Date: Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Current Location: Ugly Mug Coffee, Memphis, TN
Trip Details: Daleville, VA to Waynesboro, VA
Total Trip Miles: 861.7

Home again, home again!  It is no mystery.  As the title and location imply, I am back home, in good ol’ Memphis, TN.  My secret is out.   After a week-long stint on the Tennessee River with my man for the annual Allison Boat Rally, a visit home, and a week-long trip to Dallas to see my sister and fam, I am now fully settled in my home state, on leave from the Trail.

I’ve been seriously procrastinating on writing this update.  Considering my decision to head off trail, I really wanted to immerse myself in just living and enjoying – on the Trail and off – and in being, and in getting comfortable with my new surroundings, home, and friends again; not in using my brain power for documenting.  As much as I love you all, I just couldn’t make it happen.

There are many reasons why I am here, but I’ll blog on that later.  I feel it pertinent to give due attention to my last couple weeks on the Trail, and to share it with you.  Because they were pretty darn special, and – as always – full of new experiences and adventures.  As well as a few bears, an intruding toad and a prehistoric creature.

When I left Daleville, Virginia (the point of my last blog – a billion years ago), I left alone.  I was so very happy to have discovered a fairly large group of familiar hikers while in town, but was saddened when they dropped the yellow-blazing bomb on me.  Yellow blazing is what we hikers call skipping a section of trail via car (named for the yellow stripes painted on the road).  They decided to jump up 130 miles on the Trail to the section of the AT that enters the Shenendoah National Park, in hopes of greener pastures and different scenery as they continued to hike northward from there.  I was bummed about the loss of company but apparently a glutton for punishment because I also declined an invitation to join them.  It just didn’t feel right to me.  I wanted to experience all the Trail had to offer.  Every last inch of that dirty, rocky, up-and-down Trail.  Besides, I already felt mildly guilty about skipping 40-some-odd miles of Trail when I pulled my groin and opted to rest at a nearby hostel.  I guess I am more of a purist than I thought.

Off I went from Daleville to the first shelter just six miles from town.  I wanted to take it easy considering my healing muscle and I hadn’t hiked with a pack since the injury nearly a week before.  It went surprisingly well.  And, as it turns out, I saw a few other folks at the shelter that night: a section-hiker (who comes out every July for a couple weeks to traverse the Trail), Pockets (a thru-hiker I met my very first week), a young couple, and their friend Wiz (all three of which surpassed me the next morning as they hike anywhere from 20 to 28 miles a DAY!).  Wiz taught me how to hang my bear/food bag the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail) way, which involves a stick and a couple loops that had prior evaded me.  I was super stoked and proud of my bear hang.  Most nights I flounder around like a buffoon trying to hang my food bag out of bear reach.  I wish I had taken a picture of that glorious hang job.  It was a work of art.

Food out of critter reach, I made one last visit to the priv and headed off to bed.  It was shortly thereafter that I momentarily feared for my life.  Somewhere in the vicinity of 11:00pm, a massive thunderstorm hit.  At first it sounded so nice tapping on my rainfly, and the distant lightening was so pretty as it illuminated my tent.  Then, the tapping turned into pummeling, and the breeze turned into a strong wind, and I SWEAR a bolt of lightening hit the tree right above my tent!  It was so hot that night, I decided to sleep in my undies.  With the flash-BOOM cracking over my head, I promptly thought it a wise idea to put on some pants in case I needed to make a mad dash for the shelter.  I didn’t want to be found under a branch in nothing but my skivvies.

Thunderstorm past, I slept rather well the rest of the night.  The next morning, I ventured to fill my water bladder from the cistern behind the shelter.  The cistern – a concrete structure designed to collect rainwater – had a pipe buried at its base that extended several yards away, underground, and ended with an exposed spigot.  It was a rare sight, as most shelters have a natural water source available.  Up, I turned the spigot, and filled my water bladder with what turned out to be brown, leaf-tainted water.  Mmmmmm!!!  You can drink it, but man, it did not taste good.  My coffee tasted like dirt.  My oatmeal tasted like dirt.  I added some drops of concentrated Gatorade in an attempt to make it taste better and ended up with dirty blueberry water.  But at least I had hydration.  Water sources were becoming farther apart – six to twelve miles in some places – so loading up while you can with what you have is necessary.

Speaking of blueberries though, the mountains themselves happily provided many for snacking.

Hiking that day was rather blissful and pleasant.  The Trail crossed the Blue Ridge Parkway (BRP) several times and offered some lovely overlooks.  It was so cool to walk in such close proximity to the roadway I traversed six years ago by car.  That roadtrip, which ended up more hiking than driving, was in large part the spark to my mountain obsession and what prompted me to look into this thing called the “Appalachian Trail.”  In fact, my first step onto the BRP from the AT brought me in direct view of Peaks of Otter and Sharp Top Mountain.  I was almost immediately taken aback.  You see, I stayed at Peaks of Otter those six years ago, on the last night of my roadtrip, and woke up early the next morning, before the crack of dawn, in the dark, for one last hike – a climb up Sharp Top Mountain to watch the sunrise before heading home.

Upon seeing that mountain again, it was suddenly all so clear to me why I had embarked on this trip.  Honestly, it has been difficult for me to explain to folks why I wanted to go on this journey.  The truth is, I felt called to it.  I felt like I had to do it, but didn’t particularly know why.  So many mornings, I’d wake up on the Trail and wonder what the heck I was doing, but still felt an uncontrolable push to move forward and carry on.  In that moment, standing in the middle of the Parkway, staring at the distant Sharp Top Mountain that was all mine six short years ago, so grandiose on the horizon, I knew why.  The revelation hit me out of nowhere, it was so unexpected.  I call it the epiphany.

To think I had hiked in the vicinity of 730 miles to just NOW realize a calling to my journey was positively nuts.  All the times I was in physical pain, the times I missed home, the mental hardships, the people I’d met along the way, the places I’d seen, the unique and trying experiences I’d had, the reason why I kept pushing forward – it all made sense.  If you read my last blog, you’d see that I’d been struggling with redefining my trip.  I could sense it was changing, but wasn’t sure how or why or what it meant, so I decided to keep hiking while I figured it out.  This epiphany, as I call it, was an answer to those questions.  I spent the rest of my day smiling, practically floating down the Trail, my mind filled with fresh, happy thoughts and gratitude.  I felt relieved and purposeful.  Just a couple weeks before that, a friend of mine said she had a dream about me.  In that dream, she said I was happy and at peace…. she also said that I happened to be dressed as Marilyn Monroe.  Blonde wig aside, I’d say that dream was pretty spot-on.

To top off a phenominal day, that night at the shelter, myself and a few other hikers hit the Trail Magic payload – two Wendy’s bags filled to the top with chicken sandwiches and hamburgers; a cooler full of cold, sugary sodas, apples and candy; and several gallons of fresh, drinkable water (for which I was most thankful as the water source at the shelter was nearly completely dry).  A big THANKS to the gentleman who kindly supplied these provisions.

