my best friends during the very emotional night before I left for Atlanta on March 13th. I turned to the same friend tonight, almost equally emotional, and said, "I was scared to leave, and now I'm scared to come back." In many ways, that's true.
For four months I have been walking towards my home, moving into what I knew. But as we head back to the trail tomorrow, I shall take my first steps of this journey in the other direction. As we make our way toward Vermont, I'll walk with the thought that what we left behind may have changed in our absence. The doors we walked through may have closed behind us. They may open again, having been painted a different color, and we will have to look afresh at an old familiar scene to realize that they still frame the entrances to comfort. I only hope that after following white blazes for 2200 miles I will be able to navigate without them.
I imagine the next few days of hiking will prove very difficult for me. I'll be in thought, which is so often my savior and probably more often my curse. Ah well, it makes for good writing though, right?
As always, friends: peace, love, and if you know anyone looking to take a chance on an unqualified but potentially productive and possibly, arguably, plausibly talented writer, I'll be back in September. Or 650 miles. And I've got journals.
Love,
WindUp
Monday, July 13, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Hello loves.
Okay, this one is part rehash... because I started writing it two weeks ago and it got erased and I gave up (wohh wohhh). But anyways.
[back in time]
Surprise, surprise, it's raining again. We must be setting some kind of record. Or, at the very least, we must be giving 2003 ("the rain year") a run for their title. However, good news: I am not outside today, nor do I plan to be for longer than it takes to run from a car (a car!) to a store and/or restaurant. You see, mom and dad have come to visit the fair hamlet of Delaware Water Gap, PA (mile 1,283.6). We are in the Poconos. We are also just short of the border of Jersey. You can tell because last night when we went for a beer at an Irish pub in adjacent Stroudsburg, "Jager bomb" was on the Happy Hour drink menu. True story.
"What is a Jager bomb?" Mom asks.
Don't ask, mom. And better yet, don't order. None of us have the proper haircut.
I have already regailed my parents with the unabridged version of the bear story that accompanies the allusion ending the enormous post I dropped on you all last week. I'm not the family story teller by any means, but this one deserves some attention. Right then, here we go.
On the day before we made it to Duncannon, PA, home of the historical and hiker-friendly but potentially haunted Doyle hotel, Saint and Hermes hiked 23 miles to the shelter nearest town. At 18 miles, I had had enough for the day, and decided to camp by myself and hike the extra miles in the morning. The trail, as I'm sure one can gather from all the tales included herein, teems with friendly faces and amazing hiker friends. However, because of this, we are rarely alone at night. I usually hike in solitude during the day, occasionally bumping into a friend or other random hiker. But nights pass in commune at the shelters. And even when we tent, we usually elect to tent together. But, I didn't feel like going to the shelter with the boys, and I had been separated from Gangsta and Wags since Pine Grove Furnace State Park, where they got off the trail to spend time with their families. So, for the first time in nearly three months, I had a solo camp site. I chose a wonderful little spot, just past a small wooden bridge over a stream. Saint, who was behind me, passed by as I pitched my tent. I explained that I was tired and would be staying here. He wished me good night, and I him, and he left.
As I finished setting up camp, I attempted to build myself a fire. I was all set for a night of hanging out and reading and relaxing by myself. As I crouched over the smoking pile of kindling, a man approached my campsite. We started the usual round of questioning: "Oh are you hiking the trail? Are you doing the whole thing? When did you start? Where are you from?" etc etc etc. He explained that he was a section hiker [a section hiker is someone who tries to complete the entire Appalachian Trail, but in chunks over multiple years, as opposed to all at once]. He had completed from south of Shenandoah up to Kent, CT, approximately one quarter. Hey, alright, that's pretty good! I said. Then he told me that on his very first day of section hiking the AT, he had camped out at this exact campsite. Really? That's funny. THEN he told me that when he had stopped hiking, his dog had collapsed and died on this very spot. Well, I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that except to express my condolences and share that I was sure that must have been horrible. It was, he said. He still stopped by to pay his respects whenever he was in the area. THEN he said, "this was many years ago, but I'm sure I can still find the rock pile." So, though this man was extremely nice and we had a very pleasant conversation, he left me alone and pretty creeped out that the ghost of his dead dog was going to be rising up from under my tent in the night. I hoped it didn't bite.
After he left and I tried not to let my eyes wander too far, lest I discover the site of entombment, I continued to build up my fire. The duration of the evening passed peacefully. I cooked dinner, read, journaled, brushed my teeth, hung up my food in a tree... all that good camp stuff. And then I went to bed at about 9:15.
Between 9:30 and 9:45 I started to hear all this commotion-- rustling leaves, breaking branches, the works. Oh, what on earth? I wondered. I unzipped my tent groggily, poking my head out (sans glasses). Some giant shadow obscured what little vision I had at the time. Holy crap. I went back into my tent to grab my glasses and headlamp. I put both on my head, and looked back out. As I shined my headlamp toward the noises, two large green orbs glowed back at me from just under my food bag. It was a bear. Not only was it a bear, but it was a bear who was actively trying to get my food bag down from the tree. I dropped back into my tent, as if some paper-thin synthetic material would save me if it decided to come for a closer look. My heart was pounding. I stuck my head back out one more time, and the bear stared right at me. He didn't seem very concerned that a strange nighttime light source had him in its sights. He started to pad off into the woods, seemingly not from fright but from annoyance.
My mind and heart raced in tandem. There's a bear! Did it get my food? Should I try to scare it away? Should I stay here? Are there more, like cubs with an aggressive mother? How hungry is it? And somewhere in there was a, "honestly the first night I spend alone!? What the heck." I had flashes replaying a conversation with a Ridgerunner in Shenandoah National Park... he told us he once watched a bear try to climb a bear pole [pole used for hanging food at shelters in SNP] for 2 hours before it finally gave up. They can be relentless.
I thought I ought to check out the situation. I cautiously padded out of the tent. I grabbed my trekking poles and started acting like an idiot, banging them around and yelling. I made my way over to the hanging food bag, playing percussion on my trekking poles and hoping the bear had gone off somewhere. I journeyed over to the tree, and, low and behold, my food bag remained. Score one for a decent bearbagging job. I thought, should I move it? If the bear knows there's food here, it'll probably come back. So I looked at the food bag, and I thought, well, it's not going to make the cover of Bearbagging magazine or anything, but it's pretty good and I think it'll be alright. I decided to have a little faith in my food hanging job and leave it there. I decided also that if the bear came back, I didn't want to hear it. So, I put in my earplugs and went back to sleep.
About half an hour later, I started to hear branches cracking, through my earplugs, in the same area near my food bag. Oh no. The bear's back! I thought, is this going to go on all night? What should I do? I started yelling from my tent and making noises, trying to frighten the bear away. I yelled something ridiculous like, "Get away from my food bag or I'll skin you and make a pelt from your fur!" Generally, I was just hoping it would get the idea.
All of a sudden, I hear this voice: "Uhhh... what's up?" It was a young man, coming into the woods to make a bonfire and hang out with his friends. Awkward.
"Oh!" I started, "I'm sorry! I thought you were a bear!"
"A bear?" he asked, confused. "You scared the crap out of me!"
"Yeah, there was just a bear here... it tried to get my food! Eh, sorry."
"There's a bear!?"
"Well, this was a half hour ago, I think it's gone now."
