An adventure you really must try...

On the way back from Orlando, I decided to take a Greyhound bus.

I did this for a couple reasons. One, the price was the best price I could find to get back to the small, remote town of Damascus, Virginia. And two, I needed some compelling reasons to want to be away from civilization and sure enough, by the time I stepped off the bus in Bristol, Tennessee, I had plenty of them. Now if you haven't had the pleasure of taking a Greyhound bus, you really should do it before you die. That, and you should take a train which I did from Damascus to Orlando. That was another story in itself, but allow me to share what I learned from the 'bus experience.'

Two types of people take bus transportation across parts of the country: Those who don't have any money to take anything better, and those running away from something who need to get away from whatever that is as soon as possible. I suppose there is another type, people like me who are gluttons for punishment.

When I arrived at the Greyhound station in Orlando, the first thing I saw was a large sign on the front door which stated, "No concealed firearms are allowed inside this building." I was concerned about other riders carrying machine guns and bazookas, so my fears were put to sleep when I saw that they had to leave those outside. But when I entered the facility, one whole wall of the waiting area was filled with video games that had those red and blue plastic guns so you could still shoot people while you waited for your bus. I'm sure this was a welcomed repreive for those criminals who would be my bus mates for the duration of my voyage.

As I looked around, I was also fascinated to see that this station, which I assumed was cleaned with some regularity, was still three times dirtier than the wilderness mud-strewn shelters I passed each day on the trail. But the station was not only dirty, it was sticky. Everything was sticky, no doubt from a combination of tobacco spit, baby saliva, fecal matter and drool from the local patrons who were forced to wait hours for the pleasure of "going Greyhound."

I popped in the customer service line and made a painless adjustment to my ticket, and then moved to another line behind gate number 5 where I was to board my bus in about 45 minutes. Along with me stood:

- Two very drunk and obnoxious construction workers with farmer tans, mullets and disagreeable attitudes.
- A family of "J-Los" (Jennifer Lopez-looking women) which included their ultra super hot mom who also looked quite yummy in her tight designer jeans.
- A white trash mother with a two year old who told his mom to "FU_K You" twice before the mom pulled the kid into the rest room and whipped him until he was screaming.
- A man of about 22 who would be thrown off the bus for drinking before it even left the station.
- A woman who boarded the wrong bus requiring us to turn around and take her back to the station so she could get on the right bus making us 45 minutes late.
- A slew of average folk
- Two older men, to whom life had clearly been unkind, and who would walk very slowly to and from their seats at each bus stop, but the same speed as I was hiking when my foot pain was at its worst.

It was 20 minutes till boarding and so I decided to look my tickets over.

Now bus tickets aren't like plane tickets or other tickets that are actually helpful. Bus tickets look like they are giving you the information you need but they aren't. For example, my ticket said the following:

"Route 0516 - Departing Orlando 1:15pm, Arriving Savannah Georgia 7:15pm"

Now one might assume from this that it means that the trip will take approximately 6 hours, but one would be mistaken. First of all, there are 37 stops scheduled between these two cities and at each one of them, there is a stampede of nervous smokers who must depart the bus past your seat to get their tobacco fix in 2 minutes, and then bring a stench cloud of burned nicotine and body odor back through the bus past your seat again so they can await the next stop.

Also at each stop, those people lucky enough to have an empty seat next to them do all they can to send bad vibes to the new passengers to keep them from sitting next to them. I did this successfully for the first couple stops, but clearly I lost my mojo when a large Hawaiian fellow with double pinkeye and a moist sneeze chose my empty seat and the party was over.

Riding a bus allowed me to use a whole new slew of "never used before" conversation openers which I had been itching to try; things like:

- "So, how long have you been out and what were you in for?"
- "Are all 12 of those kids yours?"
- "Shouldn't you really have a bandage on that open wound that's oozing pus on the floor?"
- And many others.

When we finally boarded, the driver took a walk down the aisle giving a quick glance at each of the passengers and promptly kicked a young man off the bus who was drinking. These drivers were tough and clearly had seen it all. When she was confident that things were as ship shape as they were going to be, she sat down and pulled out of the station into downtown Orlando traffic- After about 20 minutes, a woman stood up and went to the driver and asked if this was the bus to Miami. It wasn't and so in the middle of traffic, the driver turned the bus around to return the lady back to the terminal. 30 minutes or so later, we departed again for I-95.

Oh, the two drunk construction workers who were mimicing the Spanish people and who would have been shot if concealed weapons were allowed in the terminal had missed their bus to Daytona Beach. Fortunately, they were not on MY bus. When informed of this, they began a loud verbal altercation among themselves and moved away from our boarding line. Mama "J-Lo" bid her daughters goodbye and fled the terminal. The young boy who told his mom the "F" word continued to scream on the bus until he hyperventilated himself to sleep. The two older gentlemen took seats behind me and were quite for the duration of the ride.

Ok, so my ticket said that I would be going from Orlando to Savannah and it appeared to indicate that I would be changing buses in Savannah. But that's not true. I actually had to change buses before Savannah. When I realized there was no rhyme or reason to the route, I was forced to ask several times at each stop where I was to stand and when and what bus I was to take. Fortunately, the Greyhound people understood their system and somehow I always made my destination.

At each of the "Po-Dunk" stops, some folks got on and some got off. Everyone smoked and so the insides of the buses, which were also sticky, carried a foul, everlasting odor which was a combination of smoke, body odor, butt and whatever food was dripping down the front of the kids that were on board that particular leg of the trip. It was really quite neopolitan in a way and a true cultural experience.

