A Backpacker's Life List

Thoughts from Civilization

2012-01-03T03:13:00.021-05:00

I loitered all alone on the summit of Springer well after Footwork left. The fog subdued the sunlight and concealed the view. Sounds were reduced to only the patter of rain. The combination of these things gave me a greater and much appreciated feeling of isolation. With the strong emotion I felt, I needed the alone time.

I sat on the southern terminus marker and flipped through the log books. It made me smile whenever I saw the name of a friend I met along the way who also made it to Springer. Most notably, Deckeye, Witticism, JTT, Right-Click, Lightfoot, Sponge, and Splake.

Amicalola Falls, the tallest waterfall
east of the Mississippi

It took a while to get myself to leave the summit. The realization that there would be no more white blazes to lead the way depressed me a little. When I finally left, I began to feel the post-hike blues. Even though I'll be getting back on a trail before too long, the AT is a unique experience. I was, however, looking forward to seeing everyone back home and spending a couple idle weeks out of the cold and rain. Not to mention eating massive amounts of holiday food.

Pennsylvania

I hiked the nine miles down Springer to Amicalola Fall State Park. My cousin, aunt, and nephew drove the ten hours from Indiana to meet me there. Before getting into their clean vehicle, I asked a park ranger to direct me to a camp shower where I could wash away my hobo aroma. My sister sent along some of my old clothes for me to change into. After lathering, rinsing, and repeating, I slipped on my old jeans without needing to unbutton them first. I walked out of the showers and showed my nephew how baggy they had become.

Virginia

“Hey, check this out,” I said as I pulled my loose-fitting waistband away from my waist with my thumb. “I could fit Jared from Subway in these pants with me. Or, you know, something less weird of equal or lesser size.”

Tennessee

I found it difficult to talk about anything but the trail. During the ride home, and for the next several days, whenever there was a break in conversation, I often jumped in with a sentence that contained the words, “when I was on the trail.” I decided to take advantage of this time when everyone wants to hear trail stories, because I’m sure people will get tired of hearing them long before I’m tired of telling them.

New Hampshire

After ten hours on the road, I was back where I left six long months ago. It’s incredible how efficient cars are at moving you around. For a measly three bucks in gas and half of an hour, I can cross a day’s hiking distance even with hundreds of pounds of extra gear. Even if gas prices doubled, it’s an extraordinary deal. That's just one of the many things I see differently now.

Big Hump Mountain

The first night back in my hometown, my brother-in-law and I went to his bar. He let me have all the free celebratory drinks I wanted. I sipped on whiskey and drank shots of whatever the bartender brought over. A guy with a full beard walked in and sat at the table next to me. My instinct was to ask, “You thru-hiking? North or southbound?" but sadly, those words would have had no meaning here. I tried starting a conversation with a couple people, but I seemed to have lost my ability to talk to non-hiking strangers, unless I’m talking about the trail. My mind is still consumed with the AT. What else is there to talk about?

The view from a hot tub
in Rangeley, ME

The hangover the following morning made me regret drinking almost a full bottle of whiskey. It reminds me of the hangover I had “when I was on the trail.” It was five months ago, a woman in Rangeley, Maine invited us to stay in her beautiful lake house. We weren't the only people she's had over. She had photos on her walls of some others who have stayed in her home: Bill Clinton, Shaquille O'Neal, Jimmy Carter, and Al Gore, to name a few. She had a wonderful photo of Barack Obama playing peak-a-boo with her granddaughter. She has lead quite an amazing life. Bambi and I got to hear all about it while relaxing with her in her outdoor hot tub under a bright full moon. When I got too warm, I jumped into the clear cool lake.

North Carolina

Red made a huge dinner that night on her outdoor brick grill. She opened up six bottles of wine, two of which I drank myself. The next morning I woke up early and walked back out to the lake. I couldn't see to the shore on the other side because the fog condensed my visibility to a few dozen feet around me. That also meant nobody could see me. I walked to the end of the pier. It was a little chilly, so I didn't plan on swimming. I didn't even put on shorts to swim in. I stripped down anyway and dropped into the water. While I acclimated to the cold, two loons swam out of the fog toward me. They were so close that I could see their necks palpitate when they sang their infamous undulating song. I've never seen loons get that close to someone.