The next day was fairly normal as far as hiking days go.  I did see a bear though.  He ran off upon seeing me.  What was more worrisome than the bear, were the unusually vicious mice at the shelter.  I typically sleep in my tent, but with no one else claiming space in the shelter that night, I opted to save the hassle of setting up and laid out my sleeping pad and bag in the structure.  All night long I was harrassed by the little demons.  One even had the gall to brush down my leg – INSIDE MY SLEEPING BAG.  He was promptly ejected and launched into space.  It’s terrible, but I didn’t care if he died.  Another kept gnawing at the plastic bag that held my journal.  I could hear them through all hours of the night, being nuisances, way too loud for something so small.  They must have been on steroids.  Really, I should have just taken 10 minutes to set up my tent in the middle of the night but I didn’t.  Instead, I woke up to find myself surrounded by a perimeter of tiny poops.

The next day I was a tad tired from the mousecapades and took my sweet time eating breakfast and packing up to leave.  It wasn’t until 11:00 that I finally rolled out of there.  I sat in the shelter so long, I ate second breakfast there, watching the birds fly about camp.  After I left, it was slow going.  I’d already resigned myself to just 10 miles that day.  Almost as slow as this little box turtle I met.

That night was another wet and soggy affair.  Because of this I was lazy and didn’t hang my food bag.  Rather, I laid it in the vestibule of my tent next to my shoes and pack.  It was set to rain all night.  I figured any interested vermin would be deterred by the rain as well.  …Or so I thought.  At some point during the night, I was woken by the sound of something large “pawing” at my tent.  Then, to my dismay, I heard it reaching around UNDER the vestibule and rustle around.  I immediately grabbed my headlamp, shone it out the tent, and told whatever was out there to “GO AWAY!”  I waited and listened.  It didn’t leave.  My sight was incumbered by the mesh on my tent so I unzipped it to see what was really going on – half scared I’d find a black, furry claw poking around my stuff.  That’s when the giant toad hopped into my tent.  The BIGGEST, mother-lovin’ toad I have ever seen.  Must have been at least a 3-pounder.  The rain mustered him out of his hidey-hole, where he sought refuge under my rainfly.  Scared me out of my wits, I tell you!  He plopped around on my sleeping bag for a minute before I popped him on the butt and told him he wasn’t funny, thus evicting him.

Of one of the coolest things that happened that week, I crossed the James River.  As in, THE James River, in Virginia.  I had walked all the way from Georgia to the James River and puttered across it on the longest footbridge on the AT.

On the other side of the river, I decided to go to Glasgow, VA to resupply and do laundry.  Plus, it was the Fourth of July and I wanted to see fireworks.  The local shuttle services were a no-go, leaving Pockets (who’d been hiking in front of and behind me for the last several days) and I stranded in a parking area by the river.  Glasgow was five miles away.  In a pickle, I decided to try my hand at begging a ride and began searching for prospects.

There is an art to selecting your ride.  Tourists and people who didn’t speak English were automatically dismissed.  It’s gotta be a local.  People getting in and out of small cars were avoided.  We smelled WAY too bad and didn’t want to stank up small quarters.  Sketchy folks (mullets, missing teeth, crushed beer cans in the back of the truck…), it goes without saying, were also passed up.  And then I spotted him – a friendly, retired-looking gentleman with a couple family members trailing behind, all smiling and pleasant.  What really grabbed me though was his ball cap.  It read, in big yellow letters, “VETERAN.”  Bingo.  He left to take his family home (who wasn’t quite as keen about picking up random, stinky strangers), and came back to take us to Glasgow.  Upon return, he asked if we were worried he wouldn’t come back.  We said we weren’t too worried, but it had crossed our minds.  He then pointed to his ball cap and said, “You see this?  We don’t leave ours behind.”  I laughed and said, why yes, matter of fact I DID see that, and I was counting on it!  HA!  I got mad profiling skills.  He was a really nice fellow, and so sweet to take a couple grungy hikers to town on the Fourth.

Glasgow has everything a hiker needs, and a dinosaur.  There was a shelter built smack in the middle of town, with a shower facility, port-o-potties and plenty of grassy area for tents.  All totally free.  Across the street was a convenience store with food for resupply.  Down the street was the town’s one and only restaurant, a laundromat, and a fire department, which afforded some sense of safety.  Perfect!  Oh, and also a massivily random brontosaurus sculpture.

I asked the lady who ran the convenience store why they had a dinosaur and she said it was because Glasgow was known as “the town that time forgot.”  Alrighty then.  I wasn’t really sure what that meant, but who doesn’t like a giant dino?

Food supplies in check, I went to the laundromat.  Seeing as I was wearing what needed to be washed, I changed into my rain jacket and rain pants.  Guys – just so you know, nothing feels grosser than non-breathable, plastic-y material next to your skin on a hot and muggy, damp day.  It was like wearing a suction cup.  Precisely why I was happy I made the choice to take a shower last.  It was a sweat bath in there.

All laundered and clean, I made a trip to Scotto’s – the one and only restaurant in town.  They were supposed to be open until 7:00, but when I got there at 5:15, the owner told me he had just closed up shop, early.  Total dismay set in and I nearly panicked.  I needed FOOD!!!  REAL food.  Like a poor beggar, I pleaded with the man to give me something – anything – left over from the day.  I really didn’t care.  No way did I want to cook up another sorry-ass Pasta Side meal that night, especially with it being the Fourth.  He must have seen the desperation in my face and took pity on me by supplying me with a whole half a pizza, compliments of the house.  Happiness was restored and all was right in the world.  I went on to the camp site and settled in to watch the locals blast off fireworks.

The next morning, we got a ride out of town with one of the shuttle drivers in the area – a retired gentleman who made a heck of a deal with us.  “Buy me an iced tea from Scotto’s, and we’ll call it even.”  So for the simple price of an iced tea, we made our way back to the Trail and jaunted off into the woods.

It was a rather non-eventful day.  Lots of walking, as usual.  Walking and contemplating my future on the Trail.  I did come across this sad memorial for a baby Ottie Cline Powell, way up near the summit of a mountain (I forget which one).  I knew the story from a book I read.  Poor little fella wandered away from his school yard, way back when, to gather firewood to heat the school house and never came back.  He probably got lost in the woods, got hypothermia and in a delirious state, hiked up that brutal mountain, where he curled up alone and perished.  Sad.  I sat there for a minute with the little guy, paying my respects.

I say it was a brutal mountain because even I – a 35-year-old, able-bodied woman – had a difficult time ascending it without a few curse words.  I was amazed someone so small made it up there.

And then the next day, THIS AMAZING THING HAPPENED:

I had hiked 800 miles. Generally speaking, you keep track of your mileage each and every day, but hitting a 100-mile milemarker always gives you pause for thought on your journey and how far you’ve come. Pretty crazy.

As the day was nearing an end, it became readily apparent that I would be spending my first night on the AT completely alone.  Up to that point, there was always at least one other person around, sharing the shelter/camp site with me.  I was tipped off to my solitude when making the unusually long .6-mile side-trail trek to the shelter.  It was an absolute maze of cobwebs – an obvious sign no one had walked down there recently.  I almost didn’t even go down there in the first place because it was .6 miles off the Trail.  Most shelters are either right on the Trail or just a short ways off – not over half a mile.  I know this sounds crazy coming from someone who does nothing but hike all day long, but dude… that’s far.  But it was that, or hike another 2.5 miles on the Trail to the next campsite, and I was tired, so down I went.