At several points along the way, the bus drivers had to yell at the riders for a variety of offenses such as cell phones that were too loud, blocking the aisles, talking too loud or general roudiness. You don't get this kind of excitement on a plane.

At my last stop in Whyteville, I waited for my final bus at the bus station/shed which served as the bus station office there. A truck driver was pulling past the bench where I was sitting, too close to an SUV and quickly ripped off the side view mirror in a shattering and dramatic display of falling vehicle glass. Being in the location I was, the truck driver saw no reason to stop for this paltry inconvenience. and quickly fled the scene. The SUV it turns out, was owned by the single Greyhound employee who was feverously checking in people's luggage. When he realized it was his SUV, he flew out of the building screaming profanities but the truck driver was long gone. A thick-necked highway patrol officer responded to his complaint call a half hour later and filed a report. Only a pile of broken mirror and window glass was left on the ground to tell the story.

My final bus in Whytville arrived about an hour late. Despite the lateness, the cranky driver got out of the bus, help up her hand and stated that the bus was going to sit there for half an hour before departing, despite its already being an hour late. The driver hauled her very large driver ass into the nearby McDonalds to fill up her face and chat on the phone while I waited outside with the other riders. Before she left the bus, she warned some young hoodlums that the next time she has to tell them to get their feet out of the aisle, she was going to have the police remove them from the bus.

So there you have it - 20 hours to get from Orlando to Damascus for $118 including the shuttle versus $240 to get there in a few hours via plane and shuttle.

While the trip was certainly 20 hours of hell, it was surely more entertaining than the crabby flight attendants of US Air would have been.

You really should try it - Go Greyhound and leave the driving to them!

MuddyShoes

I am a hiker - once again...

Ah, the feeling...

I was picked up from the Greyhound station in Bristol, Tennessee this morning, by Dave, the founder of the famous Mount Roger's Outfitter in Damascus. He was to give me a shuttle back to Damascus so I could get back on the trail and finish my thru-hike.

He was the first long distance hiker I had seen in over a week, as far as I knew. You keep an eye out for these things much like people who buy a new car are always on the lookout for others who own the same make and model so they can give them a little "high sign" or wave of some kind. I don't remember seeing anyone in Orlando this past week that I would think was a long distance hiker, but I don't know for sure. I had shed blood in the woods, I had cried in the woods, I had slept there, prepared my meals there and even took regular shits in the woods. I longed this past week for conversation about the experience but found no one. So when Dave showed up with his long beard, khaki shorts, Chacos and an outdoor's tan, I felt like I was finally getting back into my element.

The ride to Damascus ran across familiar ground that I had traversed over the past few weeks a couple times since Trail Days last month. When we approached the turnoff to the main downtown area and passed the 'red caboose' I knew we were almost there. Dave pulled into Mount Rogers Outfitter parking lot where I got out, took a breath, turned a 360 to see the mountains that I had been missing all week and then dipped inside the shop to pay my $40 shuttle fee.

I passed through the shop to get a few things I needed...little convenient rolls of hiker-sized toilet paper, a couple packets of electrolyte powder to keep my heart from stopping during any long climbs and a visor. The hat I had been wearing was retaining way too much heat as the summer sun was definitely here. I looked around at the gear again but left confidentally knowing I had everything I needed save a lighter and smaller tent which would save me three pounds of carry weight.

When I walked outside, I felt the heat...it was Florida heat, muggy, hot, bright and tomorrow I was going to strap my full pack on for the first time in 2 weeks and sweat my ass off...literally. But I was 'home' so to speak. I stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat from my brow, shift my bag of goodies to my other hand and plod down the street to the Hiker's Inn where my pack had been waiting for me all week.

I grinned a little - one of the few times since I had gotten into Damascus, as I thought.. Finally... I am a hiker, once again!

MuddyShoes

My friend...the Grampus...

So you've been in your tent all night listening to the rain tap on the outside of your rain fly. You check the sides and bottom of your tent now and then to make sure there isn't any rain pouring in. You have to do this by 'feel' since you can't actually see anything unless you turn you headlamp on. And at some point in the morning, the rain subsides, you realize you aren't going to drown or succumb to a flash of killer lightning and you fall asleep.

As the birds begin their chirping around 5:30AM, you awaken gently to the realization that you aren't home, you are in your tent on the A.T. and you now have a soaking wet tent to pack. You'd love to sleep a little longer but realize you have a long day ahead. You roll over onto your back, twisting your sleeping back as you do and open your eyes to find about 15-20 4-5 inch long cigar shaped things on the outside of your tents netting. Then you notice that these things are moving and snapping these large claws on their heads. Their bodies wriggle around and their legs propel them around the netting on your tent and you are sure they are trying to find some way to chew through, enter your ear canals and take control over your body.

You have met the "Grampus" or Hellgrammite.

These local things are relatives of the scorpion family and come out after rain storms, obviously to take control over the minds of hapless hikers who dared to camp on their feeding ground. These things actually turn into giant flies at some point, but not at this point. They are a favorite with fishermen who use them as bait.

But I'm from Florida and I've not seen these "minions of hell" before.

So you begin tapping your tent to get them off and just know that the mother of these beasts is standing outside your tent, 10 feet tall waiting to grab you around the neck with her giant snapping jaws, ending your hike right then and there. But after a bit, you get up the courage to pop outside, quickly gather your tent up, hopefully without any of these creatures, and get on your way.

Thus, that is one more bug you never would have met if you had not made this journey.