McAfee Knob

The Last White Blaze

All that wine the night before gave me a bad hangover like the one I got from the free whiskey I drank in my brother-in-law's bar. The point in telling you this story right now is so you can see how all my thoughts lead to a trail story. Everything reminds me of the trail, and I reflect sentimentally about all of it, even a splitting headaches with nausea.

The First White Blaze

After leaving the bar, I slept on the floor of my sister’s house. There was a perfectly good couch a few feet away, but I couldn’t fall asleep until I grabbed my sleeping bag and moved to the floor. I guess I’ve gotten used to the ground. I woke up the next morning and took my third consecutive daily shower. I haven’t had a streak like that in months. I understand the need for it in civilized life, but it almost seemed excessive. By trail standards, I’m already satisfactorily clean if I can step into a shower and not see a trail of dirty water circling the drain at my feet. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very fond of cleanliness, but I kind of miss not caring about getting dirty. I smell like soap for god’s sake. Clean, fragrant, soap! Like a common day-hiker!

If I didn’t already have plans to get back on a trail, I think I would feel completely lost right now. I got used to letting white blazes tell me where to go next. I miss having my course so clearly laid out before me, with no decision-making, stress, or anxiety about what I should be doing next.

I also miss the simplicity of living outdoors with my possessions limited to what will fit in a twenty-five pound backpack. I would love to sleep in a lean-to tonight, fully enveloped by natural sounds and cerulean moonlight, even if that lean-to had mice scuttling around. Actually, especially if it had mice scuttling around, for reasons I don't think I could explain. I want to go back to when each day meant new mountains to climb, new towns to explore, and new people to meet. I want to see all my trail friends again. I want to wake up every morning with purpose and that unquestionable confidence that I’m doing exactly what I should be doing.

The only thing that seems to diminish the post-hike blues is planning and thinking about my hike to Florida. I wonder if I should or could ever go back to life as it was. I know it has only been a few days, but I believe the trail has changed me forever, and for the better. It seems living so simply for so long has ruined me for the traditional modern life, but I'm fine with that. I see people getting stressed so easily, and needlessly. I've been reminded of that dread of having to get out of bed to start another day of unsatisfying labor, to buy things that I've learned I don't really need. I don’t want to go back to that old life. I have to believe there is a better way.

Maine

I know living how I have for the past six months is ultimately unsustainable, both financially and physically, but I have to keep it going for as long as I can. I have to because since getting back home, I've begun to feel like I'm losing the thing I love most about the Appalachian Trail, the feeling of knowing, beyond any doubt, that I’m living my life in a way that is worthy of life itself.

- - -

One last thing before I end this post. I've been thinking about a poem Footwork read to me one morning in the Smokies. Good or bad, depending on your interpretation, I feel that in some ways I'm becoming one of the men it describes. It is called, The Men Who Don't Fit In, by Robert W. Service:

There's a race of men that don't fit in,

A race that can't stay still;

So they break the hearts of kith and kin,

And they roam the world at will.

They range the field and they rove the flood,

And they climb the mountain's crest;

Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,

And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;

They are strong and brave and true;

But they're always tired of the things that are,

And they want the strange and new.

They say: "Could I find my proper groove,

What a deep mark I would make!"

So they chop and change, and each fresh move

Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs

With a brilliant, fitful pace,

It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones

Who win in the lifelong race.

And each forgets that his youth has fled,

Forgets that his prime is past,

Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,

In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;

He has just done things by half.

Life's been a jolly good joke on him,

And now is the time to laugh.

Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;

He was never meant to win;

He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;

He's a man who won't fit in.

A Backpacker's Life List by Ryan Grayson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

The Southern Terminus

2011-12-22T17:53:00.004-05:00

A quarter-mile from the summit, I stopped to wait for Footwork and the sunrise. After his exhausting 42-mile day, I was finally able to hike faster than him for a change. He moved on passed me and got to the summit first. He stood still next to the Southern Terminus marker with his hand placed pressed flat against it. That sight put a lump in my throat. Later, I unexpectably collapsed onto the sign and my eyes filled with tears. I honestly didn't expect to feel this way.

