The End

I started walking north from Georgia. 190 days later, I climbed a mountain and when I got there, I didn't find anything but a big brown sign. Nothing was solved and I wasn't any wiser than I was six months ago. There wasn't any great revelations about nature, life, or my place in the universe. My calf muscles are a little bigger and my bank account is a little smaller, but other than that, I'm exactly the same person I was when I started. There aren't any answers out there on the trail--just trees. And that's okay. I was looking for nothing and that's exactly what I found. Long distance hiking doesn't fix all the broken pieces in your life. Whatever problems you leave behind when you put your pack on and walk out your front door are still going to be waiting for you when you get back. You don't "find yourself" out there in the woods and sleeping outside for six months isn't going to turn you into Yoda. The trail isn't like that. At least, it wasn't for me. Who knows? Maybe I was doing it wrong. For me, it was just a game. For just a little while, everything else in the world was put on hold and life was whittled down to one simple goal: walk. I walked amongst wild animals and over mountains. I walked through snow in the Smokies and 100 degree heat in Connecticut. I walked in late March when winter became spring and I walked in late September when summer became fall. I met generous people who gave me food and opened their homes to me. I received encouraging emails, texts, and phone messages from friends, family, and occasionally, total strangers. I befriended fellow hikers along the way and as time passed, we instinctively learned how to look after each other. And all the while, I walked. Some people golf. Some play the banjo. Others like suduko. The reason is recreation, but the purpose is nothing. I hiked The Appalachian Trail. And that's that.

This Is It (Miles Hiked: 2066) (Day 182)

I'm about to lose cell phone coverage and all contact with the outside world for a while. This is the 100 mile wilderness--the last great hurdle of the Appalachian Trail. Wish me luck. "See you on the other side, Ray." -Venkman

2000 Miles (Day 175) (Number of Braids in my Hair: 52)

I'd been fording rivers, dodging lightning bolts on ridge lines, and walking in the rain for 5 straight days. Maine has been tough.

But today, the sun came out.

What Storm? (Day 164) (Miles Hiked: 1890)

I wish I had a cool hurricane story. I wish it had been necessary to tie myself to a tree to avoid being blown away and I wish I had spent the duration of the storm with wind whipping through my hair while I cursed the gods like Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump. Unfortunately, when the rains came, I was in a cheap hotel playing cards and eating caramel ice cream. If it weren't for the condition of the trail the next day, I wouldn't have noticed that a hurricane had been here at all. The picture above is NOT a creek--that's the trail. My feet are soaked but I'm in a great mood. Today, I cross a state border for the 13th and final time. States finished: Georgia North Carolina Tennessee Virginia West Virginia Maryland Pennsylvania New Jersey New York Connecticut Massachusetts Vermont New Hampshire States remaining: Maine

My Mountain (Day 152) (1820 Miles Hiked)

The White Mountains of New Hampshire are challenging enough even in the best weather conditions and on that particular morning, the local weatherman said it was going to be awful.

I started the day in Lincoln, NH with two sensible hikers named Coyote and Lady Sherpa. They urged me to take the day off, dodge the rain, and eat chocolate chip pancakes with them in town. I'm not sure why exactly, but I declined. Stubbornly, I hitched a ride to the trail head alone and began hiking.

Around 1:30 PM, I was approaching the peak of Kinsman Mountain when I decided that I had made a mistake. What was I thinking being out here today? Not only was I soaked and climbing a steep incline, I hadn't seen another hiker in 4 hours. I don't mind being alone, but usually, when I'm attempting to climb a waterfall during a torrential downpour, I prefer a little company. (You know, just in case I slip off a rock ledge and need someone to remove two words from the title of my blog.)

I was thinking about maple syrup and warm chocolate chip pancakes when I finally reached the so-called "scenic overlook" on the summit. It was obviously a nice spot. On clear day, I would have seen valleys thousands of feet below and miles of towering mountains fading off into the distance. Of course, on that particular day, I couldn't see a damn thing.

I was wet, cold, alone, and annoyed as I stared out into a sea of white. I couldn't visually tell if I was 200, 4,000, or 50,000 feet above sea level.

