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…