My emotions were mixed, but intense. My journey from Maine to Georgia was the greatest adventure of my life, but actually getting to Springer Mountain. in Georgia is bittersweet. I will write more about how I'm feeling at the finish line when I've had some time to collect my thoughts. I also have hundreds of photos left to post and many stories to tell that, due to limited cell coverage, never got around to telling. One thing I will say now is that, I'm not ready for the adventure to end, and I can't think of a good reason to let it. I'm going home to spend the holidays with family and friends, then I'm coming back to Springer Mountain to continue hiking until I reach my new destination, Key West.

The Last Night

2011-12-22T17:37:00.005-05:00

It's day two of constant rain. I hiked twenty three miles to the shelter Footwork and I planned to meet at. It was empty. Since we got separated the day before, I figured he decided to move on ahead. I went to bed thinking I'd hike the last eight miles and summit Springer alone. I woke up at three o'clock in the morning and saw a headlamp moving toward the shelter.

"Is that Footwork?" I asked.

"Yes it is," he replied. I guess he was behind me all along, and hiked thirty four miles to get here. "I'm going to keep going. My friend couldn't pick me up, so I had to change plans. I have to be on Springer by eight."

I'd still summit alone. We said our congrats and goodbyes. I've made many friends on this trip. Making friends out here is as easy as when you're 6 and the only thing you need in common is your height. Out here nearly all you need in common is the desire to be out here. I'll miss the friendships the most.

"What do you think? Feel like hiking eight more miles tonight?" he asked.

Still groggy from sleep and Tylenol PM, I packed and headed up Springer.

Neels Gap

2011-12-21T10:07:00.135-05:00

After 179 days on the trail, I had never been more ready for one of those days to end. It never stopped raining, not for one step of the 26 miles I had to hike. By nightfall, I still had eight miles to go. The trail was all wet leaves and slick rocks. Footwork was probably a couple miles ahead of me by now.

My headlamp reflected off the fog, putting a white veil over my eyes. All I could see was the ground around my soaked feet. Then, with five miles to go, the batteries in my headlamp began to die. I was on my only spare set. I underestimated how much night hiking we'd be doing, and how quickly my headlamp would burn through them. The light at my feet dimmed to the brightness of moonlight, at best. Sometimes I felt the ground soften and I knew I was off the hard-packed trail and had to turn around. The white blazes were frustratingly sparse, as well. At one point, I passed a blue blaze, a sobering sign that you may not be on the AT, you may be lost. Getting lost in the woods on a moonless foggy night feels like treading water in the middle of an immense dark lake without a clue where the shore is. Thorny branches, that I couldn't see, reached out to grab my wrists. Tree roots seemed to be trying to knock me off my feet. This is a good time to point out that we all sent our tents home, since we had only been sleeping in shelters and wanted to reduce our pack weight. I had to keep going.

Finally, a few hours later, I saw security light glowing in the fog. It was the hostel at Neels Gap. I called them earlier in the afternoon to see if I could arrive after hours and still get a bed for the night. I knocked on the partially open door of the historic stone building and poked my head in. "Is this the hiker hostel?" I asked. At last, a warm dry place.

"You're 14 minutes late!" said the hostel operator named Pirate who was waiting up for me. "I just put your plate of food in the fridge."

"Food?" I thought. I didn't expect food to be waiting for me. Pirate walked to the fridge, pulled out a plate covered in pink plastic wrap, and put it in the microwave. His long scraggly beard was dabbled in gray. His t-shirt had the words, "Pirate for life" sitting above his large round belly.

The other thru-hiker in the room walked over to me. "Are you Sundowner?" I asked. I knew I was getting closer to him from his entries in the trail registries.

"Yeah, that's me," he said and gave me a hug. "Congratulations on your thru-hike!"

"Thanks, you too!" I said even though we still had 30 miles left.

My food finished warming up. "Wow, I wasn't expecting hot food to be waiting for me. I can't thank you enough," I said. "It was a rough night."

