April 16, 2008

This morning at Standing Bear I noticed that Spiffy had left his book behind when he pulled out the day before. I asked if anyone was going to try to catch up with him.

"He's out," Matthewski told me. "Off the trail, going home. He gave some excuse about a girlfriend or a wife or something, but the truth is the Smokies kicked his ass. I'm a four-time quitter myself. I know what it looks like"

At this point in the trail, 250 miles in, something like a third to a half of the people who started from Springer have quit. (At least historically; I have no idea what this year's numbers are.) I'm not sure what exactly I expected this to look like - maybe like the "storming the beach" scenes from war movies, where men get hit and go down left and right, while others keep charging the machine-gun nests. the reality is that mos of them just disappear. One day they're there, the next they're gone, and nobody even seems to notice. Some are hurt, or say they are, and say they'll catch up. Josh, who runs the Hiker Hostel in Dahlonega, GA, and services the first 30 miles or so of the trail, told me that "Nobody ever quits - it's always an injury." Josh claims that as a former ER tech, he can spot which ones are faking.

Of course, lots of people really are legitimately injured. Black Cat Lucky blew his knee out and was told point-blank by a doctor that his hike was over. But then there's a huge gray area. Athletes sometimes make the distinction between "hurt" and "injured." You can't play if you're injured, but you can - and are expected to - play hurt. It's much the same here (and I suppose hikers are athletes, after a fashion.) Many people are popping ibuprofen in handfuls by this point; there are knee braces everywhere and blisters rank only behind the weather as topics of conversation. That's all part of playing hurt on the AT.

So how do I fit into this? So far, I have had no serious pain of any kind. My knees are fine. No blisters. Muscles ache and feet hurt at the end of the day, but that doesn't count. I've had some minor issues with both ankles, and one very small blister, and had a touch of cold/flu back in Georgia. Other than that, I've had nothing Five weeks on the AT, and I've taken a single Tylenol. That's it.

My mom will no doubt credit this to prayer, and I certainly won't discount that. I could also take credit for it myself - I've practiced a lot of preventive care and most critically, I've been taking it very, easy to start. That's part of it too. But I suspect it's also been true that I've been lucky, and that it won't hold out forever.

Some people that drop out obviously were, in one way or another, unprepared. In Hiawassee, I met a woman whose son quit this thru-hike after one day. I stood on top of Springer with a guy who was 350 lbs - not necessarily a deal breaker - but who also carried a 50 pound pack and tried doing 10+ mile days from the start. I don't think he made it out of Georgia.

But the people who were unprepared are either gone or have learned better. The people left are a strong, determined bunch - and yet statistically, it's predictable that even most of the ones who are left at this point are going to quit. It's hard not to feel like there's still going to be some major test in front of me that I will have to pass. Thus far, I've been taking it very easy, Averaging only seven miles a day, including five zeroes and several near-os. That will have to change. In order to make it back to my job on schedule, that average needs to be pulled up to about 12. Even if I ignore the job and just focus on getting to Maine before weather closes the peak, I still need that average up around 10. I will need to start pushing myself quite a bit more.


I guess what started me thinking about this - about people quitting, and the challenge of the whole thing, was thinking about Stacy. Stacy came out on the trail in an effort to get off booze. She started out from Springer with minimal gear - a 40-degree sleeping bag, clothes, a crappy tent, and some ramen - and a promise from a friend that he would send her money on the trail via mail drops. As she made friends on the trail, people helped her out, giving gear and encouragement. Cool Breeze called home and had his spare sleeping bag Fed Exed up here; he gave it to her as a gift.

It didn't take. She slipped off the wagon in Franklin, NC, and turned on the people who were trying to help her. She slogged on through the Smokies - she's actually a terrific hiker - but when she got to Standing Bear Farm, she took off. There's a bar a few miles up the road, and the last anyone saw of her, she was there, wasted in much too many senses of the word.


My last day in the Smokies, I crossed an area called the Sawteeth. It's a sharp, jagged ridge and the AT runs right along the top of it, with steep drops on both sides. As I went across the ridge, the snow was falling, the rocks slippery, the wind shaking the trees. It wasn't hard to imagine the possibility of one strong gust blowing me clear off the trail and down into a ravine. It didn't happen, obviously; for reasons that probably include divine grace, my own prudence, and sheer dumb luck. I don't know, exactly, how those things combine. I wish I did.


Just 7 miles today, though, a 2500 foot gain in elevation. Stopped early to write. Need to do some big miles tomorrow.



April 17, 2008

Nearly every day, I ask myself what the hell I'm doing out here. And nearly every day, I get an answer.

Slept well last night, and felt lousy leaving my nice, warm, hammock, putting on the pack, and heading uphill. The first mile of every day, it seems, is uphill. Today it's uphill from 8:50 am to 1:45 pm, when I reach the summit of Max Patch, at 4600 feet. And that was today's answer.

Max Patch is a bald - a mountain whose top is open and grassy. Since Indian times, farmers drover herds up here to graze. With the decline of agriculture most of the balds are getting forested over, but a few, like this one, are being maintained.

At 3 in the afternoon, I'm sitting on top of what feels like a giant grassy beach ball. The green curves slowly away in all directions, broken up only rarely by tiny white or yellow wildflowers. Above, the only clouds are dustings of talcum on an otherwise perfect sky. Around the horizon, the closer mountains like grey and brown, still refusing to believe that spring really has arrived. The farther mountains - you can see back to the Smokies - recede into the distance like an audience. A hundred yards away a boy and a man are flying kites.

I am enormously tempted to camp here tonight - it's allowed, and there is a full moon out. But I need to go. It's now 3:30, I've been here 2 hours, and I've only done 6 1/2 more to Walnut Mountain Shelter, my goal for the day.

Miles to go before I sleep...


April 18, 2008

Remember how I said the other day that I hadn't suffered much yet? Strike that. After my extended break on Max Patch yesterday, most of the muscles in my body were very upset at the idea of trying to do a lot more miles. My back, especially, was in loud dissent, and limited me to 11 miles yesterday and 12 today. Took Tylenol PM to get me to sleep last night, and probably again tonight. Tomorrow only 3 1/2 miles into Hot Springs.

Did get a nice surprise, though, when I came across a box left for hikers along the side of the trail. Someone called "The Blessing Princess" left a big waterproof case, and inside little Ziplocs full of goodies - crackers, candy bottled water. Definitely a blessing on a late afternoon.

PS: I also have pretty bad sunburn from taking my shirt off up on Max Patch - still hurting a day and a half later. Wish the princess had left Noxema...


April 19, 2008

Short 3 miles into Hot Springs, NC. This is a true "Trail Town" in that the AT goes directly through town. In fact, as I write this, I'm sitting on the AT, which is the sidewalk on Bridge St, directly across from the Post Office. Now this letter goes in the mail, I pick up a mail drop, and then go for breakfast...