MuddyShoes

You can do this...

I don't know if any of you are actually inspired by my 'tales' or if you are instead, deterred from thinking about a journey like this. Overall, I have to say that it's been a positive experience with some challenging days thrown in for good measure.
I've lost about 25 pounds so far, which is to say, the hard way, but I feel much better physically, and that was one of my goals. Still, the climbs are challenging as are many of the aspects of doing this. But you can do this...almost anyone can, really. The key is to find some compelling reason why you should. You do have to want to do this, to say the least. But it has to be more than that.

Some people have asked if I am going through a mid-life crisis, if this was my red convertible and I always laughed a little when they asked. But after thinking about it, perhaps this trip is in part, out of my realization that I'm not 20 years old anymore. That doesn't mean I'm ready to join AARP, but it does mean that I need to start taking more of a notice of my health and physical condition.

You know when you visit a doctor and you have that big long questionnaire about all the diseases and ailments that you ever had? You have to check the "YES" or "NO" boxes and when you're young, you almost always check the "NO" boxes. But as you begin to get older in your 30s or 40s, you start finding that you are beginning to check some of the "YES" ones. And then, if you've ever helped a parent or older person fill out one of those forms, many times, there are more "YES"s checked than "NO"s. Well, the last couple doctors I went to, I started checking a couple of "YES"s and that's when I decided that it's time to really look at my health and find some way to get things back in order.

I've joined the "Y" before. I did really well when I went, I worked out hard, enjoyed the workout and felt better in the evening when I came home. But over time, started to miss appointments or go less often or find excuses to take more days off. I've tried to walk around the neighborhood or do any one of a dozen other exercises but quickly became bored just when I was starting to notice great improvements in my health. Some people at the health clubs will switch themselves into "Zombie" mode while they do their 45 minutes on the treadmill or bike, watching television if there's one there or read a book or listen to their MP3 player or do anything else to take their focus off of the exercise itself.

It's tough to stay motivated...especially, it was for me.

But this Appalachian Trail thing. Once you're out there, you are out there. You are out in a million-acre wilderness on a trail with your backpack. You hiked out there and you need to keep hiking if you want to get back home or you will just die of starvation or thirst and get eaten by the bears, possums, field mice or those other creatures that would have to be really hungry to eat you. But they would eat you, none the less, and that would be it. No, I wouldn't want to go that way, so the motivation is to get to the next town, or any of a million reasons. There really are plenty of reasons to stay motivated on the trail, you just need to look a little to find them.

So you aren't in great shape? I sure the heck wasn't, over 50 pounds overweight. I had never hiked or backpacked before. I camped, but my Jeep was always close by...along with my case of bottled water, bags of snacks and a radio. But this trail thing... You really don't have to do it in one year. In fact, most people do what's called "section hiking" where they hike a little different piece of the trail each year. This one couple has been hiking a piece of the trail every year for the past 35 years and now have less than 100 miles to go. They only go out for a week or two each year, but the thing is, they do it.

Section hiking allows you to experience the same wonderful terrain that I, and countless others get to see every day, and you don't have any problems with deadlines, or to push a certain distance every day. You just go at your own pace and experience some of the most beautiful wilderness this country has to offer. All you have to do is to commit yourself for a day, a weekend, a week, month or longer, if you want to. And, even then, you can stop or go farther at any time. It's not like work. ... Ok, sometimes it is, but not usually.

So far, I have written a good amount about the challenges I've faced, and not enough about the good times, granted. But I've been going through a tough transition from computer geek to mountain man. But each day, as I become more and more accustomed to the new environment which I call my "home" I become a bit more comfortable with the paces I'm putting myself through.

Already I have seen people in their 20s and many, many people in their 50s, 60s and even 70s out on the trail. That has been inspiring, to say the least. And granted at times, it's a bit disconcerting, as these older folks are way outpacing me.

At least so far.

So the truth is, if you have thought at least a bit about doing this, for a weekend, a week or longer, then check out the "Links" page of my website for countless resources which will give you a great idea of exactly what to expect along your journey.

It really is worth it...no matter how much time you choose to spend out here.

MuddyShoes

Transportation

One of the biggest things we take for granted in the 'civilized' world is the ability to get from place to place. We've becomed so accustomed to just getting in our steel boxes and driving from here to there that we don't even think twice about it. Forgot to get milk from the store? No problem, just pop in the steel box and drive for a few minutes to get what we need and get back home. Want to eat out or go shopping? Want to see a movie, take a walk around the city park (which of course we drive to) or maybe visit some friends? No worries... just pop in the box o' steel and drive there.

On the trail, granted, we use our feet for locomotion. For some crazy reason, this is by choice. When you're on the trail and you want to hit a restaurant...no problem. In about 3 days, you'll be walking near one, after you hitch-hike a few miles into town from the nearest road crossing. Of course, it won't be a restaurant you've ever heard of, more like "Bubba's Country Vittles and Pig Fat" which closes promptly at 3pm, so you better get walking quickly...they are closed this weekend because Bubba's helping the neighbor duct tape the rat holes in his double-wide.

Even when you are in town, the lack of wheels is a challenge and you are dependant upon the hostel/inn folks to shuttle you around if they even offer that service. This requires you to be ready on their schedule and if you forget something, like to pick up your mail drop at the post office while you were in town, you may have to stay an extra day or pay for a taxi to get you to the places you need to go.