We chatted through the dark, yelling back and forth, I from my tent and he from the A.T. He asked what I was doing, and where I was from, and how old I was, etc. etc. etc., the usual hiker conversation. His name was Rushka; he was 20; he lived half an hour away. He sometimes came there to hang out with friends, and he had seen my bright orange food bag (ah, the bright orange again!) hanging in the tree and decided to investigate. Hence the breaking branches under the tree again. He then got on the phone to call his friends: "Hey, I just met this chick named 'WindUp' in the woods, and she said there was a bear, so be careful when you come in!" I imagine that was a very interesting phone call to receive. The young man expressed some fear that they might keep me up, as apparently I had bedded down about 50 yards from an enormous fire pit and hangout spot. I assured him that I would put my earplugs back in, since I had been using them to ignore the bear in the first place. I assured him also that, far from being concerned about the noise level, I was very glad that: one, he was not a bear, and two, that his friends would probably keep it from coming back anyways.
Well, long story short, I put my earplugs back in and I heard some kids coming in at around 11 and leaving again at about 2:30, but that was it. And I was certainly glad to hear the sounds of merriment over the sounds of a bear munching away on my granola bars. In the morning, my food was still hanging (yay!), but the small branches had been broken off the bottom of the tree where the large critter had tried to climb up. Yipes. All in all: crisis averted.
The above story happened practically ages and ages ago, and true to trail form, much has happened since then. [fast forward]
Saint and I spent a wonderful weekend with my parents, who spoiled us rotten for a few days in Delaware Water Gap, PA, just short of the Jersey border. I gave a big shout when I crossed into Jersey, you know, for the Jersey kids. No one could understand why I was so excited about New Jersey. Oh, you don't even know, I told them.
In Vernon, New Jersey, B came to visit. It was so wonderful to see her and have her in front of me and catch up and give her a hug. We swapped stories and anecdotes and talked about the ginormous projects that we have both undertaken, I on the trail and she about to leave for the Peace Corps. True to form with the two of us, what we had initially intended as a lunch meeting turned into an all-afternoon and evening affair including Thirsty Thursday: New Jersey Edition, at what I assure you was an appropriate venue. It was a priceless memorable fantastic evening.
Since, we have plowed through New York (which hit us like a rock!) and just entered Connecticut. New York, unexpectedly(?), abounded with hospitality. We spent one night at "The Mayor's House" in Unionville. This locale was the private residence of the former mayor, who now just takes care of hikers. Three men, who swore profusely and taunted all, did so only to cover that they had the biggest hearts I have ever encountered. The Mayor, simply in awe of our attempted journey, opens his home to dirty, smelly hikers purely on the good faith that we live up to the opportunity we have been given. He was truly a Trail Angel, and an inspiration.
Saint and I have taken on a new leisurely pace, where we seize every opportunity for off-trail adventures. Resultantly, we have had some good ones. We spent much time hiking with our friends Double Vision and Jukebox Hero, who are wonderful. We four, along with Loon and Hot Sauce, spent a night being adopted by some wonderful trail angels named John and Susan, whose number we found taped into a cooler full of donated water they had placed beside a road crossing. Calling the number resulted in one of my favorite nights so far on the trail. These amazing amazing people fed us twice (well, more like three times if we count 2nd dinner), let us shower and do laundry, bought us beer, gave us beds, made us breakfast, and allowed us to hang out in their house all night. Having a home environment was an immense morale booster for all. We sat on the floor in their spare room watching the VH1 Michael Jackson video tribute for three hours. Literally. It was amazing. It felt like we were just hanging out all together at a friend's house. We laughed and bonded and relaxed, and I am immensely grateful to John and Susan for providing us with the venue and opportunity to do so.
Two days after, we ran into a man named John in Fort Montgomery, New York, outside of a mini-mart. He expressed interest in our trip after we struck up a conversation. He offered us a ride to go get some pizza in the adjacent town, which apparently was right outside the gates of West Point. We sat down with John, and after much chatting, learned that he was a West Point grad who had lived on the installation for much of his life. His father was a West Point legend: a one-star general, designer of the West Point curriculum, and one of only about 5 men to ever graduate #1 both academically and militarily in the history of the institution. Well, one thing led to another, and John ended up getting Double Vision, Jukebox Hero, Saint and myself through West Point security (on the pretenses that 'Uncle John' used to live there and we were going to visit Col. SoandSo, head of the Social Sciences department) and taking us on a personal tour of the installation for about three hours. He drove us around, telling us about the statues, fields, buildings, history, rules, and providing legends and personal anecdotes along the way. We got out to tour the shore, the chapel (which holds one of the world's largest organs, boasting over 18,000 pipes), the dining hall, the cemetery (where his sister is buried), and some of the main campus. And, to top it all off, it was "R Day," which is the first day the new cadets arrive at West Point. So, there were basically a bunch of scared shitless freshman with shaved heads being yelled at and learning to salute and march and standing with packs as big as ours, not allowed to move while they memorized the cadet manual. John told us all about how horrible that first day was. And we were able to bear witness. He kept saying, "I can't believe it's R Day!" The four of us would just laugh at random points throughout the day... "We're at West Point! Hahahaha!" Double Vision and I repeatedly remarked at how this further cemented that we were not cut out for lives in the military. I admire those young men and women tremendously, but NO THANK YOU. "But," John said, "I'm not sure how many of them would want to be doing what you're doing either." Haha, thank you, John. True. So, at the end of the afternoon, John took us to a grocery store and drove us back to the trail after wasting an entire day touring some hikers around West Point for no reason other than he wanted to share a place that clearly meant a lot to him. And I, for one, was eternally grateful.
I reiterate in every post how many unbelievable experiences I have encountered on the trail, but they keep coming and coming and coming. I'll mention also that it never stops raining and so many days are horrible and miserable, and that, after being caught in another thunderstorm three days ago, my clothes are still wet. But I have a feeling that when this is all over, those days won't be as firmly cemented into my memory. What has already been cemented into my memory are all the positive interactions with people willing to shower us with their time, money, affection, good will, and resources, all because we have committed ourselves to undertaking a crazy mission. I regret that with all that happens on my journey I cannot give them all the attention they deserve. These people have forever changed what it means to be strangers, for me. I devote only a few sentences to them when I blog, though their benevolent deeds are a constant in my mind. Above all, I hope that I have the strength to keep that gift with me, even when I return to the bustle of working and city life. They deserve that.
Today I'm in Kent, Connecticut. I can't believe we're in New England. Saint and I are getting a rescue from the weather from Hermes, who lives about 40 minutes away. Teenie and Moon and MK are coming to visit tomorrow. And though I had a terrible couple of days (but I won't go on and on about it!), there are many gorgeous experiences that enable us to press on. I cannot believe all the people we have met and the generosity they have bestowed upon us. I feel so fortunate to have my eyes opened (or reopened) to all the goodness that one person can offer another. I'll have to work on paying it forward when I get home.
During the many terrible trail moments (poor Teenie listened to me complain endlessly on the phone about how it rains every single day, and practically try to dissuade her from our trail date... Why do you want to come hike with me!? Do you watch the weather!?), I often say to myself, "Hey, I'm in [insert state here], chasing down my dream." Now, I get to say, "Connecticut." And next week, in only 47ish miles, I'll be in that gorgeous state with the long, funny Indian name and all the really badass people.