"It's Hanukkah! This is your Hanukkah dinner," Pirate said. He put the plate in front of me with a huge pork chop on it surrounded by potatoes, gravy, and green beans. "I put on some Hanukkah music, too. I even have a menorah on the table under the Christmas Tree."

Pirate went back to the fridge, "So, Ryan, do you want beer or wine?"

Never in my life have I gone from being so miserable to being so completely happy, so quickly.

Georgia!

2011-12-19T12:13:00.003-05:00

The 14th and final state on the AT.

Chunky Gal Trail Intersection

2011-12-18T17:03:00.002-05:00

Very clever Appalachian Trail, but I'm not falling for your ruse. With I, a battered but determined thru-hiker, a mere 80 miles from Springer, you are clearly worried that you will soon be conquered. For shame, Appalachian Trail, that you have the audacity to try and sway a wouldbe thru-hiker off trail with such an obvious nonveridical temptation! You'll have to try harder than that to stop me Appalachian Trail! I am getting to Springer! And further more, your failed attempt to throw up this roadblock has only served to embolden my resolve!

A Day of Fog and Rain

2011-12-17T09:52:00.127-05:00

Yesterday, I hiked in the fog and rain to US 64, then hitched into Franklin, NC. This will be my last overnight town visit before Springer Mountain.

It was a hard day, one of the hardest in weeks. Not because of the terrain or elevation gain, but a cold rain poured relentlessly until I was soaked to the bone. It didn't stop until I was finished for the day and under a roof.

Since most people don't want to pick up hitchhikers at night, I had to run many of the day's miles over slippery wet leaves in order to get to the highway before dark. A man in a white pick-up drove past and saw me pacing back and forth along the highway with my thumb out. As is customary in the south he was friendly enough to put on his brakes and come back for me.

"Hey, I can take you to Franklin," he said. "Let me just make some room for you." He had been hunting, so the cab was filled with camouflaged gear and guns. "I saw you standing in the rain with night coming and figured I should come back for you." He pulled out a two-pack of brand new raccoon traps that had been sitting in the passenger seat and set them in the bed of the truck. "That's my son's Christmas present."

The locals along the trail have been incredibly friendly, but in the south I think they make it there duty to search out someone to help. My driver dropped me off near Mulligan's bar and I walked in for a sandwich and hot coffee. When I finished eating, a woman and her husband walked up to my table. "Are you hiking the trail?" she asked. We talked briefly then she asked, "Do you have a place to spend Christmas?" I've been invited into so many homes along this trail, but it still surprises me that people will so quickly put up a smelly stranger they have only known for five minutes. Don't listen to the local news; America is, by a wide margin, friendlier than it is dangerous. "You enjoy the rest of the trail. And, for sure, you do have a place to go for Christmas?" she asked again.

Footwork and I decided to split the cost of a hotel room, so after finishing a second cup of joe, I walked to the Franklin Motel to meet him there. I went right to my bed and crashed. Soon after, my feet swelled up, as they tend to do at the end of a long day. My toes resembled fat little sausages that have been soaking in dishwater all day. I've gotten used to this. When I'm hiking, I feel like I'm in the best shape of my life. I can climb three thousand feet of elevation, without stopping for a break, and never feel that lactic acid burn in my muscles. At night, however, after I've stopped hiking for a few minutes, my legs stiffen and are so sore that I waddle around like Redd Foxx trying to rush to answer his front door on Sanford and Son. My knees ache at the end of the day so much that whenever I waddle into a public restroom and see those handicap bars next to the toilet, I rejoice. It's just one of life's little pleasures, you understand.

They say it takes as long to recover from an AT thru-hike as it does to hike it. As long as I keep moving I feel great. I guess the trick is to just never stop moving, ever.

2,000 Miles!

2011-12-15T02:55:00.003-05:00

They didn't give us Southbounders a sign at the 2,000 mile mark like they did for Northbounders, so I took a picture of me instead. It's been a while. Currently I'm at mile 2,046 with 135 to go.

