I have covered the first section of the trail in some atrocious weather. The first night at the shelter was harrowing after a long tough walk in the snow. I have met some wonderful people, some of whom I am currently cozied up with in a nice cabin. Georgia is some hard walking. Over a summit, down to a gap, which is a flat spot about 100 yards long, then up over another summit. Second and third day were in the snow. Gotta get the laundry now. Have been renamed by my compatriots "the Professor".
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
On the Trail... Sort of.
I was flying out today thinking about choices. I have spent the last week imagining the things I will miss as a result of my hike. There will be half a year with Andie and my dogs, hockey playoffs, Baseball season, Shakespeare Festival, Summer in CO... The list is really long. That is the quiet side effect of choices. Foreclosure. Each choice I make means an infinite number of things I have not chosen; rhings that are now closed off to possibility. So I spent the last week a little sad for the things I will miss. Maybe a necessary step to clear the decks for all the amazing things I will see.
So I'm at the Hiker Hostel, in view of the trail and meeting a friend tomorrow for the big start!
So I'm at the Hiker Hostel, in view of the trail and meeting a friend tomorrow for the big start!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
An Odd Decision?
I have been struck, in the last few days, as I make final preparations and catch friends for a final time before I go, what an odd decision I appear to have made. To drop out of life as I know it, right in the middle, and wander into a strange half-life. Statistically speaking, there will not be others who look like me on the trail. It is very rare that someone in the middle of their earning/family-building years attempts a thru-hike. The vast majority of thru-hikers have completed one of two major milestones - graduated college or retired after putting kids through college. (If you are interested in what goes into making up a thru-hiker sociologically, I recommend the excellent book Long-Distance Hiking: Lessons from the Appalachian Trail by Roland Mueser)
So I suppose I should not be surprised when I mention my intentions to the average person, they look at me with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. Especially when I answer the follow up question common to folks out here in the wide open west when considering an east coast trail "How long will that take? 3 -4 weeks?" "Um, about 6 months." "?????????"
It is true that I am, in certain ways, fortunate: a company that encourages missions of personal discovery, a partner who can grimly accept having to handle the maintenance of our household herself, and the wherewithal to forego a few months of salary since there are as yet no children to consider. I suppose though the main thing required is whatever disorder is required to make the decision in the first place. It is and odd choice, and yet I can't imagine it being any other way for me at this moment.
So I suppose I should not be surprised when I mention my intentions to the average person, they look at me with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. Especially when I answer the follow up question common to folks out here in the wide open west when considering an east coast trail "How long will that take? 3 -4 weeks?" "Um, about 6 months." "?????????"
It is true that I am, in certain ways, fortunate: a company that encourages missions of personal discovery, a partner who can grimly accept having to handle the maintenance of our household herself, and the wherewithal to forego a few months of salary since there are as yet no children to consider. I suppose though the main thing required is whatever disorder is required to make the decision in the first place. It is and odd choice, and yet I can't imagine it being any other way for me at this moment.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
In the Beginning...
I promise this post will not contain a list of begats.
I grew up watching the sun set over Wiley Shelter, the Appalachian Trail Metro North stop and Bull's Bridge out my mom's front window. Even 15 years after I moved to Boulder, Colorado to get a MA at the University of Colorado, the rolling hills and valleys of New England are what I paint, and what I see when I close my eyes.
On early church retreats at Bear Rock Lodge, we used to get up on Sunday morning, or rather in the darkness before, to climb the trail across the dam that outlet from Bear Rock Lake up to an east facing stretch of cliffs to catch the sunrise. I used to run up those rocks because they were sure beneath my feet. I found out much later in life that the trail joins the AT in the notch just south of Mount Evans, before you climb onto the long cliff walk leading south to, duh, Bear Rock Falls a section that remains, to this day, some of my favorite walking on earth.
So perhaps an attempt at a Thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail has been ridiculously overdetermined from the time I was a child. From my first conscious attempt at AT backpacking, when I was just out of college, through 10 day adventures that have allowed me to cover the Trail from it's first entry into CT to the summit of Stratton Mountain, the AT has been the place where I meet the best example of myself, where life slows to the rhythm of each step, where the endless critical monologue that Lao-Tzu calls the watcher finally takes a nap.
Why now though, good job, wonderful partner of 15 years, house, dogs, mortgage...? Well the answer might be in the question. Or it might easily be answered by the fact I just turned 40 and for the last year I realized that life is a line segment not a line. I have had a few difficult nights coming to grips with the fact that this consciousness, into which I have invested a lot of time and effort, will one day, soon enough, go silent forever. MID LIFE CRISIS anyone? But I think it makes more sense in terms of this being the last act of my youth, of my life lived principally for myself. Andie and I plan to marry and have kids soon, so she looked at me one day as we were discussing things we want to accomplish, and she said, "this might be the year that makes the most sense." She was right. I will do this last great solo adventure, and then I plan to make my decisions based on the well-being of my family. A monumental and necessary change to move fully to adulthood.
It is also no small consideration that this adventure will likely whittle away at the some 100 lbs that I could easily afford to lose.
In the end though, it comes down to one important motivation I've learned in my travels: there are always many reasons not to do something, all you need is one good reason to do something.
I grew up watching the sun set over Wiley Shelter, the Appalachian Trail Metro North stop and Bull's Bridge out my mom's front window. Even 15 years after I moved to Boulder, Colorado to get a MA at the University of Colorado, the rolling hills and valleys of New England are what I paint, and what I see when I close my eyes.
On early church retreats at Bear Rock Lodge, we used to get up on Sunday morning, or rather in the darkness before, to climb the trail across the dam that outlet from Bear Rock Lake up to an east facing stretch of cliffs to catch the sunrise. I used to run up those rocks because they were sure beneath my feet. I found out much later in life that the trail joins the AT in the notch just south of Mount Evans, before you climb onto the long cliff walk leading south to, duh, Bear Rock Falls a section that remains, to this day, some of my favorite walking on earth.
So perhaps an attempt at a Thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail has been ridiculously overdetermined from the time I was a child. From my first conscious attempt at AT backpacking, when I was just out of college, through 10 day adventures that have allowed me to cover the Trail from it's first entry into CT to the summit of Stratton Mountain, the AT has been the place where I meet the best example of myself, where life slows to the rhythm of each step, where the endless critical monologue that Lao-Tzu calls the watcher finally takes a nap.
Why now though, good job, wonderful partner of 15 years, house, dogs, mortgage...? Well the answer might be in the question. Or it might easily be answered by the fact I just turned 40 and for the last year I realized that life is a line segment not a line. I have had a few difficult nights coming to grips with the fact that this consciousness, into which I have invested a lot of time and effort, will one day, soon enough, go silent forever. MID LIFE CRISIS anyone? But I think it makes more sense in terms of this being the last act of my youth, of my life lived principally for myself. Andie and I plan to marry and have kids soon, so she looked at me one day as we were discussing things we want to accomplish, and she said, "this might be the year that makes the most sense." She was right. I will do this last great solo adventure, and then I plan to make my decisions based on the well-being of my family. A monumental and necessary change to move fully to adulthood.
It is also no small consideration that this adventure will likely whittle away at the some 100 lbs that I could easily afford to lose.
In the end though, it comes down to one important motivation I've learned in my travels: there are always many reasons not to do something, all you need is one good reason to do something.
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