You're in my thoughts, friends.
All my love,
Windup
The halfway point in PA (referenced last post)... the weather + Bon Jovi = NOT ENTHUSED:
Okay, this one is part rehash... because I started writing it two weeks ago and it got erased and I gave up (wohh wohhh). But anyways.
[back in time]
Surprise, surprise, it's raining again. We must be setting some kind of record. Or, at the very least, we must be giving 2003 ("the rain year") a run for their title. However, good news: I am not outside today, nor do I plan to be for longer than it takes to run from a car (a car!) to a store and/or restaurant. You see, mom and dad have come to visit the fair hamlet of Delaware Water Gap, PA (mile 1,283.6). We are in the Poconos. We are also just short of the border of Jersey. You can tell because last night when we went for a beer at an Irish pub in adjacent Stroudsburg, "Jager bomb" was on the Happy Hour drink menu. True story.
"What is a Jager bomb?" Mom asks.
Don't ask, mom. And better yet, don't order. None of us have the proper haircut.
I have already regailed my parents with the unabridged version of the bear story that accompanies the allusion ending the enormous post I dropped on you all last week. I'm not the family story teller by any means, but this one deserves some attention. Right then, here we go.
On the day before we made it to Duncannon, PA, home of the historical and hiker-friendly but potentially haunted Doyle hotel, Saint and Hermes hiked 23 miles to the shelter nearest town. At 18 miles, I had had enough for the day, and decided to camp by myself and hike the extra miles in the morning. The trail, as I'm sure one can gather from all the tales included herein, teems with friendly faces and amazing hiker friends. However, because of this, we are rarely alone at night. I usually hike in solitude during the day, occasionally bumping into a friend or other random hiker. But nights pass in commune at the shelters. And even when we tent, we usually elect to tent together. But, I didn't feel like going to the shelter with the boys, and I had been separated from Gangsta and Wags since Pine Grove Furnace State Park, where they got off the trail to spend time with their families. So, for the first time in nearly three months, I had a solo camp site. I chose a wonderful little spot, just past a small wooden bridge over a stream. Saint, who was behind me, passed by as I pitched my tent. I explained that I was tired and would be staying here. He wished me good night, and I him, and he left.
As I finished setting up camp, I attempted to build myself a fire. I was all set for a night of hanging out and reading and relaxing by myself. As I crouched over the smoking pile of kindling, a man approached my campsite. We started the usual round of questioning: "Oh are you hiking the trail? Are you doing the whole thing? When did you start? Where are you from?" etc etc etc. He explained that he was a section hiker [a section hiker is someone who tries to complete the entire Appalachian Trail, but in chunks over multiple years, as opposed to all at once]. He had completed from south of Shenandoah up to Kent, CT, approximately one quarter. Hey, alright, that's pretty good! I said. Then he told me that on his very first day of section hiking the AT, he had camped out at this exact campsite. Really? That's funny. THEN he told me that when he had stopped hiking, his dog had collapsed and died on this very spot. Well, I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that except to express my condolences and share that I was sure that must have been horrible. It was, he said. He still stopped by to pay his respects whenever he was in the area. THEN he said, "this was many years ago, but I'm sure I can still find the rock pile." So, though this man was extremely nice and we had a very pleasant conversation, he left me alone and pretty creeped out that the ghost of his dead dog was going to be rising up from under my tent in the night. I hoped it didn't bite.
After he left and I tried not to let my eyes wander too far, lest I discover the site of entombment, I continued to build up my fire. The duration of the evening passed peacefully. I cooked dinner, read, journaled, brushed my teeth, hung up my food in a tree... all that good camp stuff. And then I went to bed at about 9:15.
Between 9:30 and 9:45 I started to hear all this commotion-- rustling leaves, breaking branches, the works. Oh, what on earth? I wondered. I unzipped my tent groggily, poking my head out (sans glasses). Some giant shadow obscured what little vision I had at the time. Holy crap. I went back into my tent to grab my glasses and headlamp. I put both on my head, and looked back out. As I shined my headlamp toward the noises, two large green orbs glowed back at me from just under my food bag. It was a bear. Not only was it a bear, but it was a bear who was actively trying to get my food bag down from the tree. I dropped back into my tent, as if some paper-thin synthetic material would save me if it decided to come for a closer look. My heart was pounding. I stuck my head back out one more time, and the bear stared right at me. He didn't seem very concerned that a strange nighttime light source had him in its sights. He started to pad off into the woods, seemingly not from fright but from annoyance.
My mind and heart raced in tandem. There's a bear! Did it get my food? Should I try to scare it away? Should I stay here? Are there more, like cubs with an aggressive mother? How hungry is it? And somewhere in there was a, "honestly the first night I spend alone!? What the heck." I had flashes replaying a conversation with a Ridgerunner in Shenandoah National Park... he told us he once watched a bear try to climb a bear pole [pole used for hanging food at shelters in SNP] for 2 hours before it finally gave up. They can be relentless.
I thought I ought to check out the situation. I cautiously padded out of the tent. I grabbed my trekking poles and started acting like an idiot, banging them around and yelling. I made my way over to the hanging food bag, playing percussion on my trekking poles and hoping the bear had gone off somewhere. I journeyed over to the tree, and, low and behold, my food bag remained. Score one for a decent bearbagging job. I thought, should I move it? If the bear knows there's food here, it'll probably come back. So I looked at the food bag, and I thought, well, it's not going to make the cover of Bearbagging magazine or anything, but it's pretty good and I think it'll be alright. I decided to have a little faith in my food hanging job and leave it there. I decided also that if the bear came back, I didn't want to hear it. So, I put in my earplugs and went back to sleep.
About half an hour later, I started to hear branches cracking, through my earplugs, in the same area near my food bag. Oh no. The bear's back! I thought, is this going to go on all night? What should I do? I started yelling from my tent and making noises, trying to frighten the bear away. I yelled something ridiculous like, "Get away from my food bag or I'll skin you and make a pelt from your fur!" Generally, I was just hoping it would get the idea.
All of a sudden, I hear this voice: "Uhhh... what's up?" It was a young man, coming into the woods to make a bonfire and hang out with his friends. Awkward.
"Oh!" I started, "I'm sorry! I thought you were a bear!"
"A bear?" he asked, confused. "You scared the crap out of me!"
"Yeah, there was just a bear here... it tried to get my food! Eh, sorry."
"There's a bear!?"
"Well, this was a half hour ago, I think it's gone now."
We chatted through the dark, yelling back and forth, I from my tent and he from the A.T. He asked what I was doing, and where I was from, and how old I was, etc. etc. etc., the usual hiker conversation. His name was Rushka; he was 20; he lived half an hour away. He sometimes came there to hang out with friends, and he had seen my bright orange food bag (ah, the bright orange again!) hanging in the tree and decided to investigate. Hence the breaking branches under the tree again. He then got on the phone to call his friends: "Hey, I just met this chick named 'WindUp' in the woods, and she said there was a bear, so be careful when you come in!" I imagine that was a very interesting phone call to receive. The young man expressed some fear that they might keep me up, as apparently I had bedded down about 50 yards from an enormous fire pit and hangout spot. I assured him that I would put my earplugs back in, since I had been using them to ignore the bear in the first place. I assured him also that, far from being concerned about the noise level, I was very glad that: one, he was not a bear, and two, that his friends would probably keep it from coming back anyways.