The upshot, is that you become much better about planning your town stays and making sure you get your business taken care of when you are in town. This makes your use of discretionary time more efficient and ultimately, helps you to save money. I think I figured out that staying in town costs you about $1-$2 per hour including your stay and meals. That can add up very quickly.

When I came home this week and actually had my Jeep to drive again, it was strange sitting in the driver's seat. Well first, it was strange, because it was the first time that I sat in a driver's seat in almost three months. But it was also strange because as I was sitting there, I realized that I could drive anywhere in town I wanted to...whenever I wanted to. This was a strange feeling but was one that I liked. But also one that I learned not to get too comfortable with because I was to be heading back to the trail in a day or two.

I will be taking a Greyhound bus back to Bristol Tennessee and then getting a shuttle back to Damascus...on their schedule of course. And then, once back on the trail, it will be another four days before I reach "Bubba's Country Vittles and Pig Fat" restaurant. Well, that's if I can get a hitch into town, that is.

MuddyShoes

City Life versus Trail Life

I think everyone should walk at least part of the trail, or do some week or two-week or more long distance hike in which the bounties of excess of our daily lives are not so available. It will really serve to help each one of us appreciate a little bit more those things that we have.

On the trail, things are much simpler, our needs are much more basic and we tend to become more appreciative of the things we do have. I wanted to illustrate this a little bit and hopefully give folks some idea of what I'm talking about. Here are some comparisons of life in the city, versus life on the trail:

Stuff:

In civilization, we accumulate stuff for whatever reason, for decoration, because we like to collect, because it makes us feel better or maybe just because we got a good deal on it. We accumulate stuff and store it in closets, attics, storage sheds or sometimes we rent storage facilities and pay them monthly to hold our stuff. We may use it regularly or not, or may never use it until we dump it at a garage sale or thrift store.

On the trail, we have to carry everything, so we try to limit the things we carry to those things that serve at least two purposes and which we will use every day. A large mug will serve as a coffee cup, a bowl for oatmeal, a water-gatherer to collect water during the day. A small stuff sack will hold our clothes but will also serve as a pillow at night. Everything we have, we look at and evaluate carefully to see if we really need it, and if not, we give it away or send it home...to store in a closet, attic or shed :)

Food:

In civilization, we buy as much as we can in larger quantities so we can store the rest to eat later. The larger quantities we buy, often the better price we get on a particular item. We bring it home in multiple bags, store it in cabinets, the fridge, the freezer and eat it the same day or days, weeks or maybe months later.

On the trail, we try to only buy (or carry if mail drops are sent to us from home) quantities to last us for the duration of the next part of our hike. The food needs to represent a good balance of calories, protein and carbs to carry us for our long days of hiking. Ideally, when we are strolling into the next resupply point, we will have an empty or near empty food bag which means we've planned our food resupply properly. Sometimes we will carry an extra day of food for emergencies.

Water:

In civilization, we always know that a reliable water source is only feet away with clean, unpolluted (for the most part) fresh water. Or we may have purified spring or bottled water at a cool 40 degrees in our fridge or nearby water cooler. If we don't we can usually buy some wherever we are at a store, cafe or vending machine. We may flush our toilets often, let the hose run outside watering plants or maybe we'll leave it on accidentally or leave a faucet running inside a house. No big deal, just turn it off and hope that we didn't use too much and run up the water bill.

On the trail, our days or planned around where our next water source will be, which will either be a stream, a spring or maybe a stagnant pool of water teeming with mosquitoes, bugs or salamanders and a good amount of slime. We have to fill our water bottles or water bladders with this water and filter and/or purify it to make it safe to drink. In some cases, the water supply may be near non-existent requiring that we sit at a spot for a half hour or more scooping up drops at a time until we have enough to drink. In other places, especially during the hot summer months, there may be no water supply for many miles leaving us dehydrated. We may also have to carry a gallon of water or more a half mile or more back to camp before we can even purify and use it and sometimes, polluted water may carry diseases that we have not fully treated it against. Every drop is precious and we are careful to use all that we take.

Weather:

In civilization, we can watch the weather channel and get some idea of what the weather will be for the day. We can pick the apppropriate clothes out of our wardrobe and dress accordingly, taking an umbrella or suitable 'options.' We have our whole wardrobe to pick from and worse case scenario, we can just avoid the weather by careful walking outside, or by driving in our cars or staying under awnings or inside buildings until the weather becomes more suitable.

On the trail, we generally have a pair or shorts or two, a shirt or two, rain clothes and maybe a little clothing to provide warmth like gloves and a hat. But we have no weather channel and we must learn to read the clouds and temperature and the sun and try to anticipate the weather. Out in the woods we have no places to duck if a rainstorm starts. Sometimes we can hide under some large leafy trees or bushes but when those leaves become soaked, the rain falls. We are often caught by sudden storms, must traverse deep muddy paths of slush, dodge hail storms, lightning, freezing weather and whatever else mother nature throws at us. If we are not careful we could literally succumb to the temperatures as when our core body temperature becomes too hot or too cold, we start to lose touch with reality and can make some fatal decisions.

Friends:

In civilization we have a great deal of control over how we can interact or not interact with our friends. We have lots of people around us to choose from to be with. We can meet certain friends in certain places and other friends in other places. We can spend an hour or several days with our friends.

On the trail, you share a common bond with your fellow hikers and some of them do become close friends. In some cases your hiking styles might be similar to the point where you can spend a few days or even months walking together. In other cases those people with whom you might most want to walk, you won't be able to because of your hiking speed or schedules. And sometimes, those people who you least want to be around can 'glom' onto you for hundreds of miles and it's not like you can just go home to avoid them. But the toils of the everyday challenges make many hikers 'friends' by default.