I was ready to turn around and begin the arduous journey down, when out of nowhere, a pleasantly ridiculous thought came to mind: There is no one within five miles of me. The rain has kept all the sane people inside. Thousands of tourists will climb this mountain within the next few months, but today, at this very moment, this is MY mountain.

And standing there, gazing out into the infinite abyss, I smiled. And then, for reasons I can't explain, I felt the urge to yell.

I yelled as as loud as I could. I yelled until I ran out of breath and my lungs were sore. And when I couldn't yell anymore, I took one last look at the nothingness below and chuckled a little. Then, I turned around and began the long climb down my mountain with a goofy smile on my face.

The weatherman was wrong when he made his prediction that morning--it was a nice day. And I was alive.

One Paragraph About Vermont (Miles Hiked: 1716) (Day 143)

Vermont has been nuts and I don't have much time, so I'm going to have to write this one fast.

After I spent a night in Bennington with a half blind artist who builds sculptors out of old bicycle parts, I saw a moose on my way to a hostel in Rutland that was run by a cult. I thought I'd be safe at the cult hostel because I was there with another hiker named Thimble, whom I assumed was responsible because she is a devout church going Methodist. But when the cult leader greeted the two of us with a "complimentary drink," Thimble immediately chugged it. Fortunately, the Kool-Aid ended up not being spiked and the cult wasn't all that weird other than the fact that all the men styled headbands and ponytails, their "church service" mostly consisted of square dancing, they ate with chopsticks, and they owned an old van that was used solely for ministry work and road trips to Grateful Dead concerts. (Yes, the Dead still tours--sans Jerry.) After that, I climbed up Mount Killington, only to ride down it on a ski lift where I listened to a mediocre Sublime cover band play a free festival at a ski resort that had no snow because it is the middle of the summer.

Here's a picture of a butterfly that landed on my shoe:

Sorry. I'll try harder next time.

P.S. wisconsinfan--There is no one way to do the trail, so it cost different amounts for different people but imo, it can be done for about $3k and it can be done comfortably for about $5k.

Today (Day 129) (Miles Hiked: 1520)

As we crossed the 1500 mile mark, there was a lot of talk amongst some of the other hikers about a mountain in Maine where we'll (hopefully) be in couple months. Some hikers really enjoy talking about Katahdin. I don't.

At the top of each of these posts, there's definitely a reason why I count “the miles I've hiked” and not “the miles remaining.” “1500 miles hiked” sounds cool. “680 miles left to hike” not only sounds incredibly overwhelming, it makes the whole trail seem like a six month commute toward a destination. It's not.

Yes, I want to get to Katahdin. Yes, it marks the northern most point of the Appalachian Trail. And yes, it sounds like there are going to be some great views if it's a clear day. But the sad truth is that nothing magical is going to happen when I get there. It's just a mountain.

On a day to day basis, I find it helpful not to think about Katahdin. I don't wake up and think about the 600+ miles I have left to hike.

I think about what I'm going to have for lunch. I look at my guidebook and try to decide where I'm going to fill my water bottle. I think about the mountain that is 5 miles ahead and hope there's going to be a scenic overlook at the top. I wonder if the field that's 11 miles ahead is going to be a nice place to stop and rest.

I don't think about Katahdin. I think about today. 

Katahdin is not the destination, it's just a mountain in Maine where I'm going to run out of trail. If there is a destination, I'm not walking toward it--I'm already here.

 

P.S. One of the many, many readers of this blog wrote and asked how I was doing on the "morale-meter." Well, in the past week, I experienced a brutal heat wave that only broke when the rains came and I got completely soaked. Due to the lousy weather, I'd say I'm lower on morale-meter than usual. On scale of 1-10, where 10 is as good as I can possible be, at the moment, I'm only at about a 9.6.

P.P.S. I was totally kidding when I said I had “many” readers. There's like 8 of you. This blog gets about 4 hits a day and I think 3 of those are from my dad.