Well, long story short, I put my earplugs back in and I heard some kids coming in at around 11 and leaving again at about 2:30, but that was it. And I was certainly glad to hear the sounds of merriment over the sounds of a bear munching away on my granola bars. In the morning, my food was still hanging (yay!), but the small branches had been broken off the bottom of the tree where the large critter had tried to climb up. Yipes. All in all: crisis averted.
The above story happened practically ages and ages ago, and true to trail form, much has happened since then. [fast forward]
Saint and I spent a wonderful weekend with my parents, who spoiled us rotten for a few days in Delaware Water Gap, PA, just short of the Jersey border. I gave a big shout when I crossed into Jersey, you know, for the Jersey kids. No one could understand why I was so excited about New Jersey. Oh, you don't even know, I told them.
In Vernon, New Jersey, B came to visit. It was so wonderful to see her and have her in front of me and catch up and give her a hug. We swapped stories and anecdotes and talked about the ginormous projects that we have both undertaken, I on the trail and she about to leave for the Peace Corps. True to form with the two of us, what we had initially intended as a lunch meeting turned into an all-afternoon and evening affair including Thirsty Thursday: New Jersey Edition, at what I assure you was an appropriate venue. It was a priceless memorable fantastic evening.
Since, we have plowed through New York (which hit us like a rock!) and just entered Connecticut. New York, unexpectedly(?), abounded with hospitality. We spent one night at "The Mayor's House" in Unionville. This locale was the private residence of the former mayor, who now just takes care of hikers. Three men, who swore profusely and taunted all, did so only to cover that they had the biggest hearts I have ever encountered. The Mayor, simply in awe of our attempted journey, opens his home to dirty, smelly hikers purely on the good faith that we live up to the opportunity we have been given. He was truly a Trail Angel, and an inspiration.
Saint and I have taken on a new leisurely pace, where we seize every opportunity for off-trail adventures. Resultantly, we have had some good ones. We spent much time hiking with our friends Double Vision and Jukebox Hero, who are wonderful. We four, along with Loon and Hot Sauce, spent a night being adopted by some wonderful trail angels named John and Susan, whose number we found taped into a cooler full of donated water they had placed beside a road crossing. Calling the number resulted in one of my favorite nights so far on the trail. These amazing amazing people fed us twice (well, more like three times if we count 2nd dinner), let us shower and do laundry, bought us beer, gave us beds, made us breakfast, and allowed us to hang out in their house all night. Having a home environment was an immense morale booster for all. We sat on the floor in their spare room watching the VH1 Michael Jackson video tribute for three hours. Literally. It was amazing. It felt like we were just hanging out all together at a friend's house. We laughed and bonded and relaxed, and I am immensely grateful to John and Susan for providing us with the venue and opportunity to do so.
Two days after, we ran into a man named John in Fort Montgomery, New York, outside of a mini-mart. He expressed interest in our trip after we struck up a conversation. He offered us a ride to go get some pizza in the adjacent town, which apparently was right outside the gates of West Point. We sat down with John, and after much chatting, learned that he was a West Point grad who had lived on the installation for much of his life. His father was a West Point legend: a one-star general, designer of the West Point curriculum, and one of only about 5 men to ever graduate #1 both academically and militarily in the history of the institution. Well, one thing led to another, and John ended up getting Double Vision, Jukebox Hero, Saint and myself through West Point security (on the pretenses that 'Uncle John' used to live there and we were going to visit Col. SoandSo, head of the Social Sciences department) and taking us on a personal tour of the installation for about three hours. He drove us around, telling us about the statues, fields, buildings, history, rules, and providing legends and personal anecdotes along the way. We got out to tour the shore, the chapel (which holds one of the world's largest organs, boasting over 18,000 pipes), the dining hall, the cemetery (where his sister is buried), and some of the main campus. And, to top it all off, it was "R Day," which is the first day the new cadets arrive at West Point. So, there were basically a bunch of scared shitless freshman with shaved heads being yelled at and learning to salute and march and standing with packs as big as ours, not allowed to move while they memorized the cadet manual. John told us all about how horrible that first day was. And we were able to bear witness. He kept saying, "I can't believe it's R Day!" The four of us would just laugh at random points throughout the day... "We're at West Point! Hahahaha!" Double Vision and I repeatedly remarked at how this further cemented that we were not cut out for lives in the military. I admire those young men and women tremendously, but NO THANK YOU. "But," John said, "I'm not sure how many of them would want to be doing what you're doing either." Haha, thank you, John. True. So, at the end of the afternoon, John took us to a grocery store and drove us back to the trail after wasting an entire day touring some hikers around West Point for no reason other than he wanted to share a place that clearly meant a lot to him. And I, for one, was eternally grateful.
I reiterate in every post how many unbelievable experiences I have encountered on the trail, but they keep coming and coming and coming. I'll mention also that it never stops raining and so many days are horrible and miserable, and that, after being caught in another thunderstorm three days ago, my clothes are still wet. But I have a feeling that when this is all over, those days won't be as firmly cemented into my memory. What has already been cemented into my memory are all the positive interactions with people willing to shower us with their time, money, affection, good will, and resources, all because we have committed ourselves to undertaking a crazy mission. I regret that with all that happens on my journey I cannot give them all the attention they deserve. These people have forever changed what it means to be strangers, for me. I devote only a few sentences to them when I blog, though their benevolent deeds are a constant in my mind. Above all, I hope that I have the strength to keep that gift with me, even when I return to the bustle of working and city life. They deserve that.
Today I'm in Kent, Connecticut. I can't believe we're in New England. Saint and I are getting a rescue from the weather from Hermes, who lives about 40 minutes away. Teenie and Moon and MK are coming to visit tomorrow. And though I had a terrible couple of days (but I won't go on and on about it!), there are many gorgeous experiences that enable us to press on. I cannot believe all the people we have met and the generosity they have bestowed upon us. I feel so fortunate to have my eyes opened (or reopened) to all the goodness that one person can offer another. I'll have to work on paying it forward when I get home.
During the many terrible trail moments (poor Teenie listened to me complain endlessly on the phone about how it rains every single day, and practically try to dissuade her from our trail date... Why do you want to come hike with me!? Do you watch the weather!?), I often say to myself, "Hey, I'm in [insert state here], chasing down my dream." Now, I get to say, "Connecticut." And next week, in only 47ish miles, I'll be in that gorgeous state with the long, funny Indian name and all the really badass people.
You're in my thoughts, friends.
All my love,
Windup
The halfway point in PA (referenced last post)... the weather + Bon Jovi = NOT ENTHUSED:
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
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
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
Thursday, May 21, 2009
I almost cried 4 times today. Happy cries.
...And I'll tell you why. I received so much love here in Waynesboro that, sitting on the post office walkway in the sun, I almost burst into tears.
Chelle sent me another New Hampshire postcard. She's amazing... she has been sending me postcards to every one of my maildrop stops.
MK sent me homemade brownies and chocolate and goodies and a card with current event updates and the transcript of Obama's Notre Dame speech for my reading pleasure, and a picture of the former inhabitants of 1797 Beacon, namely, her and myself and Teenie. And I could finally show my friends faces to accompany all the stories. It made me sad. But also happy. I so miss my apartment, and that life, and Boston, and Teenie and MK.