Fontana Dam

2011-12-15T02:54:00.004-05:00

Just beyond the Great Smoky Mountain's southern border, the trail crossed Fontana Dam, the highest dam in the eastern United States at 480 feet tall. To late season southbounders it symbolizes getting through the frozen Smoky Mountains alive.

I only had one minor injury from the cold. I tucked a hand warmer in my sock, as I've done a few times before when I can't get my feet warm at night. I woke up with a second degree burn under the tiny heat pad. What surprises me more than the nasty red blisters it cooked onto my ankle, is that I was so exhausted from hiking up snow covered mountains all day that it didn't even wake me up.

And the worst part is, I just realized I'm now a part of that group of idiots that have made it necessary to put warning labels on everything.

The View From Clingmans Dome

2011-12-15T02:26:00.005-05:00

It's chilly at 6,643 feet this time of year, to say the least. Strong freezing winds, and feeling symptoms of a cold coming on, kept me from staying long to enjoy the view. I was sure I caught what the others have, but I'm feeling much better now. We left the Smokies yesterday and soon after the weather became instantly better, like we passed back through the wardrobe from the land of Narnia.The snow and ice are gone and today was warm enough to hike in shorts again.

I'm going to miss waking up to these views. The six months I've spent out here have seemed like years. That's what happens when you don't stand still long enough for your sorroundings to become ordinary. I can barely remember what it's like to wake up in the same place every morning.

Clingmans Dome Tower

2011-12-14T12:05:00.002-05:00

The highest elevation on the AT. Picture taken a couple days ago.

And Then There Were Two

2011-12-14T11:24:00.000-05:00

Joe is the forth in the group to get too sick to continue. It's just Footwork and I now. We'll miss Joe. He was a great guy to hike with.

This is the first sufficient cell signal I've had in a few days. I have a lot of miles left to do today, so I'll post more later today when I get to my destination.

Coldest Night Yet

2011-12-10T08:52:00.001-05:00

No bears, but that was the coldest night on the trail so far. I expected it since I couldn't get my shoes off last night until I thawed out the shoestrings by holding them in my fists for a couple minutes.

My water froze again, but I stayed warm enough. I worried my sleeping bag wouldn't cut it in the Smokies, but it was fine. The only problem is getting out of it. That takes a lot of motivation on a cold morning like this. I'm looking at my frozen boots, that are as hard as a rock, and my frozen socks that are laying next to me like stiff dead rats. Actually getting into these socks would be literally impossible.

I just have to think of the hot food and laundromat dryer in Gatlinburg. That is what will get me out of this sleeping bag. We are going to try to hitch into there today.

Ridgeline Hike

2011-12-09T21:56:00.001-05:00

This is one of the few warm sunny spots on the trail today. I spent most of the day hiking along the ridgeline in the snow. Even with cold wet feet, it was a good day for a hike. Although that sort of changed over the last few miles after nightfall. All the snow that started to melt, quickly turned to ice. The slick trail edged some precarious dropoffs as well, making for a slow night hike. Eventually, I just wanted the day's hike to be over. I wanted to slip out of my cold wet socks and slip into my warm sleeping bag. When I thought the shelter would be coming up at any moment, I got to a sign that said I was still 1.5 miles away. The final mile took the longest, as it was totally coated in ice, but at last I arrived. It's such a great feeling to see your shelter at the end of a long day. There was a sign posted out front. "Shelter Closed Due To Aggressive Bear Activity." There are eight icy miles to the next shelter, so I'm going to just pretend I didn't see that.

The Great Smokies

2011-12-09T12:12:00.002-05:00

This trail continues to amaze me even after 1,957 miles.

Going Up Mt Guyot

2011-12-09T12:03:00.002-05:00

Heading up Mt. Guyot and eventually to an elevation of 6,330 today. I will be over 5,500 feet for a while. I'm actually getting a weak cell signal up here, so will try posting lots of photos.