These Vagabond Shoes (Day 118) (Miles Hiked: 1392)

Pennsylvania did a number on them, but these old pair of shoes made it all the way through Jersey. They were finally replaced in Fort Montgomery, New York by a new pair.

Old shoes:

New shoes (the exact same shoes with 1000 fewer miles of wear and tear):

Other than that, all is well. I'm trying not to get overconfident because I still have at least two months worth of very tough hiking left, including the two most challenging states (New Hampshire and Maine.) However, as I crossed the border from Jersey into New York, I was definitely starting to feel like this might actually be possible. As the song goes, "If I can make it here..."

Pennsylvania Rocks (Miles Hiked: 1264) (Day 111)

Fun fact: In the title of this blog post, "rocks" is being used as a noun--not a verb.

It's universally agreed upon by thru-hikers that Pennsylvania is the least fun state. It's hot, the bugs are brutal, it seems to go on forever, and the trail basically becomes a giant field of jagged boulders that wreaks havoc on your ankles and knees. The shoes you begin Pennsylvania with are destroyed by the end.

I'll enter New Jersey in 20 miles and because I'm choosing to be optimistic about this miserable rock pile called Pennsylvania, I will look back fondly on the one decent view this state offered and celebrate the fact that I'm getting new shoes.

Finally! A Facebook Picture I Can Be Proud Of! (Day 108) (Mile 1208)

After explaining how the washing machine worked to a sweet old woman at the Laundromat, she thanked me and asked, “Are you the manager here?”

“No,” I replied. “No, I am not the manager.”

It seemed like an odd question at the time considering what I was wearing, but the more I think about it, maybe it wasn’t so strange. What exactly is the proper attire for a manager of a Port Clinton, PA Laundromat?

Why yes. Yes, that is duct tape holding together my poncho. Thank you for noticing.

Happy June 26th (Day 100) (Picture taken at the official halfway point)

Solo (1050 Miles Hiked) (Day 95)

I’m not sure why I bailed on the road trip.

Torch, Hardback, and I planned an epic journey out west that was going to hit several major national parks, but I ended up choosing to stay back east and continue walking north on the Appalachian Trail by myself.

I guess I could justify my choice not to go west by saying that I was worried my leg muscles would atrophy if I took too much time off or that I was concerned that I’d lose my focus on the AT or I just didn’t want to leave something half finished.

But that’s all probably BS.

The rational part of my mind that’s coming up with all those excuses is really just a passive observer in a car that’s being steered by unconscious forces that I don’t completely understand.

I don't know why I didn't go west and honestly, I don't care. The "why" doesn't matter.

All I know is that I have 1100 more miles to go and instead of worrying about why I’m walking them, I’d rather just throw my hands up in the air and enjoy the ride.

Yee-haw.

P.S. Hardback,Torch, and Mousebait--It's been a blast and I'm going to miss the hell out of all of you.

Apathy (Miles hiked: 900) (Day: probably 80 something...I don't care)

“I used to care…but things have changed.”
-Bob Dylan



Maybe it was the 95 degree heat.

Maybe it was the little black flies that had been eating me alive for the past few days because I had no bug spray.

Or maybe it was the fact that two members of my hiking group had decided to quit hiking the trail in the past 48 hours.

Updated group photo:

I'm not exactly sure why I stopped caring, but regardless, when I walked into Waynesboro, VA last week, I just didn’t give a **** about anything.

I dropped off my pack at the free hiker hostel and I walked a few blocks away in search of food. I saw the following sign on the door of The Ming Garden Chinese Buffet that was clearly directed at me:

I paid no attention to this sign. I knew I smelled bad, but I just didn’t give a ****.

I ate seven plates of bad Chinese food in the next 40 minutes. I was full, but I had no intention of leaving yet. Instead, I got a plate of salad, brought it back to my table, and stared at it for the next half hour. The waitress eventually brought my check and stopped filling my glass of water, but her subtle hints that it was time for me to leave weren’t going to work. I was enjoying the air conditioning, I had nowhere to go, and I just didn’t give a ****.