Teenie sent me all sorts of wonderful treats (my roommates know that true love comes from Trader Joe's, ha!) which she wrapped and I got to open ::smiley face:: Also I had a good laugh... this package obviously came from a fellow hiker, as it included Ziplocks and clean grocery bags, hahaha. [We use these for repackaging food items and for trash bags-- Pack it in, Pack it out!] And she sent a card and a picture of my beloved Jacoby Ellsbury stealing home against Andy Pettitte. I miss the Sox. She also sent me my "real birthday present": a bag of TJ's dried pineapple. This was actually hilarious, and I was laughing out loud forever. I'll explain. As many of you know, Teenie was supposed to come along on this epic adventure. We have known each other since girl scouts in the fourth grade, and we sometimes refer to our friendship as "The Cult of the Pineapple Juice" because we basically met on a camping trip that involved drinking pineapple juice straight from the can. As a result, for years now, each has given the other a birthday pineapple as a commemorative sort of joke. So, you see, on Saturday I'm celebrating 25 (or, as my brother keeps reminding me, 'the quarter-century') on the trail, and Teenie still managed to get me my pineapple... and in trail-friendly form. I wished I could express how amazing and wonderful and hysterical this was to my trail family, The Goonies. But I don't think it really translated.
My mom sent me a box of the most delicious cookies I think I have ever had. There are all sorts of goodies in there. Mmmmm. And, in response to all my complaints that I miss music so so so much, she sent me a beautiful harmonica with a bunch of instruction sets that she researched on the internet. It was a perfect, super thoughtful gift. (Thanks, Mom!) She also sent me a bunch of toys, and a paper tiara that I was expressly instructed to wear on Saturday. I can't wait! Haha.
Speaking of music-- I'm at the Waynesboro public library right now, and, glorious glorious!- there are headphones attached to all the computers. I opened up my Pandora account... to the Dresden Dolls station, obviously. And after an easy 5 miles into Waynesboro (hard-earned after a beastly rock-infested 22 yesterday!), a delicious lunch, and a hot shower at the Y, I am sitting around surrounded by boxes of love and AFP in my ears. And this is all so amazing that I want to jump up and yell. But I won't. I'm in a library.
Sorry. I get so excited in town sometimes.
Hiking life flows along smoothly. Miles seem to be melting away. We're at 852 here. We're about to enter Shenandoah National Park, which we have all looked forward to for a long time. I am particularly excited about this patch. Three years ago I came through here on my road trip from Boston to Atlanta to Austin. I drove down the Skyline Drive, which the AT crosses 35-40 times through its 103-mile stretch. To return to the park, on foot, headed in the opposite direction while chasing down a silly dream, fills me with a sense of awe I can barely describe. In a very valuable piece of my home life, I had regular coffee dates with one of my friends. There she would let me ramble on my philosophical musings, something I appreciated greatly because though I have them almost daily, no one wants to listen usually, ha. but I often referred to the wonder that materialized in me when I saw a circle in my life. This particular circle comes partly as a result of my unquenchable sense of adventure. But, simultaneously, I had no idea that long after a ride down Skyline Drive, which I cited as one of the most beautiful places I had seen, I would come back on foot, and, instead of driving away to a foreign destination, I would be, in effect, taking steps toward home.
I hope you're all well. Thank you for the love.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make some phone calls-- this is the first time I have had cell service in a week and a half.
All my love. Peace. Stay well.
<3 WindUp
p.s. Waynesboro is my new vote for most Hiker-friendly trail town, thereby replacing Damascus, which, to be perfectly honest, I think is running primarily on reputation. Two different people actually pulled over while we were walking just to see if we needed a ride. A woman in front of the post office gave us cookies that she couldn't fit into the box for her son. Another woman gave us raisinettes... just because. Showers? Free at the Y. Need some soap? Free toiletries compliments of a local church. And already about 25 sets of well-wishes. I donated my birthday toys to the daycare center as a thank you offering. They said the kids would be glad to have them. However, should any of the YMCA of Waynesboro Daycare staff ever happen upon this blog, I apologize for the noisemakers. And the kazoos.
:)
Chelle sent me another New Hampshire postcard. She's amazing... she has been sending me postcards to every one of my maildrop stops.
MK sent me homemade brownies and chocolate and goodies and a card with current event updates and the transcript of Obama's Notre Dame speech for my reading pleasure, and a picture of the former inhabitants of 1797 Beacon, namely, her and myself and Teenie. And I could finally show my friends faces to accompany all the stories. It made me sad. But also happy. I so miss my apartment, and that life, and Boston, and Teenie and MK.
Teenie sent me all sorts of wonderful treats (my roommates know that true love comes from Trader Joe's, ha!) which she wrapped and I got to open ::smiley face:: Also I had a good laugh... this package obviously came from a fellow hiker, as it included Ziplocks and clean grocery bags, hahaha. [We use these for repackaging food items and for trash bags-- Pack it in, Pack it out!] And she sent a card and a picture of my beloved Jacoby Ellsbury stealing home against Andy Pettitte. I miss the Sox. She also sent me my "real birthday present": a bag of TJ's dried pineapple. This was actually hilarious, and I was laughing out loud forever. I'll explain. As many of you know, Teenie was supposed to come along on this epic adventure. We have known each other since girl scouts in the fourth grade, and we sometimes refer to our friendship as "The Cult of the Pineapple Juice" because we basically met on a camping trip that involved drinking pineapple juice straight from the can. As a result, for years now, each has given the other a birthday pineapple as a commemorative sort of joke. So, you see, on Saturday I'm celebrating 25 (or, as my brother keeps reminding me, 'the quarter-century') on the trail, and Teenie still managed to get me my pineapple... and in trail-friendly form. I wished I could express how amazing and wonderful and hysterical this was to my trail family, The Goonies. But I don't think it really translated.
My mom sent me a box of the most delicious cookies I think I have ever had. There are all sorts of goodies in there. Mmmmm. And, in response to all my complaints that I miss music so so so much, she sent me a beautiful harmonica with a bunch of instruction sets that she researched on the internet. It was a perfect, super thoughtful gift. (Thanks, Mom!) She also sent me a bunch of toys, and a paper tiara that I was expressly instructed to wear on Saturday. I can't wait! Haha.
Speaking of music-- I'm at the Waynesboro public library right now, and, glorious glorious!- there are headphones attached to all the computers. I opened up my Pandora account... to the Dresden Dolls station, obviously. And after an easy 5 miles into Waynesboro (hard-earned after a beastly rock-infested 22 yesterday!), a delicious lunch, and a hot shower at the Y, I am sitting around surrounded by boxes of love and AFP in my ears. And this is all so amazing that I want to jump up and yell. But I won't. I'm in a library.
Sorry. I get so excited in town sometimes.
Hiking life flows along smoothly. Miles seem to be melting away. We're at 852 here. We're about to enter Shenandoah National Park, which we have all looked forward to for a long time. I am particularly excited about this patch. Three years ago I came through here on my road trip from Boston to Atlanta to Austin. I drove down the Skyline Drive, which the AT crosses 35-40 times through its 103-mile stretch. To return to the park, on foot, headed in the opposite direction while chasing down a silly dream, fills me with a sense of awe I can barely describe. In a very valuable piece of my home life, I had regular coffee dates with one of my friends. There she would let me ramble on my philosophical musings, something I appreciated greatly because though I have them almost daily, no one wants to listen usually, ha. but I often referred to the wonder that materialized in me when I saw a circle in my life. This particular circle comes partly as a result of my unquenchable sense of adventure. But, simultaneously, I had no idea that long after a ride down Skyline Drive, which I cited as one of the most beautiful places I had seen, I would come back on foot, and, instead of driving away to a foreign destination, I would be, in effect, taking steps toward home.
