Foiled, I Never Get To Suffer: AT Section 5.3

“Would you like a hot cup of tea? It’s no trouble.” Dennis the ridge runner had welcomed me to the Mt Wilcox South Lean-to the evening before. I was about to say no, but before I did he added, “I think I have some Earl Grey.”

That did it. There went my stouthearted plans to drink my tea cold. The ridge runner had found my Achilles heel, Earl Grey. I’d left my stove and tent at home to lighten my load. Here I was, braced for a rugged adventure and I was being spoiled yet again.

This always happens to me. I go out in the woods to suffer, and

I Love My Toothbrush: AT Section 5 Part 2

Some people will do anything to shave a few ounces of weight from their packs. Myself, I am a light weight, except when it comes to packing. Previously I’ve struggled and failed to leave my packrat tendencies at home. Rickety knees, however, inspired a great leap of faith. A few weeks ago I went hiking without a tent or stove.

Breakin' The Rules - AT Section 5 Part 1

It was August again and I was knocking off another eleven miles on the AT in Massachusetts. I had just enough time to get to the shelter before dark, I hoped.

Late Breaking News

First you get an idea. The second step is research. (Warning: step two can, and often does, lead to more ideas, putting you right back at step one. It’s a vicious cycle.)

In this case the idea was hiking the Appalachian Trail. I’d been infected with the idea by a thru-hiker who hated brussel sprouts. When, after a day or two, the idea hadn’t evaporated, I sauntered over to the bookshelf and began rummaging about.

A few years back I’d picked up an audio book for a dollar thinking it might come in handy for a boring road trip someday. No such road trip had materialized. I found it, popped it in the stereo, turned up the volume and started washing dishes.

A smooth voice announced, “Bantam, Doubleday Dell Publishing presents, A Walk In The Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail by Bill Bryson.”

Osmosis being my preferred method for acquiring knowledge, I expected to be a happy camper. I was more than happy.

The first descriptive phrase the author inflicted upon himself, in reference to his life, was “waddlesome sloth.” The second was "cupcake."

A Well Marked Trail: AT 4.1

We tumbled out of the car, clicked a picture of ourselves and headed for the wide beaten path. It had been a while, and by golly, we were just happy to be out on the trail again.

“Huh," I told Tara, "they've switched to plastic trail markers." A hundred yards later the trail butted up to a chain link fence running north to south. We pulled our hats over our ears against the mid-October chill and headed north.

“This doesn’t feel right,” said Tara, “there aren't enough trail markers.”

We back-tracked nearly all the way to the parking lot.

“Well there aren’t as many blazes as we’re used to, but the AT marker is plain as day,” I said.

*Note to self, never listen to me.

Porcupine Prickly and Red Eft Angry - AT 3:3

I left early, out of spite. Grumpy thoughts clinging hard even in the midst of the beauty and bounty of nature. Six thirty in the morning and I trudged along, stepping over one Red Eft after another, listing my justifications.

Three days running, I’d brought up the rear. In all likelihood I’d be last again today. Getting a head start made sense. They’d all pass me and my lame leg before long anyway; it was only a matter of time.

Sending Messages - AT Sec 3 Part 2

We were a hiking party of seven. No surprise I soon fell to the back of the line and then a little further back. Lest anyone worry, I sent a message ahead with other hikers. In general fine and friendly folk hike the AT, happy to deliver messages and such.

“If you see a bearded man with a slew of red heads please let them know I’m thoroughly enjoying my dawdling. Tell them I’m fine and will be along eventually.”

The delivered message did not deter my sweet husband from worry.

The Sound of Silence - AT Sect. 3 Part 1

Everyone knows the woods are where you get away from it all but this time my hiking buddy Tara and I were trying something new. We were bringing it all, kids, husbands, the whole shebang.

Dimension Hopping: AT Section 2 Part 4

We sat on our packs on the sidewalk in a residential neighborhood, squinting at the map, thankful the car had broken down or we'd be trying to hike another 7.5 miles. The fix-it-fairies had given the car a once-over and deposited it in Dalton. We were in Dalton. The car couldn’t be that far away. We just had to find it.

Blueberry Lust: AT Section 2 Part 3

Like goblins on a full moon feast. Like greedy kids in a candy shop, like starved bears in spring, like a caterpillar puttin’ it on for the cocoon; we would merrily fill our bellies to bursting with blueberries, if we came back. As it was, we were taunted by greenberries and the last of the year’s dainty blooms. In mid-June, the AT in Massachusetts would be heaven. On that last day of May, it was unrequited temptation.

Elves & Etiquette: AT Section 2 Part 2

We made it! Behind schedule and one car abandoned, but nothing could dampen our good cheer except perhaps two heavy backpacks and one steep incline. We crossed the road and found the sacred white trail blazes. Good-bye parking lot near Lee, MA. We were northward bound. Unlike the moderate beginning of our first expedition, this section was straight up.