Three hours later I was still sitting there at the buffet. I had resorted to filling up my own glass of water every twenty minutes or so in the bathroom sink. I also discovered that while the waitress would not collect the used buffet plates from my table every time I finished a plate of salad, she would begrudgingly pick them up and take them to the kitchen if I placed them on the floor.

The manager eventually walked by, groaned, and said something in Chinese to the rest of the staff while he pointed at me. It was clear that they all hated me, but instead of caring, I decided to stop eating salad and go back to eating bad Chinese food. (After all, it had been three hours since my last meal and I was starting to feel hungry again.)

Four plates later, I left the buffet feeling like I had definitely got my $7 worth and headed back to the hostel.

The hostel did not have a washing machine, but I did manage to find an old bathrobe that may or may not have been laundered in the past 2 years. It definitely smelled, but I definitely didn’t give a ****.

Forty-five minutes later, I was reading a book and washing all my dirty hiker clothes at a Laundromat while wearing nothing but a borrowed, foul-smelling bathrobe. (Lebowski would have been proud.)

On my way back to the hostel, I bought a half gallon of cheap chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream at the Kroger. I ate most of it right out box in front of several amused hikers at the hostel before I passed out on the floor in a food coma.

Most of the other hikers slept in the free cots that the hostel provided. I heard the next day that the cots weren’t very comfortable and I pretended to act concerned when some old guy was complaining that his back hurt because of the cheap cot, but honestly…

The End of the Beginning Approaches (Day 70) (Miles Hiked 775)

From right to left that is Hardback, Torch, Mousebait, and the guy on the end who looks a bit like a Chia Pet is me. Two months ago, each of us started hiking the Appalachian Trail alone, but within a couple weeks we had formed a pretty tight group. For the past 600 miles, we've rarely spent a full day apart.

There's nothing I'd like more than to walk with them all the way to Maine, but unfortunately, real life obligations are slowly pulling some of us off the trail. We aren't going to make it. We just don't have enough time.

And so, plans have changed. Will we walk another 250 miles together and then, with about half of the Appalachian Trail completed, we’ve all decided to step off the trail. Mousebait will return home and the three remaining members of the group will get in a pick-up truck and start driving west for a few weeks. We are not exactly sure where this road trip will take us, but feel confident that it will be a fitting end to our journey.

And while this decision to leave the trail was not an easy one for me, rest assured that while my friends may be hindered by real world commitments, I am not. At the conclusion of our trip out west, I plan to return to the Appalachian Trail and finish the second half of what I started.

I’m not done with this trail yet.

I shall return.

"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning." --Winston Churchill

Technical Difficulties (Mile 646.5) (Day 60)

There were a lot of giant bonfires, hippie drum circles, and drunken dancing at the hiker festival in Damascus, Virginia. Mistakes were made and long story short, my smart phone is gone, so it has become very difficult for me to update this blog.

Fortunately, I bought the insurance on my phone, so I'm trying to fix this problem within a week or two.

I'll write more later.

Time Off (527 miles hiked) (Day 46)

I was in pretty bad shape as I left Tennessee.

I was nearing the end of a 14 hour, 40 mile deathmarch fueled by caffeine and testosterone. I crossed the state line and as the adrenaline died down, I was suddenly aware that the blisters on my heels had become a serious problem. I woke up the next morning, looked at my feet, and realized that I wasn't going to be able to hike again for days.

I wandered off the trail and ended up at a farm owned by a Appalachian Trail legend named "Mountain Man." Mountain Man first hiked the trail 30 years ago when he was 11 and has hiked the trail many times since. He was happy to feed and house me while I recovered if I agreed to help a bit around the farm. So I spent a few days milking goats, feeding pigs, and building a shack big enough for 8 geese to live in.

After three days I was ready to hike again, but honestly, it was hard to leave behind Mountain Man and the animals. He offered to let me stay longer and I was tempted, but the trail was calling and the longer I stayed, the harder it was going to be to get moving again.

I walked on.

And while I still miss the farm, I was definitely grinning as I walked through the Grayson Highlands. I was back in my home state of Virginia, I was surrounded by rolling hills and grazing ponies, and as I played Proclaimers song on my headphones, I crossed the 500 mile mark.