Standing Bear Hostel

2011-12-09T09:52:00.001-05:00

I spent last night in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We have all worried about the Smokies for weeks. We knew it would be cold. We knew there would be snow. We were right. I'm with Joe and a hiker named Footwork. With the finish line in sight, many have taken ill and stayed behind at the Standing Bear Hostel (pictured). We'll regroup after the Smokies. Red is suffering from a pretty nasty cold. We thought Double D had Giardia, but the doc thinks he just has a stomach flu that's going around. Puddles has a sinus infection and onset pneumonia, according to his doctor. Just about everyone else has a mild cough and wonder if we are the next to be bedridden. The trail seems to be throwing out roadblocks in the final stretches.

There's little time for sickness now, and after today, only 200 miles to go. That could mean only ten days left, but I think we all want to finish with the group, i.e. friends that understand what we've all been through... and understand why I'll, no doubt, be sobbing.

The Million Dollar Question

2011-12-05T15:15:00.000-05:00

I think at one point or another, we have all been asked the question, “What would you do if you had a million dollars?” I was thinking back to when Red asked me this when we were still in Maine.

We were a few weeks into the trip. I finished hiking for the day and went to get water from a nearby pond. The daylight began to fade to warm hues as the sun sank toward the horizon. I put my bottle underwater, waited for all the air to gurgle out, then screwed on the cap. A fallen log on the shore of the pond gave me a seat to watch the sunset. The sky slowly transitioned to an intense fiery collection of warm light.

Red showed up to fill his water bottle, then walked out on the log to join me. We talked while we waited for the vibrant colors to reach their peak. That’s when he asked that million dollar question.

“If I had a million dollars," I said. "I would quit my job and hike the Appalachian Trail."

“You didn’t need a million dollars to do that,” he said.

That had been my answer to that question for a while. He was right. I don’t have a million dollars. Not even close. And I’m glad I realized, before it was too late, that I didn’t need it.

“Yeah, I agree,” he added. “Although, I would own the lightest gear money can buy.”

Soon after, he stood and started to walk across the log and back up to the shelter.

“What are you doing? It’s not done yet,” I said. “Sit down. It will be worth it, trust me.”

The sky got even more vivid. So vivid that I wondered if people would think my pictures were photoshopped.

We headed back up the hill to the shelter. "Thanks for forcing me to stay longer," Red said.

A few others where gathered around the shelter, Moccasin, Deckeye, and a girl that was chaperoning a small group of girl scouts nearby. Later, a northbound thru-hiker joined us who we would later refer to as "The Negative Nobo". He had about as many miles left at that time that I have today. I stood by our fire and talked to the girl scout leader who was asking me questions about the trail.

"How many mountains do you have to climb on the Appalachian Trail," she asked. I began to answer, but was cut off by The Negative Nobo.

"Thousands. And all of them pointless. You go up, then just go back down, then you go right back up again," he said.

I don't think he would have the same answer for the million dollar question now that his trip is over, but even after more than 1,900 miles, my answer remains the same. I asked Red this question again last night.

"Red, if you had a million dollars, would you still just want to hike?"

"Yeah, man," he said. "I would just go to another long-distance trail and keep hiking."

A Backpacker's Life List by Ryan Grayson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

AT Day 137 and 138: Niday Shelter

2011-12-05T15:08:00.001-05:00

AT Day 137 and 138: Niday Shelter, a set on Flickr.

Click thumbnails to enlarge photos.

The Dog (UPDATED)

2011-12-04T08:37:00.004-05:00

We seem to have picked up another member of our group. Two hunting dogs with tracking collars followed us around yesterday. The other one seemed to be following a scent and moved out ahead of us barking and howling down the trail. The other stayed with us and slept in our shelter last night. He's a bit hyperactive and I had to share a summer sausage with him, but I kind of like having him around. We'll be in town today and will try to contact the owners. Otherwise, we have a dog I guess.

UPDATE: We got into Hot Springs, NC last night. We got to a local diner and tied the dog to a post outside. We started referring to him as "Muttly" even though I'm sure he's a specific well-bred bear hunting dog. I called the number on his collar and talked to the owner. A couple minutes later, the owner put me on hold because another call came through. It was a man outside the diner that knew it was a bear hunting dog, knew we were just thru-hikers, and thought we were trying to keep him ourselves. We all grew attached to ol' Muttly. I know at least Red and I were sad to see him go. Oh well, it wouldn't have been easy taking a dog on a hike through the Smokies anyway. Muttly is at home and hopefully putting some meat back on those bones.