Health:

In civilization, we can let ourselves 'go' and still function. We can live unhealthy lives for many years at a time and just cease activities that strain us until we are living quite sedentary lives. If something in our body breaks, we can get it fixed, hopefully, or make small changes to our routine to make that 'thing' stop hurting. Doctors can fix much of what's wrong with us and even if we can't walk 10 feet without being out of breath, we can still sit in a chair somewhere and make a living doing something.

On the trail, your getting from point "A" to point "B" requires your physical ability to not only traverse that distance, but to do so carrying 30-40 pounds on your back. And you must do this up and down hills, over rocks, roots, grassy terrain and the rare but occasional track beds of pine needles. You must do 12-15 miles a day and you must do this in a certain amount of time. This requires that you are eating a diet to support this acitivity every day and that you are hydrating yourself properly and that you do not have body parts that are hurting or broken. You must be extremely careful to ensure that your body is funtioning properly or it will just break down. If you have pains, you must address them, somehow, which many times just means taking Ibuprofin until the pain stops or use some other kind of 'band-aid" until you can get to a town and have it looked at.

And so...

These are just a few ways that civilization life differs from trail life. There are many others, but one thing I have experienced personally, is that living life on the trail has really given me a perspective and a greater appreciation for those things that I do have. I do fear a bit that when I am finished with my hike, I may succumb to the pure excess that civilized life has to offer and forget how thankful I am for these things. But I hope that each time I turn on a water faucet at home or in town, I will think about how important and valuable clean water is on the trail. I hope that when I open up a fridge to make a sandwich, that I will remember that on the trail, most of these things are not available. And mostly, I hope that I remember that when I am back in civilization, I should live each day as if I had to carry a heavy backpack up and down mountains and to keep my body healthy accordingly.

Muddyshoes

No Steer...

Apologies for the "A.T.-Speak" tone of this blog entry - It's mostly for those who have hiked through the Roan Mountain to 19-E section of Tennessee on the A.T.

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I was sad to have missed the Longhorn Steer on Hump Mountain this year. When I got to the top of little Hump, I saw them off in the distance about a half-mile away near the base of the hill, but I wasn't about to make the steep descent as lightning was hitting the balds. I pushed on to Hump Mountain, through the cow fence and followed the trail of giant steer patties looking all around but found no steer. I buried my Leki a good 8 inches into a couple of the fresh cow pies accidentally when I wasn't paying attention...those took a bit to clean off and flies followed me all the way down to 19E and to Mountain Harbor B&B where I could finally wash them off.

I didn't see any goats either after the ascent out of Overmountain Shelter area. The night before, we saw them up on the bald from the picnic table outside next to the barn but they were gone by morning. Almost every hiker ahead of me and behind me had some great shots and/or movies of the longhorn steer that seemed to approach them out of nowhere.

I'm getting on at Damascus again on Wednesday, about 35 miles from Gracen Highlands. I'm really hoping my luck with the ponies is much better there. I have some salt packets and a bag of baby carrots to appease them.

MuddyShoes

October 15

There isn't a thru-hiker on the A.T. anywhere or anytime that doesn't understand the significance of that date. It haunts us and for many, it overwhelms us. It is the cause of much of the pressure to press onward despite the aches and pains of our joints, bones and other body parts. Every decision to press onward or to stop early, to get up early or to walk for record miles on a given day is made with that date somewhere in our mind. It has caused people to stay 'true' on their target to finish their hike and for others it has made them hike beyond their body's limits resulting in sprains, broken bones, fractures, 'blown' knees and on and on.

October 15 is the advertised date when Baxter State Park stops hikers/climbers from making the ascent of Kathadin, the final 5 miles of the Appalachian Trail. In actuality, the park may close up to two weeks earlier or perhaps even a little later. It all depends upon the weather, the rangers on duty, the parties attempting the climb and a little luck from God. The idea is that after about October 15, the weather can be severe enough to prevent a safe climb or to require a risky rescue should the climb turn badly, thus costing a huge amount of money and putting the safety of the rescuers at risk as well.

When many thru-hikers realize that they will not be able to finish their hike by October 15, they will do what's called "flip-flopping." This means that they will jump ahead at some point to complete the Kathadin climb, and then backtrack or get back on the trail where they got off. While this will still allow a hiker to finish his thru-hike in one season, it provides for a very anti-climactic finish to a 2,100 mile trek by ending in a small po-dunk town. For myself personally, I can't visualize myself getting my picture taken at the Kathadin sign with a smile knowing that I had hundreds of miles left to hike somewhere south of here. But as I go along, that is become less of an issue.

Another alternative is to wait until after the first of November when the park reopens for winter hiking, but you must get a permit and make the ascent with a party of four or more experienced winter hikers. While I don't know how I could work this out, at least it's an option to explore as the time draws near.

But in the mean time, October 15 continues to haunt old and new hikers alike...at least those people who haven't yet reconciled their psychological need to finish a thru-hike. I'm not sure where I stand yet, so for now, it's just one day at a time.

MuddyShoes

Onward!!!

Ah... 10 days off. A welcomed retreat. A chance for my body parts to heal, to visit home for a week in Orlando to see my wife and friends and family. A week of good nutrition, advice from trainers at the "Y" and blessings from doctors that nothing is broken, permanently, anyway.