I could only regard myself with disbelief. Had I only hours ago been bopping down the highway with a cup of tea and a gleeful smile on my face? What had I been looking forward to? I knew damn well my pack weighed a zillion pounds. What was I thinking? Volunteering for such torture is the definition of stupidity. I adjusted my pack. “It’s too soon to be adjusting the pack,” I told myself, “we haven’t even been hiking for ten minutes.”

I closed my eyes for a second then forced myself to watch only the back of Tara’s heels as she ascended in front of me. I felt the tug of Tara’s car and magnetism to, of all things, a parking lot. I ignored these but only because I am prideful. If Tara wasn’t going to crack in the first quarter mile, neither was I.

I have since come to recognize this as basic Newtonian physics.

Gremlins: Nibbling The AT Section 2 Part 1

Nothing beats setting out on an adventure. It was 8am on a mid-May Saturday and I was headed to the AT for a second dose, Lee to Cheshire MA. It was all part of my master plan to hike the 2,134 mile trail, nibble by nibble. I was unreasonably happy considering the ungodly hour. My cup of tea steamed merrily. Illuminating things were discussed on NPR and I hummed down the road in my old Mercedes, enraptured and smiling, completely unaware of the gremlins.

Puppy Pacing: Slow-Hiking the AT Section 1 Part 3

When hiking, pacing is of the utmost importance, the slower the better. My hiking buddy Tara and I didn’t prepare ourselves in any rigorous way for our first outing on the Appalachian Trail. We expected to do penance for our foolishness. We expected pain. To avoid our comeuppance, we decided to pace ourselves. Some of us tend to push ourselves needlessly and heedlessly. This is bad.

Out of shape people are likely to do themselves an injury carrying a third of their body weight strapped to their backs for 8 hours. To avoid such nastiness, it is important to have a plan, or an excuse. On our first trip, Raleigh was our excuse. He was the perfect ploy, a puppy with tender little paws. (Yes, that is him pictured above. We are “resting.”) In our great concern for his tootsie-wootsies, we took a long break every 45 minutes or so. We’d unlace our boots, take off our socks and get some air between our toes. I’d prop my legs up on the nearest log (gotta love logs) and rest my back on my pack. We’d take a few deep breaths and stare up at the undersides of the leaves and bits of blue sky. Scandalous, I know.

Strolling the AT Section 1 Part 2: Accidental Paradise

In yesterday’s gripping post, Slow-Hiking the AT Section 1 Part 1, my hubris was hacked down before your very eyes. To add dramatic flair, I made it seem like we encountered nothing but toil and strife. By withholding some details I blew others way out of proportion, heh, heh. The focus of the story became the only two elements of the trip that could have been improved. In fact, what we found on our first AT excursion was near perfection.

We hiked southbound on a beautiful afternoon for a couple miles to some spot we saw on the map that had a shelter. I know it sounds boring, but I assure you we enjoyed it thoroughly. The mosquitoes were hibernating, but the late afternoon sun was warm enough to make Upper Goose Pond too appealing to resist. Swimming surrounded by the fall colors of New England is a most treasured indulgence.

Our trip was so idyllic it was unnerving.

Slow-Hiking the AT Section 1 Part 1: Hubris

“If you can’t be confident, be arrogant!” my math professor said. It was excellent advice. Yet I never managed to walk up to the chalkboard and write a proof with anything but dread and terror in my eyes and on my sleeve. It was, I believe, most unbecoming. Alas, at the time it was the best I could do. Though I do not posses the talent of summoning hubris on demand, I do parade around a fair bit of unfounded arrogance at odd times.

Unfortunately, I did so while packing for my first overnight hiking trip (AT in MA - Lee to Tyringham). “I won’t need this wussy camping pad,” I thought and tossed aside the heavily duct-taped blue foam. It is not surprising that my macho instinct kicked in. I have a long history of toughness-proving activities: riding red motorcycles, hitchhiking, eating roast guinea pig, wearing fishnets. All of these character building experiences bolstered my all important self-image as a badass (yet deceptively innocent looking) girrrl.

Just 2,134 Miles to Go – Section Strolling the AT

In a mere two and a half years, I’ve managed to hike 44 miles, an astonishing 2% of the way from Georgia to Maine. Ok, that’s an exaggeration. I’ve only gone 43.75 miles. But, I’m most definitely on the way to a major accomplishment.

Caution – Danger – Be Warned

The Appalachian Trail Conservancy website lists 32 published AT memoirs. The number of hikers completing the entire trail has roughly doubled every decade since the 70s. Obviously, these memoirs are contagious. The more people who hike the trail and live to tell, the more people hear about the AT. It’s an insidious process really.

One night at dinner, I found a thru-hiker had been deposited at my dining room table. She was a friend of a friend of a friend. Upon arriving she proceeded to eat a full portion of my beloved in-season brussels sprouts while declaring that they didn’t really “agree with” her. Unfortunately, I’d misplaced my BB gun.