I would say I was scared, but I wasn’t.  Instead, I was rather looking forward to it.  I mean, yeah, I was a little apprehensive, but mostly I was calm and happy for some peace and quiet (which I noted as a weird feeling considering I would spend most of my days in peace and quiet, and alone).  This was different though.  It was an opportunity to just “be” at the end of a long day.  No moving.  No sharing of space.  No conversation.  Just hanging out, by myself, with my food and a book, and my own thoughts, doing whatever the heck I wanted.  I liken it to that feeling you would get when your college roomie would go home for the weekend and you had the place all to yourself.

Once I got to the shelter I really was glad I made the choice to be there.  It was one of the nicest, calmest, serene places to set up camp.  Often times, there are lots of noises and bumps in the night from critters or falling branches or what have you, but not here.  And thank goodness too, because I was all by myself and didn’t have time for that.  The peace was comforting, like being home.  Plus, what a luxury to change clothes in broad daylight!  No tent gymnastics or what I like to call the “sleeping bag shuffle” (deftly changing clothes inside your sleeping bag in a shelter full of people without exposing your bits and pieces).  I nestled in my bag and read a book on my phone until the light began attracting bugs and went to sleep, listening to the beautiful silence.

The next day was wildflowers galore. So many beautiful meadows and colorful varieties of flora. Almost enough to inspire some Julie Andrews action.  It was just such a gorgeous day.

       

       

       

That night, I stayed on the Priest.  The Priest is the name of a mountain.  They say that while upon the Priest you are to confess your sins.  They have a log book at the shelter there that hikers use to jot down their horrible deeds and bad thoughts, if they are so inclined.  Some were serious, some were quite funny, actually.  It made for some good reading.  Although I suppose it is quite cleansing for the soul, I opted to keep my sins out of the book and in my head should I happen to fall down the mountain and die the next day.  I’m not morbid, but no need for folks to find that as my last shelter entry, right?  Instead, I opted to communicate my wrong doings – funny and otherwise – directly to the Priest himself via a one-sided conversation at the summit the next morning as I sipped my coffee and cooked my oats.  Hopefully I am forgiven!

From there, I leisurely meandered down the Priest to the valley below.  I spent most of the morning hiking with a German guy I met at the shelter the night before.  He was having a rough time with his hike and was plodding along despite his disappointment with the journey.  I felt bad he wasn’t enjoying his time and tried to offer support and encouragement.  We’ve all been there at one point or another.  We both ended up catching a shuttle to Waynesboro, the nearest town, to take some time off.  The shuttle driver who picked us up was surely nice, but darned if I couldn’t understand half a word he said.  His name was Piney and he had one of those thick Virginian accents where the words get a little muddled up and run together.  The best I could do was laugh when he laughed and say “yeah” a lot.  Halfway through the drive, in between his stories of bears and interesting people he’d picked up, he gets out his phone, dials voicemail, and plays back – on speakerphone – the voicemail I’d left him earlier when I inquired about a ride.  He turns to me, laughs and says, “Ain’t it ferrny howya sounondapho?!  HA!”  Apparently, it was a knee-slappin’ good time.  He was quite the character.  I can’t even imagine what the German guy was thinking.

While in Waynesboro, I splurged and stayed a few luxurious nights at the Tree Streets Inn Bed and Breakfast before a planned visit with a college friend of mine.  By that point, I already knew that this was it.  That I would be taking some time off – extended – from the Trail to come back home.  I had been mulling it over for the last few weeks: what the AT meant to me, how I wanted to spend the remainder of my time on it this year, and what was more important – finishing it all in one year, or finishing it in a way that could potentially be more meaningful for me, moreso than it already has been.  It was a very difficult decision for me.  I’m determined and I WANTED to finish the entire AT in one year.  The experience is beyond words, and the people met along the way so inspiring and endearing.  However, I also realized that I had obtained what I was unknowingly looking for on the AT – something very special and private and dear to me – and that my solo journey no longer felt completely appropriate.

To carry on and finish the Trail all in one year was becoming to feel more like an act of pride and determination than an act of calling.  And honestly, if it had been a different time in my life (if I wasn’t newly married, if I wasn’t already in love with my life, if I didn’t find great enjoyment with my friends and family), I would have finished the Trail out of sheer pride alone, no question about it.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  And I’m sure there would have been at least a few more epiphanies.  But it slowly became clear to me that maybe now wasn’t the time.  Not because I couldn’t do it, but because part of this journey is about growth and change, and realizing when it is at hand and how to embrace it and shape your travels accordingly.  To become more in tune with your inner self and to act on it, not ignore it.  This time, as I struggled head against heart, I decided to do some growing and to listen to my chest muscle instead of my brain.  My heart told me it was time to come home for now.

(There’s that, and I’d been ignoring a knee injury I sustained back in June when I face-planted on a rock, cracked my right knee and busted open my chin.  The chin healed, but the knee was never the same.  It’s doing much better now that I stopped hiking on it like a stubborn butt!  The doc says it’ll be fine.)

So here I am!  And I couldn’t have suspended such an amazing trip-of-a-lifetime with a finer family of people:

As for this blog, I hope to continue it with future journeys on the AT as I work on my 2,000-Miler status.  I already have a couple follow-up articles brewing in my head – lessons learned, after-effects of walking nearly 900 miles, life back in the “real” world, etc.  I am so excited to bring the Trail home.  If you ever dream of lacing up your own pair of boots – whether for a weekend or for a few months – please consider me a resource.  I love talking adventures.  It has brightened my world to hear that my story has already inspired others to think big and to pursue their own life goals.  I am humbled by it.  Thank you all immensely for your love and support.  I look forward to what the journey brings next.

Happy Trails!

– Sunshine Gazelle

 

 

Date: Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Current Location: Daleville, Virginia
Trip/Journal Details: Damascus, VA to Pearisburg, VA to Daleville, VA
Miles To Date: 727.8

Virginia is known for its blues – the “Virginia Blues,” as they call it.  The reason being that Virginia is the longest state to hike through at 550 miles.  It’s over a quarter of the Trail.  That’s a lot considering the Trail passes through 14 states in total.  Many people get down and out over the number of miles in this state.  It is long and monotonous, with fewer views and an endless tunnel of greenery.  In the past, walking on a ridgeline felt so rewarding – a slight breeze blowing in your favor, vast stretches of land laid out before you, a bright and shining sun, and the sense that you had accomplished something by climbing the mountain before it.  Now – those ridgelines are shrouded in trees, shaded and offer minimal or no view at all for mile upon mile.  Although the terrain is easier, with fewer drastic changes in elevation, there is a much higher mental challenge at play.  Walking hour after hour on a dirt path that looks exacty the way it did four hours ago can make you go completely mental.

Or at least, that’s what happened to me last week when I returned to the Trail after a 10-day vacation back home.  I experienced my own version of the legendary Virginia blues.