Coming back home was strange. Even after only two and a half months, it felt strange being back in the city surrounded by so much cement, traffic and people who were all focused on different things. I feel like I don't belong here and now eagerly await the chance to return to my journey in Virginia.

This is good.

I was a bit afraid of returning home, thinking that I might not want to go back. I even left my pack and gear in Virginia with instructions NOT to return them home. But even in Virginia, I never felt like I wouldn't want to return, even when I was hobbling down the trail, soaked to the bone from rain and even on the verge of hypothermia.

After two and a half months, the trail has gotten into my blood. It is challenging and daunting at times, but it is a place of refuge, a place where I can be alone or with others who are of like mind. It's a place to communicate and share with other hikers or simply to be alone for a while. It is a place where I can be myself and laugh or cry, or simply ponder things for a bit. I've been gone for about 6 days now and miss the trail.

Within hours of arriving back home in Orlando, I grabbed my DVD of "TREK," a video documentary of some A.T. hikers who made a movie of their experience. When the video started, I watched them walk with their packs and instantly shed a tear. I'm not sure why, exactly, but think it was because I was already missing that path of dirt and stone, of roots and leaves and of pain and joy.

There is no question now whether I will be returning to the trail. I have Mount Rogers area of Virginia coming up, and White Top mountain, the wild ponies at the Gracen Highlands and so many more things to see and experience. I have some new tools to take with me on the trail, and some more knowledge. And I know that my pains, while enough to slow me down, are not stopping me.

When I look in the mirror now, I don't see a lost computer guru with no direction. I see a scruffy, wild-haired mountain man with a goal and desire to press northward to Maine. I don't know if I will reach the summit of Kathadin this year or perhaps spring of next, but one thing is for sure...there are many miles to go before I sleep.

Muddyshoes - GA --> ME, 2006

Sore Feet

I've been walking around like Fred Sanford again today.

When you walk on the trail, day after day there is usually some regular soreness, but after about a half hour or so, you get into your routine and don't think too much of it. At least you try not to think too much about it. Ibuprofin helps a lot there.

But when you take a day or two off, that is when you really begin to feel it. Whatever defense mechanisms your body has used to stave off pain while hiking shut down and you feel everything. Even on a day 'off' the trail, the pains start to subside after walking around a bit... it's just that first half hour or so getting up when you feel it.

Guess that's my penance for years of slothy and lazy living.

Ron

Smoking on the trail...

One thing that has surprised me on the trail is just how many hikers smoke. One of the hikers I've met is 70 years old and he smokes like a smokestack. He thru-hiked the A.T. 10 years ago and is thru-hiking again. And yet, despite having a cigarette in his maw every time I see him, he still outhikes me mile for mile.

I just don't get it...

It's a trail - but it's so much more...

It's a damn path of dirt and rocks. It goes up and then down again. It travels through the misty forests and then on top of tree-less 'balds.' It gets rained on, baked by the sun and is strewn with rocks and roots of all shapes and sizes. It is lifeless, and yet it is alive. And it sits there day after day getting walked upon by creatures of all kinds only changing as those who tread upon it change it. But despite how seemingly lifeless this path is...it changes people.

It can take young child and fill him with wonderment and inspire him to spend his life playing in the wilderness. It can take a woman who has lived a suppressed life and show her the way to a life full of courage and self-respect. It can take an old man hardened by a difficult life and help him find sanity in a world that seems anything but sane. And it can take a "40-ish" computer geek and turn his life upside down. And that's only after 9 weeks.

The "Trail" is a mirror and one's experiences, for better or worse, reflect the individual's state of mind. One who sees the trail as an endless trail of mystery and wonderment is one who has learned to embrace this philosophy in his life. One who sees the trail as an endless string of challenges and disappointments probably perceives his world the same way. And one who walks the trail and learns nothing, probably had little ambition in the first place.

But those who gain most from the trail, in my limited perspective thus far, are the ones who dare to change their life's perspectives and become different in some way, to become better or to choose a better life for themselves. Indeed this is what I'm trying to do for myself and I must tell you it scares the hell out of me. But somehow, I find the courage to plod on knowing, or at least believing at this point, that this change, this epiphony lies somewhere up the trail.

As I mentioned in a previous blog entry that part of me is scared to death that I might struggle and fight every step of the way only to find that there is no epiphony to be found, no great lesson to be learned and so my trip will have been for naught. But another part of me has faith that this epiphony is lying in wait, somewhere inside me waiting for that flowered hillside, or mountain-filled vista or the right animal to come out.

I really hope that's the case.

The trail is a path of dirt and rocks and roots. But alas, it is so much more.

Resupply...

Resupplying is, as it implies, the act of obtaining whatever food and supplies one needs for the next section of the trail. How much food you needs depends upon how many days you will be hiking before your next resupply. The goal is to limit your food to about 2 pounds of weight per day, but even then lighter is better.

Some folks like to carry lots of food requiring fewer stops in town, while others like to carry less weight but have to resupply more often. At present, I carry about 3-4 days worth of food which gets me around 50 miles or so. Perhaps as I get my mileage up I can get further. But, not ironically, the more weight and food you carry, the less mileage you can probably do.

Mouldering Privies...

A privy is a modern kind of outhouse, and a mouldering privy, is a high tech version of an old outhouse.

In an old outhouse, you would dig a hole, do your business and eventually fill it back in and cover it up. But a mouldering privy is designed to have your business eaten by worms and decompose with enough oxygen turning itself into a mulch-like material.