I hope you're all well. Thank you for the love.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make some phone calls-- this is the first time I have had cell service in a week and a half.
All my love. Peace. Stay well.
<3 WindUp
p.s. Waynesboro is my new vote for most Hiker-friendly trail town, thereby replacing Damascus, which, to be perfectly honest, I think is running primarily on reputation. Two different people actually pulled over while we were walking just to see if we needed a ride. A woman in front of the post office gave us cookies that she couldn't fit into the box for her son. Another woman gave us raisinettes... just because. Showers? Free at the Y. Need some soap? Free toiletries compliments of a local church. And already about 25 sets of well-wishes. I donated my birthday toys to the daycare center as a thank you offering. They said the kids would be glad to have them. However, should any of the YMCA of Waynesboro Daycare staff ever happen upon this blog, I apologize for the noisemakers. And the kazoos.
:)
Monday, May 18, 2009
Miles; Stones; Milestones.
Hello dearests. Hello from the Dutch Haus in Montebello, Virginia. This week marked 2 months and 800 miles. It also marks something else, but that's a bunch of nonsense that I'll let my friends handle because I'm a wee bit embarrassed. I can hardly believe any of this.
The middle of Virginia has proved rugged and demanding, with several 2,000-3,000 foot climb days. My feet hurt. But mentally I've been rolling over the mountains. I remarked in some fireside conversation with my brother Saint and friend G that I have really been hitting my stride and have felt much better on the trail. They said they had noticed the change. In the early stages I felt taxed by speed and mileage. I set out with intent to "hike my own hike" as we say out here, but something happened. "My own hike" became a thread in a web among the trail community. I met the rest of the Goonies, and found that laughter, good company, and the presence of friendship on a journey on which I thought it would be sparse led me farther in a day than I would have traveled on my own. The comfortable speed and mileage my short legs and anaerobically-conditioned (vs. distance-oriented and aerobic) body would have preferred contrasted starkly with the pace of my new friends. But that gap has been ever-shortening, and has nearly closed. 20-mile days no longer intimidate me. I even looked at the full map of the AT today, on display at the Dutch Haus. I had been avoiding them. It doesn't look so scary anymore. I told Gansta and Wags about a conversation I had last week with one of my best friends. She said, "I can't believe you've already walked 700 miles. You're going to DO this!" I said, "Haha, yeah I'm starting to think so myself!" They liked it. I mean, I am ever the pessimist, and I still think something crazy is going to happen (always). But, it's looking... better. I mean it did drop below freezing again last night, and I almost drowned in my tent 3 nights before that, because, as I wrote to my beloved Almost Hiking Partner in an email, Noah's Ark Part II decided to happen when we were camping between shelters. But I woke up with all my toes atill functioning, and my lungs still pumping air and not water. Despite myself I am beginning to hold out some hope that this dream might actually be within reach.
For the record, I am knocking on wood right now.
Trail humor has provided much entertainment along the way. We were so looking forward to our stopover at the Dutch Haus (well worth all the hype, by the way) that we spent the last 2 days speaking in Dutch accents. Okay, so they were probably more like German, but, let it happen. Actually, G's was definitely coming from some Asian nation. But in any case, we had great fun. We all signed the trail register at Seeley-Woodworth Shelter "[insert trail name here] Haus" and Saint wrote "The Goonie Haus" on top of the page, and "Goonies always say 'haus'" at the bottom (a reference to the line "Goonies never say die!" which has made it into the registers on all days when we have been separated). A couple of days ago we read in the Thru-Hikers' Companion (read: Trail Bible) that a 5-year-old boy had gone missing a long time ago on one of the mountains we were climbing after he went to look for some firewood for his school house. I composed some lyrics about little Ottie to the tune of "the little drummer boy" while G and I were hiking together. G sings made-up songs all the time. Wags made Saint rub her feet in a shelter, which led to all sorts of jokes. I spent the entire day randomly yelling out "BEN & JERRY'S!" on the way to town last week. And then I ate some and it was glorious. Sometimes we talk to Hermes, even though he has been ahead of us for days, going to meet his uncle for a zero day. And, though I blush to admit it, the adolescent bathroom humor abounds.
In any case, we are definitely having fun out here amidst all the work of thru-hiking. And it is work; though like the work of one's most chosen and prized career. And we look forward to days like today, where Lois Arnold of the Dutch Haus does my laundry for me and I get to sit in a bathrobe while it dries in the breeze outside, and I eat 2 giant delicious home-cooked meals. And I email my college roommate because Penthouse 509 might come visit this weekend, and I am so excited. And there's a guitar here! And I play for over an hour. And I finally get down on Fake Plastic Trees, which has been dancing around my head since I told a story about the greatest New Year's Eve in the history of New Year's Eves. And I miss music so much that I even get up the courage to sing (belt it, sing!) and I don't much care who is listening. And I can write for a bit while my friends are off watching TV because it's 'Dancing With the Stars' night, you know. And I know my mom is watching at home so it makes me smile. And we'll go back on the trail tomorrow, me and friends, and we'll climb some painintheass climbs, but after it'll be another day down, and we'll think, 'Yeah we did that. It wasn't so bad. Let's do it again tomorrow.' And we will.
That's so beautiful.
Love you guys.
<3 WindUp
Trail foot woes:
The middle of Virginia has proved rugged and demanding, with several 2,000-3,000 foot climb days. My feet hurt. But mentally I've been rolling over the mountains. I remarked in some fireside conversation with my brother Saint and friend G that I have really been hitting my stride and have felt much better on the trail. They said they had noticed the change. In the early stages I felt taxed by speed and mileage. I set out with intent to "hike my own hike" as we say out here, but something happened. "My own hike" became a thread in a web among the trail community. I met the rest of the Goonies, and found that laughter, good company, and the presence of friendship on a journey on which I thought it would be sparse led me farther in a day than I would have traveled on my own. The comfortable speed and mileage my short legs and anaerobically-conditioned (vs. distance-oriented and aerobic) body would have preferred contrasted starkly with the pace of my new friends. But that gap has been ever-shortening, and has nearly closed. 20-mile days no longer intimidate me. I even looked at the full map of the AT today, on display at the Dutch Haus. I had been avoiding them. It doesn't look so scary anymore. I told Gansta and Wags about a conversation I had last week with one of my best friends. She said, "I can't believe you've already walked 700 miles. You're going to DO this!" I said, "Haha, yeah I'm starting to think so myself!" They liked it. I mean, I am ever the pessimist, and I still think something crazy is going to happen (always). But, it's looking... better. I mean it did drop below freezing again last night, and I almost drowned in my tent 3 nights before that, because, as I wrote to my beloved Almost Hiking Partner in an email, Noah's Ark Part II decided to happen when we were camping between shelters. But I woke up with all my toes atill functioning, and my lungs still pumping air and not water. Despite myself I am beginning to hold out some hope that this dream might actually be within reach.