I feel bad talking smack about Virginia.  In all honestly, it IS a beautiful state with lush vegitation, softly-padded dirt trails for which I should be grateful, rolling meadows and wildflowers, blueberries growing right alongside the Trail, and several breweries that I’ve enjoyed.  It’s gorgeous.  It’s just so….LONG!

Or maybe I’m using Virginia as my scape goat.  You see, I went home to Memphis for a week to visit Neal and family and to attend a wedding.  I was completely torn about leaving the Trail.  I sincerely wanted to go home, toss the grungy hiker look for a while (helloooo, blow dryer and jeans!), and relax with people I love, but I also knew it could be the kiss of death for my AT life.

Well, the trip was fabulous and as it turns out, it wasn’t the kiss of death.  I am back on the Trail.  I reprovisioned in Memphis – got some fancy new hiking pants, swapped the long underwear for summer sleeping shorts, loaded up my iPod with fresh jams, and got a new pair of kicks to replace my already tore up shoes.  I was ready to roll!  The thing is though, as I sat back at the Enterprise Rental Car office in Pearisburg, Virginia, after returning the car and reorganizing my pack for the walk I was about to make that day, I was suddenly filled with a sense of dread.  I’m talking deep-in-the-gut, terrible dread.  I did not want to go into the woods.  I did not want to lift that heavy pack.  I did not want to eat one more freeze-dried meal or Poptart or peanut butter rollup.  The thought of setting up my tent one…more…time… seemed so daunting, and I sat there feeling like I was making a HUGE mistake.

Despite these feelings of “don’t go out there today,” I mustered up the strength to strap on Little Stinky (my pack – she don’t always smell so good, you see) and began to march one foot in front of the other, out the door and down the street to the trailhead.

I got two miles before the breakdown.  Rather than joy, each step brought a new burden – be it a sad thought, sore knees, or a heavy heart – until it piled into an ugly mess of “get me OFF THIS TRAIL, NOW!  AHHHHH!!!”

That glorious week of comforts did me in after all.

But ever the optimist to a fault, I stubbornly pressed on until the first shelter.  It wasn’t until the next day, after hiking 20 miles from Pearisburg in near solitude, that I finally succumbed to the evil and got off the Trail to save my sanity and regroup.  That, and I pulled my left groin muscle, so I was kinda forced to.  God works in mysterious ways, they say.

So back to Pearisburg I went.  I stayed overnight, then relocated myself to Four Pines Hostel, where I gave myself three days to rest and time to think with the chickens.  Really, there were chickens there.  Four Pines hostel is right off the Trail, and set on acres of farm land.  Hikers are free to roam and set up where they like, be it the three-car garage converted into a bachelor-pad-esque digs, their red barn, or their hay barn by a pond.  I strategically chose the hay barn for its peace and quiet.  While there, I was shuttled around by the “Dragon Wagon,” their van, to and from the Homeplace Restaurant and convenience store, for food, and did some mild hiking on the Trail without my pack and felt much better about my situation.  Plus, it was nice to see some familiar faces, as many other hikers where there.

Before I left on this journey, I knew it could change.  You can say you’re going to thru-hike all you want, but there is no way to know what will be thrown your way on such a momentous trek.  And I knew this.  But, it still didn’t make it any easier to realize that in all likelihood, I will not make it to Katahdin, Maine (the end of the Trail) straight from Springer Mountain, Georgia (the beginning) before they close Baxter State Park (where Katahdin is located) sometime in mid-October, when the weather gets too bad for hikers.  I took too much time off with the trip home, visiting with Neal in Hot Springs and Erwin, and going to Trail Days.  None of these things I regret.  I am so very happy for these experiences I chose and had a blast doing them.  Wouldn’t change it for the world!  But that, coupled my time off for this injury, and my average of 15 miles a day and my upcoming zero days will most likely keep me from summiting on time without some finagling.  I can do 20-mile days, but they don’t make me happy.  I like to take my time, enjoy the sights, eat a nice lunch and play with bugs and stuff.

There is also the fact that many hikers have either hiked on or have chosen to get off the Trail, leaving me more alone than usual.  Staying motivated is rough when you don’t have folks to share in the experience or light a smile on your face.  I guess it all just hit me at once.

So, I am left with a few new thoughts and many questions.  They have this thing out here called “hike your own hike.”  It means, to do what feels best for you, for your heart and for your soul, as you walk these mountains.  My own personal hike and why I am out here may have changed since the beginning.  I am going to continue northward for the time being, but I have some questions to ponder as I walk:

– How important is it for me to finish this hike this year?
– How would I feel if I left the Trail?
– Why am I hiking the AT; is it still meaningful to me?
– Did I get what I needed from it for now, or is there more?
– What is my end goal?

And so on, and so forth.  My brain will be as busy as the little bees that buzz around my head and pester me as I hike.

This is hard for me.  I KNEW my hike could change, and yet, it is so challenging for me to accept the fact that it could change.

But enough of the heavy stuff, you guys.  I’m a happy person and that’s the way I like to be.  I am excited to carry on to Waynesboro, Virginia, 130 miles up the Trail from where I am now, in Daleville, VA.  There, I plan to meet up with my first college roomie, who lives close by.  I hope my injury can keep up.  I will have to take it easy and be prepared to stop again if needed.  I found a pocket of happy little hikers here in Daleville and will likely have some fun company this evening at the shelter.  Yay, P-E-O-P-L-E!

It’s been a while since I last blogged (again), so I will try to recap my last few weeks through a brief photo picture show.  There are so many more photos.  Maybe one day I can share them all with you and tell their silly stories.

Until next time, I give you some lyrics to think about from a song I heard by Jonathan Byrd, a musician I saw at a quaint country venue in Johnson City, while staying in Erwin, TN.  They are simple questions, but so much more.

Do you dream?  
What do you dream?  
Do your dreams come true?  
What do you do to make it happen?

Take good care!  – Sunshine Gazelle

Date: Sunday, May 31, 2015
Current Location: Damascus, VA (my fourth state!)
Trip/Journal Details: Hot Springs, NC to Erwin, TN, to Damascus, VA
Miles to Date: 469

Long time, no blog.  I know.  I’m still hitting the Trail though.  Still walking and plodding along.  Still camping.  Still eating, sleeping and sitting in the dirt, under the sun and in the rain, sweating my butt off but enjoying some of the best that nature has to offer.  I’m such a lucky lady that not only did I get to see my man in Hot Springs, NC, he surprise visited me in Erwin, TN this past Memorial Day weekend as well.  Hence, no time for the blog.  We were much too busy exploring and relaxing along the Nolichucky River.

When I last left off with you, I was in Hot Springs, NC waiting on my ride to Trail Days.  Trail Days, if you remember, is a weekend-long festival for hikers with vendors, live music, food, free showers and laundry, a parade and lectures.  There was even a hiker talent show and a hiker prom (complete with dudes in thrift store dresses and beards).  Plus, arts and crafts and tons of gear giveaways.  It’s the Bonnaroo-Lollapalooza-Woodstock of the hiker world, finished off with a massive bonfire each night.