The way it works is, you step up to the 'box', do your business and grab some leaves or other organic material and throw it down into the privy afterwards. There, the material disolves and mixes with the 'stuff' to make food for the red worms, (yummy). The bucket often put inside a privy with leaves is called a "duff bucket" just in case you were interested. A mouldering privy can last as long as two and a half years before it needs to be moved, I am told.

Privies are becoming more and more common along the trail as hikers are refusing to "shit in the woods" properly, by digging holes to bury their waste and so this is a last resort for trail maintainers.

Alas, they are a welcome sign to hikers when arriving at a shelter site. Just check around the set first, as black widow spiders and others like to hide around the seat and occasionally sting hikers on the butt.

Water...

It is probably the most important item we carry on the trail, aside from our 'shelters' of our tent and sleeping bag. Our day and our route is planned with a water source in mind and we constantly depend upon it to keep our body moving throughout the day. Not having enough water can result in all kinds of physical and mental problems during the day. And as tiring as it gets to drink, you have to or else funny things will happen.

Particularly during cold or rainy days it's easy to forget to drink water. You may not think you are thirsty and so you don't drink. As dehydration sets in your muscles start to fatigue and your mind begins to do strange things.

The past few days, I have not been drinking much water, which is stupid, but sometimes I was so focused on the hike, I forgot to drink. I was noticing that logs I was passing were morphing into animals that would speak to me as I passed by them. I started talking to myself and would occasionally just shout out meaningless things as if I had Tourets syndrome or something. I would see strange checkerboard patterns to my side field of view and weird colors. No drugs were ingested, I promise.

If I was lucky, I would remember to stop and drink after which I would start to get back to normal, otherwise, I would just become more and more fatigued until I would barely be able to amble a foot or two at a time like some clothes-shredded lost guy in the desert.

The other thing that happens is that you start getting this irregular heartbeat thing going on where your heart skips a beat or goes a bit irregular. This scares the crap out of you, let me tell you. A heart doctor said this often indicates a lack of electrolytes where your body starts doing strange things. A drink of potassium and sodium based fluids will help get things back on track. Another hiker this year experience temporarily paralysis, first of his upper limbs, then of his lower before someone called 911 and had him airlifted off the mounting. The diagnosis was a severe lack of electrolytes.

So, I endeavor to drink more fluids and have those little tubes of sport drink powders. Fascinating how the body works, isn't it?

Ron

Bugs, again!!

Ach!!!

I can't take the bugs... I was on top of a place called "The Beauty Spot." This is a mountain top free of foliage which is a beautiful vista for sunsets and sunrises, but when I got there and pitched my tent, it was as if, that day, that every bug "egg" hatched and sought to descend upon the hikers like zombies in a George Romero movie. (e.g. Dawn of the Dead, Night of the Living Dead, Day of the Dead, etc.)

Since that spot, every possible flying and buzzing thing has chased me through the woods and this one bug, I don't have any idea what the hell it is, buzzes in a circle around me as I walk. When I stop, it flees, but when I start walking again, it comes back. Waving my arms and screaming like a lunatic doesn't help, but it does keep the other hikers entertained. They get in your ears, in your eyes, your nose and they squash on your skin so that the end of the day ritual is to wash the bug parts off of you.

Then of course, as you are eating, they dive bomb your ramen noodles like a WWII kamizake pilot. After a while, you stop picking them out or even looking at your food and just eat them thinking, "protein is good."

If you do the wise thing and try to just ignore them, eventually they will stop bothering you. But that is hard when you are constantly attacked with sorties of giant black buzzing things that get in your hair and your various orifices.

I have a bug net...it looks "sissy-like" but I guess I'll have to try it soon.

Ron

Ramen Noodles - God's gift...

Ok, one of God's gift...

By Damascus, it's as common to find in the "giveaway" box called a "Hiker's Box" as Macaroni and Cheese. After 450 miles most hikers have eaten tons of it and can't stomach any more, despite how many variations of it they have had.

But Ramen, remains a staple food for hikers. The block of noodles is good for around 400 calories, but contains a high amount of sodium, and not much else healthwise of any benefit. But it's lightweight, easy to fix, versatile with a little creativity and you can often get them free or around 6 blocks for a buck.

I'll have the Oriental flavor, please...

Ron

Daybreak...

The first bird song of the morning in the shelters heralds the rising sun. It may be the first bird or the second, or perhaps some other sound of a creature scurrying through the leaves that might wake you. But before long, the sky begins to lighten and more and more birds begin their songs.

It takes a moment or two to remember where I am in the morning..oh yeah..a shelter somewhere in the mountains. Sometimes it's the sound of other hikers eagerly packing to head on to the next shelter. Sometimes they are oblivious to those who are trying to get a few more winks in. Sometimes they don't care, or perhaps they do their best NOT to wake those who want a little more shuteye.

But daybreak, when I am in the woods alone, are the times I most enjoy. The forest is still mostly silent and I glance around at the greenery, or the small Junco birds who bravely enter the shelter domain looking for dropped pieces of oatmeal or other snacks. I glance over at my food bag hanging at the front ceiling of the shelter to see if the mice have bothered it, then I glance at my pack that hangs from a peg on the inside wall of the shelter...it looks unmolested. I check the other items that were laying next to me, and they too are ok.

My hips hurt, as they do every morning, from the hard shelter floor and I am a bit congested...a sign that I probably did a bit of snoring...no, that I did a good amount of snoring. I slowly zip the side zipper of my sleeping bag down and pull my shorts on. Sleeping in the nude is actually warmer in a down filled sleeping bag than wearing clothes. I roll around and sit at the front of the shelter with my legs hanging off for a few minutes and contemplate the previous night's sleep and the day ahead. I plop on my camp shoes and hobble off like Fred Sanford, in Sanford and Son and go for my morning pee in the woods.