Nero (Day 36) (414 miles hiked)

Ever since the Department of Justice shut down the three largest poker sites in America, hiking has been a bit harder. Overnight, myself and thousands of other poker players lost our jobs. There are no unemployment checks coming our way and I don't think Bono is going to put on a benefit concert for us.

And while the rest of the poker community is fighting this in Washington, I'm trying to justify being out in the woods. Sometimes, I feel like Nero playing his fiddle while Rome burns.

Anyway, I met a friendly girl a few days ago who showed me what a Christmas fern looked like. Then she told me that ants taste like lemonade. I'm not sure if any of what she said was true, but I'm glad I met her because now when I see an ant, I'm not thinking about the Department of Justice. I'm thinking, "Freshly squeezed or the powdery Country Time crap?"

And fortunately, there are a LOT of ants out here.

Underestimations (Day 25) (271 miles walked)

I underestimated how difficult it would be to update this blog from the trail. Sorry. I haven't posted as often as I thought I would.

I underestimated how difficult it would be to play online poker while hiking. (So far, I’ve played twice.)

I underestimated the weather in the Smokies. As the snow melted, we climbed and slid down dangerous mountains covered in mud. And then we were pelted with hail.

I underestimated the toll the trail would take on my shoes. Fortunately, a new friend of mine managed to pull out a needle and some dental floss and fixed my shoe's busted heel. MacGyver couldn’t have done any better.

But most of all, I underestimated how much fun I’d be having out here. I’ve managed to fall in with a group of people who are every bit as weird as I am. When we couldn’t find a place to stay in Hot Springs, NC last night, we bought a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a pack of hot dogs and decided that it was time to become hobos for a night. Under a filthy bridge, we carved skewers out of wood and cooked hot dogs over an open fire and passed out listening to old Woody Guthrie songs. It. Was. Awesome.

I’m still not sure if I’m going to make it to Maine, but screw it. Right now, I’m having too much fun to care.

(Those are my feet.)

…And Then The Rain Came (Day 10) (104 miles hiked)

A few of us hikers were feeling pretty confident as we left Hiawassee, Georgia. We thought we were ready to continue north toward the Smokies and pass through Franklin, North Carolina without stopping.

But the rain caught us off guard and while we walked 12.5 miles up and down mountains, water leaked into our packs.

After spending about an hour in my tent hating life and singing “99 Bottles Of Beer On The Wall” to distract myself, I feel asleep in a cold damp sleeping bag. While I slept, a mouse ate his way into my food sack and dined on my trail mix and cashew nuts.

No one skipped Franklin. While the rain continues, most of us are heading to the local Outfitter to buy better equipment while the rest of our gear hangs outside of our hotel rooms, filthy and soaking wet.

Onions (Day 5) (64 miles hiked)

I was about 7 miles into my 2^nd day’s hike when I saw a short, shirtless hiker approaching me on the trail from the opposite direction. He had a big smile on his face and he joyfully asked me, “You want an onion?” In his hand, he held out five onions, which he seemed quite proud of.

“No, I’m good,” I replied.

The smile quickly vanished from the guy’s face and now, he looked concerned.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

As it turns out, I was not.

Suddenly, I was second guessing myself and I was now wondering if I should take him up on his offer. I didn’t need to do an inventory of my pack to know that my onion supply was quite low. In fact, I had none.

Up until that point, “zero” had seemed like a perfectly adequate number of onions to be carrying during an Appalachian Trail thru-hike, but the look on this guy’s face seemed to indicate otherwise. Why did this guy have five onions and why did he think I needed one? What did he know about onions that I didn’t? Are onions of some use on the Appalachian Trail or was this guy just straight up crazy to walk up to a stranger and offer an onion without even saying “hi” first?

“Uhh, no thanks,” I finally replied. (I assumed that even if onions did have some special powers in the woods, I wouldn’t how to use them anyway, so I was probably better off without one.)