To kick it off, myself and 11 other hikers rented a 14-passenger van.  We were in Hot Springs, NC and Trail Days was up a ways in Damascus, VA (where I am now).  That van was packed to the MAX with us and our 12 stinky backpacks.  When we got there, we decided to set up camp in what they call Tent City.  Tent City is exactly what it sounds like – a giant field full of tents.  Hundreds of tents.  For a mere $5 you could pitch your tent all weekend and have access to potties and trailers with free showers and laundry operations.  Many of the vendors were giving away free food as well.  It was a pretty sweet deal. I was very impressed with all the volunteers and the law enforcement that was present during the event.

After setting up shop in Tent City, our first order of business was to replenish calories.  We walked into town and went to Bobo McFarland’s – an Irish-inspired restaurant – where I had the best pot roast and bangers and mash I’ve ever had in my life.  We were fairly zonked after the drive and eating all that food, so we made our way back to camp for a nightcap.  Somewhere in the midst of our nightcapping, we heard the sound of beating drums and Indians coming from the woods behind Tent City.  So there we went a wandering into the woods to find many, many more tents set up and a HUGE bonfire with hundreds of hikers circling around, chanting and dancing to the beat of a drum circle.  It was quite an entertaining sight.  We hung out and watched folks dance around in free abandon for a while – amused by the antics.  And on and on into the night, this drum circle/bonfire combo continued until the last crate burned at who knows what time in the morning (I was trying to sleep in my tent by then – old lady that I am).  The bonfire ritual happened every night of Trail Days.  It really was pretty cool, but I did turn a bit grumpy on the second night when I was robbed yet again of prized sleep by some chatty people early in the morning.  You kind of expect it going into Tent City so I’m not complaining, but I did turn into a psycho, sleep-deprived, raging Sunshine supernova at 3:30 in the A.M. and said a few choice words to a group of ladies (who were so very polite and respectful of my not-so-nicely-put request to be quiet).  I apologized in the morning, I felt so bad for my spew of turrets.  I spent my last night at Trail Days on the lawn of the Lazy Fox Inn across town, on the peaceful bank of the Laurel River.  The inns keeper is a sweet 90-year-old lady named Ginny.  I knew Ginny from a previous stay and knew she would let me camp there for free.  It was the right choice.

The rest of my Trail Days was spent listening to live music in the town square and visiting vendors.  My favorite purchase was a pair of flowy purple dance pants and an AT t-shirt that I wore all weekend long.  It was nice to feel like a real human girl again, with clean hair and fancy pants (we won’t mention the Crocs).  I went to a few lectures, including one from Earl Schaeffer – the second person to ever thru hike the AT.  I also participated in the hiker parade – a parade through town of all the past and current thru hikers, organized by class. Tradition has it that the townspeople squirt us with waterguns as we walk by, so I got a little wet.  They also threw candy and Honeybuns at us – that I didn’t mind!  Also cool – I won a free Osprey backpack from Backpacker, full of all sorts of awesome goodies.  AND, I met a rad guy named Mason – a solo bicyclist traveling along the Appalachian Mountain range from Florida to Maine, documenting his travels with video and interviews.  You can catch him on Facebook at MasonRoundtheWorld.  Overall, I was glad I stopped hiking for a while to go to Trail Days.

Back to Hot Springs, we all piled into the van again.  Getting back on the Trail after a week off was hard.  The climb out was excrutiating and tiresome.  My body wasn’t very happy with me.  My knees hated me, my feet were mad, and my back was like, “forget YOU, Man!”  I planned to put in a 16-mile day and only did 8 or something.  And it was raining.  And then we camped next to a sporadic, bi-polar-like guy who cussed and was easily frustrated by simple things like boiling water (that we can now, thankfully, joke about).  Neal hooked me up with some good, fatty nutrients though, so that was nice.  Of my favorite are powdered goat’s milk and coconut oil.  I add them to practically everything – coffee, oatmeal, hot chocolate, pasta…  He left me with a good supply of homemade duck jerky too.  The bomb!  My weight has leveled off over the last couple weeks at a solid 138 – ten pounds less than what I was before I left on the trip, but healthier than my first few emaciated weeks.

As I am yet again in a pinch for time to resupply and more importantly, to relax, here’s the lowdown on the last couple weeks since I last blogged.  A lot has happened!

– I’ll start with dead people.  There are an alarming number of dead people on these mountains.  Just about every other day, I run across a random gravesite or cemetery.  Some very old, some new.  One of the ones that really stuck with me though was Shelton’s Gravesite.  Shelton’s Gravesite is the site of a Civil War brawl – one that ended very badly for a band of Union supporters from North Carolina.  A massacre, if you will.  It was so eerie to sit at that spot, all alone.  You could almost feel the souls.  To think that these peaceful, serene mountains, as they are today, have seen such blood and cries of agony is bone chilling.  I spent the rest of my day hiking, thinking of those long-ago soldiers creeping up the hills.  My imagination is pretty wild.  It was spookstown.

– Cantarroso Farms.  Mid-way through the week, after I left Hot Springs, Neal calls to say he has a four-day weekend coming up and can see me in Erwin, TN.  SCORE!  It worked out perfectly with my schedule.  We booked a cabin at Cantarroso Farms – a gorgeous piece of property along the Nolichucky River, owned by a sweet couple.  The husband picked me up from the Trail – with a beer and a brownie in hand.  My favorite kind of greeting.  Neal wouldn’t be there until later, so the couple kindly invited me to dinner with them at Primo’s – an Italian joint – and to see a band play in Johnson City, TN.  The band, coincidentally, was also staying at their place.  It was so crazy to be hiking one minute, then clean, full and enjoying a live show at a quaint venue, waiting for my man to join us.  It was the best.  I’ve said it before, but I’ve been so very impressed with the generosity of the people along the Trail.  They also had chicken coops next to our cabin.  I liked the chickens.  And we nobly saved a poor couple that got stranded on the river after their kayaks overturned and they lost their paddles.  Poor little things came wobbling up to our cabin, water logged and pitiful.  Apparently, it happens fairly often.  The Nolichucky River don’t play.

– Back on the Trail, I was treated to some awesome waterfall shows.  At one of them, I completely lost the Trail though.  As in, I couldn’t figure out which way it went.  I spent a good half hour walking around in utter confusion, ending with a near meltdown of tears and frustration before I met a young couple who pointed me in the right direction.  I wasn’t the only one though.  At the next shelter, just about every hiker was like, “DUDE!  Did you lose the Trail at that waterfall??!  What the heck?!”  At that point, it was just funny.  I felt better that I wasn’t the only nincompoop.

– The spiders are in full force.  Every day, I clear about 27 billion spider webs off the Trail ….with my FACE.  There are so many drifting tendrils, I wait until I can barely stand it any more before I swipe them off.  Otherwise, I’d be swiping my face every 10 seconds, and that’s distracting.  The absolute worst is when they string across your upper lip.  GAH – that drives me nuts.