For the record, I am knocking on wood right now.
Trail humor has provided much entertainment along the way. We were so looking forward to our stopover at the Dutch Haus (well worth all the hype, by the way) that we spent the last 2 days speaking in Dutch accents. Okay, so they were probably more like German, but, let it happen. Actually, G's was definitely coming from some Asian nation. But in any case, we had great fun. We all signed the trail register at Seeley-Woodworth Shelter "[insert trail name here] Haus" and Saint wrote "The Goonie Haus" on top of the page, and "Goonies always say 'haus'" at the bottom (a reference to the line "Goonies never say die!" which has made it into the registers on all days when we have been separated). A couple of days ago we read in the Thru-Hikers' Companion (read: Trail Bible) that a 5-year-old boy had gone missing a long time ago on one of the mountains we were climbing after he went to look for some firewood for his school house. I composed some lyrics about little Ottie to the tune of "the little drummer boy" while G and I were hiking together. G sings made-up songs all the time. Wags made Saint rub her feet in a shelter, which led to all sorts of jokes. I spent the entire day randomly yelling out "BEN & JERRY'S!" on the way to town last week. And then I ate some and it was glorious. Sometimes we talk to Hermes, even though he has been ahead of us for days, going to meet his uncle for a zero day. And, though I blush to admit it, the adolescent bathroom humor abounds.
In any case, we are definitely having fun out here amidst all the work of thru-hiking. And it is work; though like the work of one's most chosen and prized career. And we look forward to days like today, where Lois Arnold of the Dutch Haus does my laundry for me and I get to sit in a bathrobe while it dries in the breeze outside, and I eat 2 giant delicious home-cooked meals. And I email my college roommate because Penthouse 509 might come visit this weekend, and I am so excited. And there's a guitar here! And I play for over an hour. And I finally get down on Fake Plastic Trees, which has been dancing around my head since I told a story about the greatest New Year's Eve in the history of New Year's Eves. And I miss music so much that I even get up the courage to sing (belt it, sing!) and I don't much care who is listening. And I can write for a bit while my friends are off watching TV because it's 'Dancing With the Stars' night, you know. And I know my mom is watching at home so it makes me smile. And we'll go back on the trail tomorrow, me and friends, and we'll climb some painintheass climbs, but after it'll be another day down, and we'll think, 'Yeah we did that. It wasn't so bad. Let's do it again tomorrow.' And we will.
That's so beautiful.
Love you guys.
<3 WindUp
Trail foot woes:
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Books & coffee & Mexican & phone calls and other magical things.
Happy Zero Day!
It is. I am enjoying sitting.
I mailed myself a copy of Farewell to Arms to this fair hamlet (Pearisburg, Virginia, mile 625.9), which I picked up at a library book sale in Erwin, TN for the bargain price of FREE. Apparently no one wanted all those books. I did. I took Zora Neale Hurston also. I thought I had stumbled across Nerd Heaven when I wandered down to the creepy library basement and discovered a veritable vault of unwanted books. I don't usually think of those two words in conjunction. I set out without any reading material (besides the trail guide) on this trek thinking that 1) I better get used to carrying all the other stuff first and 2) I would write more without books to keep me company. I think both assumptions stood correct at the time. But since I'm starting to mail home some of the winter clothes, and I have filled my first journal/sketch pad of trailside ruminations, I am glad to have a literary companion. I had coffee this morning too. Pieces of my old life still exist in town. I surely missed reading though. I worked on a super Evangelical Christian book that some wonderful super Evangelicals gave me when we stayed at their house. I found it provocative, and I was glad as always to broaden my own worldview though I didn't agree with most of the material. I wrote in the margins, as I am wont to do with heavier reading, and sent it home for the Religion section of my bookshelf. Or, well, where it might be if it weren't full already. I was so glad for the thoughts though.
Religion and religious conversation have popped up several times throughout this journey, which has both surprised and delighted me. It has always been one of my favorite topics of exploration. A few have firm roots in one religion, mostly Christianity. But most of those who seem open to discussion believe in the wealth of experience and a search for meaning in life that transcends definite answers. Some are content to shrug; some search actively; some explore many religions hoping to find a good fit; some search many religions with the understanding that they share a commonality of reaching toward the unreachable. It seems, though, that most of us have chosen the Trail as religion, at least for now. I can see why. In so many ways this journey mirrors the continual quest for personal growth and larger connectivity present in major religiosity. If I have been asked, I freely give a brief history of my own rambling religious background. I usually conclude with, I'll be on that great quest for the rest of my life. But then again, I'm one for the journey not the destination, which is why I'm out here in the first place. And surely I have found an abundance of soul food, and the community to go along with it.
As a segue to take us at least halfway back down to earth...
I was trying to look up the peak for the Eta Aquarids meteor shower, but am having some troubles. It could be peaking tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day. But, considering the upcoming weather reports, all we'll be seeing is the inside of more rain clouds. (Wohh wohhhhh). Luckily, the Perseids shower is even better and that's not until August. By August we'll be probably in New Hampshire, where the sky, completely devoid of light pollution, should have me looking up so much I'll be sleeping off the neck cramps. I look forward to it.
And bringing it back to the ground...
Things are turning green...it's so exciting. We had an overlook yesterday called Angel's Rest outside of Pearisburg, and, for the first time, the hills looked full of life. It's encouraging. I took a picture of a White Trillium in bloom yesterday. Yay.
I think I won't have a chance at a computer for a while, so stay well until I can check mail and things again, lovies.
Thank you's to Chelle for all my post cards, and Mary for the card, and Mom for all the love that I know has been going into those cookies.
Really. You all just drop these things in the mail, but it really makes my day.
Peace, much love, and happy trails.
<3>
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Rabbit Rabbit
Happy May!
In honor of the month change (and weather change!? please?) I shall share a family-fun joke cherished by botanists and Massachusettsians alike:
April showers bring May flowers. What do May flowers bring?
(wait for it)
...Pilgrims!
::tee hee hee hee::
Oh, hi!
We're in the exciting town of Bland, Virginia (tee hee again), having hiked 583 miles. I cannot believe we are going to hit 600 tomorrow. It seems so surreal to have traveled so far on foot. My legs and feet believe it, though. My diet changes do as well. We talk about this constantly-- the prospective readjustment to real life, i.e., "What do you mean I can't have Snickers bars for breakfast?" or "Wait... 'Little Debbie's' isn't supposed to be its own daily meal?" It's fine. Let it happen.
News keeps flooding in from home: engagements, new relationships, etc. I feel so removed sometimes, and I have started to really cherish the voicemails and phone calls. I miss the voices of my loved ones, and their (your!) embraces, especially. The thru-hiker's life is on many days bountiful and on others a balance teetering on deprivation. I'd have to say I definitely don't get enough hugs out here.