He shrugged his shoulders, said “okay” in that “your loss, buddy” tone and continued passed me. I never saw him again.

If I knew more about long distance hiking, I probably wouldn't have spent the past 3 days utterly baffled and slightly concerned about the incident.

 Warning: This pack may (or may not) contain a dangerously low number of onions.

P.S. The Blue Ridge Mountains have been quite a sight.

My First Trail Companions (Day 1)

After taking a quick photo on Springer Mountain, I joined the parade of hikers who plan to walk from Georgia to Maine in the next 7 months. Today, I met two of them: Rick and Gunner.

Rick was in his 50s and out of shape. When I met him, he was standing halfway up a mountain, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, panting for breath, and looking like he was about to vomit. I asked him how he was doing.

“Fine,” he lied. I shrugged my shoulders and continued up the mountain without him.

I didn’t find out his name was Rick until later when the next guy I met, Gunner, told me that Rick had turned around a few miles back and decided to go home. Gunner was also seriously rethinking his decision to walk the Appalachian Trail. I didn’t blame him. Gunner was about 6’1”, 270 pounds, and he asked me twice if I had any weed. After a short talk, I left Gunner behind as well.

I doubt I’ll ever see Rick or Gunner again, but considering only about 1 out of 10 who start the trail in Georgia actually finish, maybe it’s good thing that I’m running into people less prepared than me. Mathematically, it gives me hope.

 This man on Springer Mountain's plaque bears no resemblance to either Rick or Gunner.

I'm Homeless (10 Days until Springer Mountain)

The lease on my apartment expired a week ago.

It feels somewhat liberating to have zero keys on my keychain:

Ten more days of visiting family and then it's on to Springer Mountain in Georgia--the southern most point of the Appalachian Trail.

The Conversation Flowchart (23 days until Springer Mountain)

There are two characters in following picture: Red and Blue. I am Blue. Red is a role that has been played by many people and it will undoubtedly be played by many more in the near future.

Regardless, of who is playing the red character (friend, family member, or total stranger), the conversation pretty much always follows the same pattern:

<Click picture to enlarge>

Either you see the appeal of the trail or you don't. I'm not going to be able to change your mind, so I'm not going to try.

The Four Things I Learned In Front Royal, Virginia (35 days until Springer Mountain)

The past nine months that I've spent in this small town haven't been all that exciting, but that doesn't mean it was a total waste of time. If nothing else, I'd like to think I'm a little wiser now than I was nine months ago.

Here are four valuable life lessons I learned while living in Front Royal, Virginia:

1. If you spill water on your pants and want to dry them quickly without going to the laundromat, you can dry them in the oven. Just keep the temperature low and stay vigilant. (You don't want to start a fire.)
   
   
2. Clothes that have dried in an oven generally smell a little like the last food you cooked in that oven. (In my case, that usually means pizza.)
   
   
3. If you work from home and aren't planning on leaving the house all day, there is nothing wrong with wearing clothes that smell like pizza. After a few minutes, you stop noticing the smell.
   
   
4. The whole “drying clothes in the oven” idea is a slippery slope. If you try it once and it works out well, it becomes tempting to never want to pay for a dryer again. Next thing you know, you are sitting at the library one day and a stranger asks you, “What smells like pizza?,” and suddenly you realize you should have just gone to the damn laundromat. Saving a few quarters isn't worth the shame you feel when you realize that you have become the weird guy at the library who smells like pepperoni and sausage. 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   

49 Days Until Springer Mountain

I don't like blogs.

I consider blogging to be the lowest form of written communication ever invented. It ranks just below spray painting your name on a highway overpass. (Spray painting and blogging are pretty much the same. The only major difference is that occasionally, people read what's written on a highway overpass.)

All I really wanted was a simple way to occasionally reassure friends and family that I haven't yet been mauled by a bear, bitten by a rattlesnake, or forced to squeal like a pig. Mass emails are annoying and there is no way I'm taking the time to write individual emails while I'm hiking, so this seemed like the only remaining option.

Oh well. Now that it's come to this, I guess I might as well pack a can of spray paint. The trail crosses several major highways.