– Yesterday, I saw my very first bear!  One mile from the shelter where I planned to stop for the night, too.  We scared each other and he ran off into the woods.  I yelled at him, sang songs and did a little beat-boxing the rest of the way to the shelter so as not to startle any other bears that may cross my path (nevermind the hikers).  I was happy to see a group of three ladies at the shelter.  I was worried I’d be alone with a bear!  Instead, I spent the night with these lovely women – the “Sisterhood of the Fair Ladies” – as they call themselves.  That was the first time there was not one single man at the shelter – just us four women.  It was so much more civilized without the testosterone.  We were all so pleasant, clean, courteous and quiet.

– The Trail is probably the only place in the world where I would accept candy from a stranger.  As I was walking the other day, I ran across an old man in a red bandana and his wife.  The old man asked if I’d like some Skittles.  …Uh, Yeah!  HELLO!  I’ll take some Skittles, I said.  As if that was even a question.  The very next day, I ran across that exact same couple.  Like Pavlov’s Dog, I had been trained.  I saw the old man with the red bandana and immediately associated him with Skittles.  After the pleasantries, I was happy when he, yet again, asked if I’d like some more Skittles.

– Skittles included, over the last couple weeks, I was treated to several incidents of Trail Magic by some very special people.  The best was on the long ascent to Big Bald Mountain.  Huffing and puffing up the Trail, about to die, I suddenly spotted a bright blue cooler and several other hikers sitting on a log next to it.  I swear my eyes about bulged out of my head.  TRAIL MAGIC!!!!  Inside the cooler was cold soda, chocolate chip cookies, oranges, boiled eggs and milk.  Again – no where else in the world would I open up a mystery cooler, see a package of boiled eggs and eat one.

– This past week, I hiked every day, but punked out several nights and stayed at a couple hostels along the way.  When they’re right off the Trail, why not?  I stayed at the bunk house at the Black Bear Resort.  The accommodations were perfect, but I vow not to share a room like that again if I can help it.  It’s hardly better than a shelter with all the snoring and shuffling about of other people.  I had high hopes for a glorious night’s sleep, but got only a few fuzzy winks and left perturbed (you can ask Neal about it – he knows, poor guy).  I’m envious of the people that can sleep through all that.  The next night I stayed at Braemar Castle.  Braemar is a huge stone building that used to be a post office.  It was converted to a hostel over thirty years ago.  Got my own room and slept beautifully.  I also helped myself to their extensive VHS collection and cheesed out with “Romancing the Stone” while I pampered my feet.  The next morning I took advantage of their oven and baked Pillsbury cinnamon rolls.  Nothing like Pillsbury power!  I was totally set to hike the mountains around Watauga Lake that day.

– Many miles later, here I am, back in Damascus and about to get back on the Trail.  I took off one full day here to chill, and stayed with the sweet Miss Ginny at the Lazy Fox Inn – this time, in the house.  I visited Bobo McFarland’s restaurant again.  (Side story: Does anyone remember that silly internet game, “What’s your porn star name?”  If not, the game goes like this – you take the name of your first pet, and the name of the first street you ever lived on, and that’s your porn star name.  Well…that’s how the owner came up with Bobo McFarlands as the name of the restaurant!  She said she couldn’t think of anything creative and liked the sound of that.  HA!).  Anyway – good food and really good company there.  I ended up with a few locals over at the Damascus Brewery down the street that evening.  We played a right fun game of cornhole.  Damascus certaily earned it’s title of “the friendliest town on the Trail.”

– Weather.  The weather lately has been a lot like that of the Florida coast.  Hot and muggy during the day, a shower late afternoon, and thunderstorms at night and into the early morning.  Although there was one exception where it dropped to 30 degrees one night.  THAT was a cold, cold night.  Talk about not wanting to get out of your sleeping bag.  I sat there, all bundled up like a worm, gathering the courage to unzip the thing and use the privy.  My hands were so cold, I had to stop hiking for ten minutes to play patty cake to warm them up. As of now, it is pouring rain and I am not looking forward to the walk back to Miss Ginny’s (where I stupidly left my rain gear).

Wrapping up, I often find it difficult to write about my experiences out here.  There is really so much.  If you ever have any burning questions for me, hit me up.  If there’s something you want me to blog about more – my hiking habits, gear, the emotional side of it, what I see, the people, etc. – don’t be a stranger.

Until I chat again, I’ll leave with you a message my mom so lovingly sent me last last week that helped to get me through:

“Tough times don’t last.  Tough people do.”

Take care!

Date: Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Current Location: Mountain Magnolia Inn, Hot Springs, NC
Trip/Journal Details: Newfound Gap to Hot Springs, NC
Miles to Date: 274.4

So in my haste, I completely forgot to give you my Trail name in my last post.  I can’t believe I forgot such momentous news!  So without further ado and delay, I present you with my Appalachian Trail name – SUNSHINE.  Simply, Sunshine 🙂  …Why Sunshine?  A fellow hiker named me such because she said I was like a ray of sunshine.  And it seemed the name to keep as I ran across many hikers who kept saying I always look so fresh-faced, smiley and happy to chat (though I can’t help but think they’re pulling my leg because under no circumstances do I smell good, nor have I slept well on the Trail).  I look like a zombie.  But at any rate, I’ve had a few people back home call me Sunshine as well, including a certain Mr. Hall – an avid AT hiker and inspiration, and someone who helped me immensely in planning this trip.  …And so I felt it was meant to be – Sunshine.  The full hippie version being Sunshine Gazelle, as another hiker insists my name be Gazelle.  He thinks I hike like one.

Now, because I am visiting with Neal on this extended stay over (two days off) in Hot Springs, North Carolina, I wrote this blog on the Trail knowing I would feel like zero blogging with him around.  Here’s what I got over the last few days on the AT:

As I am writing this (a few days ago, on May 8th), I am snug away in my tent, camped out on the summit of Max Patch mountain.  Max Patch is a bald, meaning it’s a mountain with a large, grassy field as its summit rather than being forested or rocky.  It was cleared many years ago for cattle and is maintained as a bald to this day.  It is by far the highlight of my trip thus far.  I have been waiting for this summit since before I stepped foot on the Trail, it’s that wondrous.  From the top, you are treated to panoramic views while standing on soft, tufted grass, with the most glorious sunsets and sunrises.  As I was struggling to finish out nearly 16 miles today – made even more challenging by the fact that I knocked out 20 miles yesterday (my feet are killing me!) – I was rewarded beyond words when I approached the base of the summit and was greeted with the most beautiful rainbow.  It absolutely took me away, as if this was meant to be; that I was meant to push on today for my beloved Max Patch.  I intended to camp here, you see, and by the time I summited, I was able to set up tent, eat and still catch the sunset.  I am so happy and at peace.  Determination, paid off!  And, the weather is perfect for sleeping under the stars.  You can see the city lights of towns far below twinkling away.  Most of the crowd I’ve been hiking with this week decided to press on and camp in the woods on the other side of the summit for fear of a few rain clouds (that subsided and blew over).  I took my chances with it being just a 20% chance of rain and am so glad I stuck it out.  This is Max Patch night and there ain’t no messin’ it up!  Can’t wait to wake up and watch the sun rise over the peaks as I drink a hot cup of coffee.