When I get back, I pull down my food back and start preparing breakfast. I've not found a way to eat and pack in a short amount of time, mostly it takes about 90 minutes, but I'm fine with that. The quiet time is most enjoyable and I know it is only a short time before I'm sweating as I trek up and down the next set of peaks and valleys.

Yes, daybreak is my favorite time of day on the trail.

Night Terrors...

I shared Iron Mountain shelter with a couple from Deland a couple days ago. They had a young boy with them, about 10. I was warned that sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night with nightmares and will scream. Ok, I thought. I often wake up at various points in the night, so no pressures.

We all went to sleep at about 9pm, to the sound of the forest in the background...something people pay $15.95 for when they purchase a "Sounds of the Forest" environments CD. But I got something you can't get on a CD.

At around midnight, the silence of the evening forest was broken by the screams of this boy, "Aggghhhh!!! Dad....Help me....Agghhhhhh!!!!" After almost wetting myself thinking that he was being torn limb from limb by a rabid bear colony, I woke up and realized that this was one of the nightmares I had been warned about. The man and woman did their best to comfort the boy and after a few minutes, he went back to sleep, as did the couple. I, on the other hand, was still trying to get my pulse rate back down below 200 beats per minute. But eventually I was fine.

At around 2am again, silence was broken with "Aggghhhh...help me, aggghhhhh!!!" Again, the couple did their best to comfort the child and they all returned to a state of rest after a little bit. Then about an hour later, it was time for round 3... "Agghhhhhh!!!!"

I really felt bad for all of them, but didn't remember until the next day, long after I left them seeing an episode of "House" on TV months agon, in which they addressed a medical condition called "Night Terrors" which I wondered if this child had. I mostly felt bad for the child as I can't imagine going through that every night.

I gave my website card to the boy's father and if by chance he happens to read this blog entry, perhaps he can Google(tm) the term "Night Terrors" and see if this applies to his son. The symptoms certainly seem to fit.

If nothing else, it was a new shelter experience for me.

Ron

I am Muddyshoes - Your designated "Webwalker"

Webwalkers...

They are brave, fearless, and they plod on facing enemy after enemy...

"Webwalking" is a term on the trail which applies to those folks who are the first to hit the trail in the morning. Walking through the woods, the webwalker plods down the trail walking into spider web after spider web, carefully laid across the trail by spiders hoping to catch some smaller, more aggreable prey.

For some reason, the spiders always seem to cast their web right at your face level, but of course you can't see them until they are in your eyes, or your mouth or your nose. You stop for a second and spit and wave your arms or pull your hand down your face hoping to get it off, only to walk a couple feet more and catch the next one. Sometimes you may not feel it or the spiders, who are now walking across your hair, walk down onto your face and your eyelids, or they spin another web and slid down to your chin like some climber on Mount Rushmore.

It's pretty creepy, really.

To the spiders, I'm sure it's no less irritating. They crawl up from the ground or from another branch, set their web, then climb all the way to a branch across the trail and wait. Then, a giant, panting, sweaty hiker walks into the web breaking it. The spider has no meal and even if this human did get stuck in the web, it would take weeks to wrap it. No...he must let it go and make another web once this human has passed.

Leaving after all the other hikers cuts down on the web walking experience. But when you sleep alone in a shelter or are the first one on a section of trail in the morning, you are, by default, the webwalker for the day. Just remember to keep your mouth shut!

Ron

Today, I am an ant...

Damascus, Virginia - 450+ miles hiked. It's hard to believe, no, it's almost impossible to believe I've gotten this far. Those of you who know me know what I'm capable of, but I don't often see it in myself...

We've all seen a line of ants, either inside or preferably outside our house...all following each other in a seemingly mindless line, trekking on inch after inch, foot after foot until they reach their destination. Out of panic, we have often broken those trails and wiped out a section of the caravan, leaving the broken up ants to wander aimlessly, again, seemingly without pattern or purpose. Today, I am that ant, wandering around Damascus, searching for purpose and understanding.

The past couple weeks have been quite challenging as many of you following my journey know by now. It's been at least several times that I've thought about leaving the trail, even more often lately. But then I read your emails and comments to my blogs, see the photos that my wife Sally has posted and see pictures and maps of the route that lies ahead and something, manages to keep me on the trail.

My thoughts of leaving of late have so troubled me that I have not been sleeping well. I have not had access to a computer to pen my thoughts, which is often one of my outlets, so it's ironic that the technology I have tried to escape, has been of the things to give me solace in my time of need.

Today, in the Damascus library, surrounded by local patrons and other computer users, I cried for about oh, an hour, reading the emails of encouragement and postive things you folks have written. I tried to hide it as one does in therapy trying to keep the therapist from seeing his inner feelings, but it did not work. The locals here glanced at me from time to time thinking, I'm sure, "what the heck is wrong with that poor fella?" But my tears are part of my cleansing...part of what I came up here in the mountains for and so I welcome them. I just wish the locals weren't here to witness my incessant weeping.

When I leave here, I will step out onto Laurel Ave., the local main street and wander like an ant some more, trying to find my way back to my journey. I may take a week off the trail to heal my feet, though. Despite being behind, my body is telling me to take it easy. In the words of the most experienced hikers I've met so far, "Listen to your body" seems to be the most sage advice on the trail.

Ron