The terrain in Virginia has seemed friendly so far. We climbed some mountains (the largest in VA, Mount Rogers, we climbed but didn't summit...lame, AT routers) but have been walking along a ridge for much of the time as well. It's always welcome. Things are finally starting to bloom, especially at low elevations, and the flowers and burgeoning plant life have placed many smiles on my face. The other day we walked through some farm land and then through some fields and meadows. Flowering trees scented the air; colors dotted the fields. I picked up a dandelion and put it behind my ear. I spent most of that day walking with my friend Hermes, who paused under a cherry blossom, leaning up on his tip toes to smell a flower. It made me smile. We agreed afterwards that it had been one of our favorite days on the trail thus far. Pat/Saint, Wags, Gangsta and I saw a Black Rat Snake yesterday. At 4 1/2 feet long, it was by far the largest snake I have ever seen in the wild, and I was very glad I didn't come upon it first. Gangsta, my wildlife buddy, started provoking it with her trekking pole and I got a great photo of it all curled up staring at the pole tip. Our friend Dutch is carrying a plastic basketball hoop and the boys strung it up and were playing basketball in a shelter the other night. It was entertaining. We also finally heard the Whippoorwill that G has been telling us about, so I can identify that call now too, bringing the grand total to 5 (well, 5 1/2, I'm still working on the Wood Thrush). We had a great laugh because she's been imitating the call for us for weeks and we never heard it, so my brother started to make fun of her for creating a fake bird. We finally heard it, but then it it didn't shut up all night next to our tents so everyone was all Whippoorwilled-out. There are many moments like this; we hold on to beautiful pieces, to stories, to jokes and games, to conversation and memory, and, then, we walk.
Our pack, known by some on the trail as "The Crew," but self-titled "The Goonies" (as a rejection of "The Brady Bunch" --we are far too inappropriate for such a moniker anyways), will be dissipating over the next few days. Gangsta's dad and husband are coming for visits on separate days this week. Hermes is going to meet his brother in Pearisburg. Rusticus had a package in Bastian and went there instead of Bland so we lost him yesterday. Wags is trying to catch the Pack of Divas. We have all been hiking together since the first week, and it will dramatically change the face of my travels not to have these people around the campfire at night. We hope to reassemble over the next few weeks, but that may prove difficult. We shall see.
The rain returned, naturally, and should continue on and off for the next four days at least. But! There is one important change from the beginning of this trek: temperature. I no longer have to worry about hypothermia when I get wet, which is lovely. Yesterday it rained but I hiked in my shorts and tshirt anyways. The night before it rained but the camping wasn't so miserable with the warmth there to accompany the sogginess. It does make you smell like wet dog at the end of the day though. Gross. Not to worry; I have since showered and am ready for another round of getwetstaywetandsmellterrible. Just laugh...I do. Anyone still up for one of those hugs?
Pat and I will be in Pearisburg probably Monday afternoon for a much-needed zero day on Tuesday. We pulled almost 20 every day this week. And something weird is going on with my heel that involved self-surgery. Gross again. But I jsut had my mom ship me my lighter boots now that we're hopefully out of snow season. I laced them up this morning and they feel like sneakers in comparison to the Vibram soles. So I might be flying.
But I miss you, dearests, and, as always, you are in my thoughts every day. All my love. Happy Trails.
<3 Bee/WindUp
Wags and G demo, it rains all the time:
And the Black Rat Snake interaction:
In honor of the month change (and weather change!? please?) I shall share a family-fun joke cherished by botanists and Massachusettsians alike:
April showers bring May flowers. What do May flowers bring?
(wait for it)
...Pilgrims!
::tee hee hee hee::
Oh, hi!
We're in the exciting town of Bland, Virginia (tee hee again), having hiked 583 miles. I cannot believe we are going to hit 600 tomorrow. It seems so surreal to have traveled so far on foot. My legs and feet believe it, though. My diet changes do as well. We talk about this constantly-- the prospective readjustment to real life, i.e., "What do you mean I can't have Snickers bars for breakfast?" or "Wait... 'Little Debbie's' isn't supposed to be its own daily meal?" It's fine. Let it happen.
News keeps flooding in from home: engagements, new relationships, etc. I feel so removed sometimes, and I have started to really cherish the voicemails and phone calls. I miss the voices of my loved ones, and their (your!) embraces, especially. The thru-hiker's life is on many days bountiful and on others a balance teetering on deprivation. I'd have to say I definitely don't get enough hugs out here.
The terrain in Virginia has seemed friendly so far. We climbed some mountains (the largest in VA, Mount Rogers, we climbed but didn't summit...lame, AT routers) but have been walking along a ridge for much of the time as well. It's always welcome. Things are finally starting to bloom, especially at low elevations, and the flowers and burgeoning plant life have placed many smiles on my face. The other day we walked through some farm land and then through some fields and meadows. Flowering trees scented the air; colors dotted the fields. I picked up a dandelion and put it behind my ear. I spent most of that day walking with my friend Hermes, who paused under a cherry blossom, leaning up on his tip toes to smell a flower. It made me smile. We agreed afterwards that it had been one of our favorite days on the trail thus far. Pat/Saint, Wags, Gangsta and I saw a Black Rat Snake yesterday. At 4 1/2 feet long, it was by far the largest snake I have ever seen in the wild, and I was very glad I didn't come upon it first. Gangsta, my wildlife buddy, started provoking it with her trekking pole and I got a great photo of it all curled up staring at the pole tip. Our friend Dutch is carrying a plastic basketball hoop and the boys strung it up and were playing basketball in a shelter the other night. It was entertaining. We also finally heard the Whippoorwill that G has been telling us about, so I can identify that call now too, bringing the grand total to 5 (well, 5 1/2, I'm still working on the Wood Thrush). We had a great laugh because she's been imitating the call for us for weeks and we never heard it, so my brother started to make fun of her for creating a fake bird. We finally heard it, but then it it didn't shut up all night next to our tents so everyone was all Whippoorwilled-out. There are many moments like this; we hold on to beautiful pieces, to stories, to jokes and games, to conversation and memory, and, then, we walk.
Our pack, known by some on the trail as "The Crew," but self-titled "The Goonies" (as a rejection of "The Brady Bunch" --we are far too inappropriate for such a moniker anyways), will be dissipating over the next few days. Gangsta's dad and husband are coming for visits on separate days this week. Hermes is going to meet his brother in Pearisburg. Rusticus had a package in Bastian and went there instead of Bland so we lost him yesterday. Wags is trying to catch the Pack of Divas. We have all been hiking together since the first week, and it will dramatically change the face of my travels not to have these people around the campfire at night. We hope to reassemble over the next few weeks, but that may prove difficult. We shall see.
The rain returned, naturally, and should continue on and off for the next four days at least. But! There is one important change from the beginning of this trek: temperature. I no longer have to worry about hypothermia when I get wet, which is lovely. Yesterday it rained but I hiked in my shorts and tshirt anyways. The night before it rained but the camping wasn't so miserable with the warmth there to accompany the sogginess. It does make you smell like wet dog at the end of the day though. Gross. Not to worry; I have since showered and am ready for another round of getwetstaywetandsmellterrible. Just laugh...I do. Anyone still up for one of those hugs?
Pat and I will be in Pearisburg probably Monday afternoon for a much-needed zero day on Tuesday. We pulled almost 20 every day this week. And something weird is going on with my heel that involved self-surgery. Gross again. But I jsut had my mom ship me my lighter boots now that we're hopefully out of snow season. I laced them up this morning and they feel like sneakers in comparison to the Vibram soles. So I might be flying.
But I miss you, dearests, and, as always, you are in my thoughts every day. All my love. Happy Trails.
<3 Bee/WindUp
Wags and G demo, it rains all the time:
And the Black Rat Snake interaction:
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