So yeah, about those 20 miles.  I hiked 20 miles yesterday.  As in, up and down many mountains, 20 miles.  I’m pretty amazed I had it in me.  The more I’m out here, the easier it gets.  It’s still super tough, but I notice I am able to take on and accept more challenge with less physical anguish and fewer mental roadblocks.  My legs are rock solid. My back is finally getting somewhat used to lugging a 30-pound load, and my mind seems to be finding its own zen of sorts, for the most part.  Now if my poor little feeties could catch up, that would be great.  My dogs are KILLING me!  No blisters – just sore from all the pounding.  I swear my bones are going to wear through the skin.  You should see all us hikers.  We look like a colony of cripples.  Young or old, it doesn’t matter – once you stop moving for the day and you get up for water or the privy or what have you, you’re stiff as a board and hobbling.  Lots of grunting and nods to be had.  Lots of pill-popping.  Namely, Ibuprophen.  My tiny orange friend.

Fast forward… it is now the next morning, May 9th.  Going back to that sunrise on Max Patch.  WOW!!!  Absolutely did NOT disappoint!  You guys – it was the most INCREDIBLE sunrise ever to behold.  Without a doubt, phenomenal.  The pictures don’t give it one iota of justice.  I woke up at 5:30am, opened the tent (which I had strategically set up facing east the night before), and huddled in my sleeping bag, ready for the show.  Just me, a cup of coffee warming on the burner, and the world atop a hill.  How special it is to watch the day wake up.  I will remember this morning for the rest of my life.  Max Patch is forever a special place.  Add it to your bucket list, people.

Moving on and in other news, I’d like to inform you of my new celebrity status.  As dirty and stinky as we hikers are, would you believe we are popular tourist attractions?  So far, at every major tourist hot spot we’ve visited (Clingman’s Dome and Newfound Gap, for sure) people come up to us in droves, fresh off the church bus, giddily asking if we are hikers and if they can talk to us, know our stories and the details of our plight.  They all gather round.  It’s fabulous.  Often times there’s one person in the group who had no idea such a thing existed, and gasps, “You mean you’re doing the WHOLE THING?!,” all wide-eyed and mouth open.  I’ve had several people ask if they can take their photo with me, which I’m happy to oblige of course, but it cracks me up.  I’m going to make a sign that says “Please FEED the Hikers.  Will talk for food.  Oooga-Booga.”  Like the hungry animal I am these days.  Honestly though, I think it’s pretty cool that people are interested in what we’re doing out here in the woods, as simple as it is, and I’m happy to share in hopes it will spark something for someone else.

And now, here I am wrapping up this blog in real time, here in Hot Springs, NC.  Neal left for Memphis a few hours ago.  That was super duper sad and difficult, but we had such a great time together.  We stayed at the Mountain Magnolia Inn – the same place we stayed at after Neal proposed to me out here last year.  I highly recommend it.  The gorgeous three-story Victorian home has beautiful accommodations, wonderful breakfast and sits atop a landscaper’s dream – fresh, flowering gardens, vast green lawn, old trees, and patios galore.  Matter of fact, here’s my morning view, when I started my blog:

Neal and I walked about town, visited Asheville one day (just a short half-hour drive away), and generally had the best time.  We even made the laundromat fun.  We picked up some pork sandwiches and a cookie and had a romantic lunch as my clothes cycled through the wash.  Speaking of food, we also ate this the night before – the AT Burger.  A total beef fest.

And I would be remiss if I did not mention our death-defying dip in the mineral springs at the Hot Springs Resort and Spa.  Death-defying because we got there just as a MASSIVE thunderstorm, complete with marble-sized hail, came howling through.  The owners weakly assured us we would not be electrocuted.  For reference – the hot tubs are outside, under tin roofs, sitting along the French Broad River, nestled amongst tall trees.  Yeah.  No wonder they gave us a $10 “like-us-on-Facebook” discount.  MmmmHmm.  It was one helluva hot tub show!  Lots of lightening and howling winds.  And the hail.  We had to yell across the hot tub just to hear.  It was a total monsoon.  But if you know us, we had a blast anyway!  I’ll still like them on Facebook.

I do not yet know where my travels will take me next.  Along the AT, of course, but I’m not sure where I will be.  As of now, I am planning to slack-pack tomorrow out and back in to Hot Springs.  Slack-packing is hiking without a backpack – just food and water for the day.  You can do a LOT more miles that way.  I thought this would be a fair plan since I ended up taking one more day off to spend a little extra time with Neal and run my errands, and I’d like to catch up on my hiking.  Afterwards, I plan to jump in a van with some other hikers to make it to Trail Days in Damascus, VA this Thursday afternoon.  Trail Days is a weekend of hiker festivities, vendor booths, music and parades.  It’s the Lollapalooza of the hiker world.  Should be interesting, I’m sure.

I leave you with a few new photos in my media library.  Glorious mountain shots, a funkdafied toe, plane wreckage, and some rare wild flowers – please check them out.  Until the next stop – get out there and do something amazing!  Even if just for a day or only an hour.  Make an adventure and celebrate what’s out there.

 

 

Date: Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Current Location: Gatlinburg, TN
Trip/Journal Details: Franklin, NC to New Foundland Gap, TN
PHOTOS: Check out my media to the right.  I’ve finally added some photos!

So here I am, sitting at a Microtel breakfast area in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, typing this blog as I await my ride back to the Trail.  I have managed to conquer 207.3 miles of Trail thus far.  Yesterday, I took what they call a “Nero” day – a day that you walk on the AT, but for a limited number of miles (in my case – 5.5), and then take the rest of the day off in a town.  In this case, Gatlinburg.

Gatlinburg – how could I pass up Gatlinburg without stopping?  This place is so bizarre.  Its a tourist mecca.  A place of many buffets.  A tacky adult arcade.  A place were people go to look at nature without having to actually BE in nature.  Honestly, this place would be a super blast if I wasn’t so influenced by my recent experiences – it’s just so weird to see after living in the woods for over three weeks.

I am officially in the midst of the grand Smoky Mountains.  The Smokies have not let me down.  The ride has been challenging, but oh so rewarding.  There is something magical about the woods here.  So many legends and lore.  After hearing many a horror story of freezing rain, snow and tough terain, I consider myself extraordinarily lucky to have had nothing but blue skies and sunshine in the Smokies.  There are bugs though.  Many bugs.  I spent the good part of my first two days in the Smokies swatting gnats, bees and flies.  Even enhaled and swallowed a few as I huffed and puffed up the mountains.  Got bug bites all over my ears, where they got tangled up and ticked off in my hair.

*WHOA – BREAKING NEWS, NEWS BREAK*

A fellow hiker – Machine Gun – just walked into the breakfast area here and told me a bear walked off with his pack and all his gear a couple nights ago.  We have been warned of the bears in this area, and though I haven’t seen any personally, several hikers have told me they had.  In this case, the guy left his pack unattended at night, outside his tent, and oops – a BEAR walked off with it!  Poor dude – has to hang out in town until he gets new gear.  And this happened at the same exact shelter area I stayed at my first night in the Smokies.