Hitchin' a Ride

2011-12-03T07:33:00.002-05:00

A few sobos who had already finished their hike this year (Milk Carton, Buzz Lightyear, and Easy) drove to Springer to visit friends finishing their trip. They met us in Mars Hill. Nine of us piled into Milk Carton's 5-passenger Kia Sportage with gear tied to the roof and headed to Asheville, NC. At first, how we managed to pack into that car was hilarious. After 15 miles, being smooshed into a Kia was more uncomfortable than funny. We had some food and drink in town then shared a hotel room for the night. Red, Joe, and I spent the next day trying to hitch the 28 miles back to the trail. After four hours, and three hitches, we were still 15 miles away. After nightfall, we met a nice guy named Chuck at a gas station who offered to drive us the rest of the way. When we got to the trailhead, Chuck passed us each a beer and toasted to a successful trip. The moon was half full, but provided enough light to hike the two miles to the next shelter without headlamps. We will try to make up the lost miles over the next few days.

On Top of Big Bald Mountain

2011-12-01T12:16:00.001-05:00

More Cold and Snow

2011-11-30T22:31:00.001-05:00

I believe this to be the coldest night yet on the trail, possibly in the teens if the weatherman is right. I'm sure our water will be ice by morning. As we climbed Big Bald Mountain, some snow drifts were ankle to calf deep. It's slowing us down, but it should warm up by tomorrow. There is a nice fire crackling. We've been circling it much of the evening, with our damp socks held out over it to dry. I'm comfortable in my sleeping bag as I type this out on my cell phone, so I'm I'm not as worried about the cold weather anymore. Unless I fall in a river.

That giant snowball pictured is one-third of a snowman from last night. It was too cold for anyone to want to finish it. As you use your imagination to picture what the finished product would have looked like, don't forget to picture it awesome, because it would have been.

Caught Up To Red

2011-11-30T21:36:00.002-05:00

I caught up with Red. This is him posing so Sixgun and Thumper can see how his beard is coming along. I'm sure they are as upset as me that he isn't allowing his Bob Ross afro to grow in. To have that ability and not use it... I just don't get it.

Soon after meeting Red and the others with him, I realized how much I miss out on when I don't hike in a group. For example, when you are alone and you see a flyer in town for amateur pro wrestling (Iron Cross vs. Scotty Rocker) at a local high school, you keep hiking south. When you are in a group with Red, you go to the store to buy markers and poster board, make signs and a cardboard iron cross, then go to the school pretending to be the world's biggest Iron Cross fans. I saw a video of this. The 5 of them made up 20% of the crowd, but 99% of the noise. They screamed made up slogans, chanted "Iron Cross! Iron Cross!" and yelled at the ref when Scotty Rocker cheated and won the match.

I think I'll stick with them a while and see what else happens.

Goat Info

2011-11-28T16:11:00.007-05:00

A cold front has been moving in. And not slowly like when you open a freezer and the cold air pours out. It's more like someone opened a window in an airplane mid-flight. It's not that cold yet, but the wind is so strong it nearly knocks me off my feet. When hiking across Jane Bald (pictured) I hiked at an angle, leaning on the wind, while gusts tried to push me off the trail.

I was happy to see the trail heading into a less windy tunnel of trees, but I had to stop to take a picture of this mailbox first. It wasn't in a place where you'd expect there to be a mailbox, one labeled "Goat Info" or otherwise. I assume there were mountain goats in the area, but I liked it because I know that eventually someone will walk by it while coincidentally pondering a question about goats. They will be walking with their head down and thinking, "I wonder if a goat would make a good pet," or maybe, "Is there a goat heaven?" Imagine how stunned they will be to look up and see this. I can't think of a better reason for it to exist.

I hope this gives you a better idea of the quality of thoughts that go on in a person's head after walking over 1,800 miles.

I'm going into Erwin,TN today to resupply and get a much needed shower. In the morning, I'll climb back up to over 5,000 feet, for more rain, snow, and strong winds.