Seriously though – there is a reason why you have to stay in the shelters in the Smokies.  Everywhere else on the AT you can generally tent where ever you please so long as it’s a designated tent site, but in the Smokies – with this being a preservation area – you have to stay specifically at the shelters, or tent around the shelter if the shelter is full.  We are all being super careful with our food and gear.  Two days ago, a couple campers had a bear attack their tent for food.  Their tent was destroyed and their packs stolen as well.  They were not staying at a shelter area – just a tent site, which is now closed.  There is definitely safety in numbers!  I love my tent, but I am happy to sleep next to folk in the shelter for peace of mind.

As with my previous posts, and again, due to time constraints, I will provide you with a few highlights and tidbits from my most recent trek:

– On Wednesday, April 29th, I stayed at a hobo camp site.  That’s right – a sad, little hobo tent area.  It was right outside of the Nantahala Outdoor Center, down the railroad tracks (no really, down the railroad tracks), and a dirt road that follows a river, just on the outskirts of town.  Stealth camping, if you will.  Many of us stayed there to avoid the pricier cabins and lodge.  It was actually quite fun.  We had tents crammed stake-to-stake, and a roaring fire to keep us warm.  A beer or two may have been had, and we told jokes.  Earlier that evening, Tortoise and Hare – a couple hiking the Trail for their honeymoon – let me take a shower at their cabin for free.  Good for the morale, to be clean.  Over the last week or so, I’ve spent many hours hiking with them.   That night, I also met Shaggy – a fellow Memphian!  It was so nice to have a conversation with someone from back home.

– A group of us decided Thursday night would be designated “Steak Night” on the Trail.  Shaggy and I hitched a ride into Robbinsville, NC with a lady who runs Paradise on the AT – a wonderful bed and breakfast that I happened to stay at the next night – and loaded up on meats and potatoes and seasoning, amongst other things.  The steaks were heavy in our packs, but we figured the lug was worth it for a gourmet, fire-cooked meal.  Talk about the envy of the camp site!  As everyone else ate their crummy freeze-dried packs of food, we ate like kings and queens that night.  Or maybe more like cavemen, as we had no silverware – just knives and hands.  It was the stuff of legend.

– That same day, I experienced my first real Trail Magic.  Trail Magic is when people – out of the kindness of their heart – do nice things for hikers, just because.  In most cases, it involves food.  In this case, a young couple who was section hiking stopped at Stecoah Gap with loads of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sugary ice-cold beverages, oatmeal pies, chips, apples and grandma’s homemade peanut-chocolate clusters.  Nothing like seeing that glory!  We happily snarfed it all down.  It amazes me that people will go out of their way to make someone else’s experience special like that.  So cool.  I hope to return the favor one day with my own Trail Magic.

– Body weight.  I have, as of earlier this week when I weighed myself, lost ten pounds!  Crazy considering the amounts of food I eat when I am in town.  It is virtually impossible to keep up on the calories though when you hike so much.  I have thoroughly stocked up on protein-rich, fatty foods on this resupply in Gatlinburg.  Here’s a photo of me on top of Clingman’s Dome – the hightest point on the AT – where you can not only see the glorious view, but my thin physique.  I told you I was hungry!

– One of the highlights of my week was crossing Fontana Dam.  The lake there is absolutely beautiful.  It also marks the southern boundary of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

– Though I haven’t seen any bears, I have seen some deer and wild turkey on the Trail.  In the early morning hours at Russell Field Shelter, in the calm and peace, with dew and fog around, I shared a watering hole with three young deer – just 30 feet from me – as I filled my water bottle.  Totally surreal.  The day before, I was walking behind a deer on the Trail, and a giant tom turkey as well.  Pretty neat.

Well, as usual, time has caught up to me and I must go before I can finish all my tales 😦  I am sharing a taxi back to the Trail with Chief and Toad – a retired couple hiking the Trail to raise money for a friend of theirs with stage four melanoma.  The ride will be here in 20 minutes.  I think that’s enough time to pack my gear and grab a few donuts at Duncan, no?

Til’ next time!  I will be in Hot Springs, NC.  Neal plans to meet me there in four days for a rendezvous.  Ooo-la-LA!  Can’t wait to see my man!

What, what??!  I’m in North CAROLINA!!!  One state down, and 13 more to go.

This will be sort of a quick post.  A comedy of errors and fun times in Franklin, NC prohibited me from blogging yesterday and this morning the internet was out at the Budget Inn.  I am stealthily sitting outside a coffee shop mooching off their wifi.  Everything is closed on Sunday in this town.  Everything but the Hardees and McDonalds, and I am not that desperate.

Anyway, I am currently in Franklin, NC but am about to board the 11:00 shuttle back to the Trail.  I couldn’t have timed my zero day more perfectly.  Yesterday, Outdoor 76 – the local outfitter – threw a free shindig with live music and beer from several local breweries featured in their tap room.  That’s right – an outfitters with a tap room.  How cool is that??  It was a mini hiker festival, if you will, with a gear swap and time to chat.  Afterwards, myself and another solo female hiker pigged out gratuitously on handmade pasta, meatballs and pork belly with fresh-baked bread.  Paired with that, the beer, sugary pastries, cheesey omelet, fried potatoes, burger with onion rings, bacon and coleslaw I consumed over the last day, plus some, my cholesterol is surely banging on the roof.  Oddly enough, I could probably comsume more.  I am insatiable.  I fear I am becoming the quintessential hungry hiker.

Overall, this has been a really great stop for me.  Besides the fun times in historic downtown Franklin, my room was upgraded to an efficiency at no extra charge.  Granted, it’s the Budget Inn (and I DO mean “budget”), but it was nice to have an apartment-like setting all to myself for a day.  Who cares if the shower floor was literally falling through to a dark mold-infested black hole and that the pipes sounded like they would explode.  The bed was soft and I had a pillow!  Slept like a baby.

Sorry – this isn’t fancy due to time constraints (I got 20 minutes til shuttle time!), but here are some highlights from my second week of hiking, as copied from my paper journal, no time for editing:

– Whoa, nelly!  I survived my first hail storm on the Trail.  Talk about a hustle!  Gravel-sized balls of hail pelted me on a mountain side, followed by a monster thunderstorm and lightening.  I’ve discovered that no matter how tired I am – how much my legs, feet and back are aching – nothing, *NOTHING*, will put more pep in my step than a thunderstorm barking up my ass!  I sprinted up and over that mountain like a kid on Pixie Sticks, I tell you what!  Or maybe, it was more like a clobbering, panicked hunchback with trekking poles.  Either way – I was propelled by sheer adrenaline to shelter!

– This past week I spent a lot of time hiking by myself and camping relatively alone.  In some ways, I find it quite beautiful and meditative.  Especially in the morning after I get going – watching the world wake up.  It’s peaceful, the birds are chirping and the sun beams are peeping through the trees.  At times like that, you gotta stop and soak it up, and breathe in the fresh air and potential for the day.  It feels like the way the world is supposed to feel – normal.  …And then there are times when that feeling runs its course and I get frustrated with a climb, annoyed, sad and down-trodden.  That’s tough for me.  I get anxious for a human connection – which always eventually happens – but remind myself that it’s all a part of the process, and to accept and learn from it.

– Considering the above-mentioned comment, I thoroughly began practicing my self-talk this past week.  Self-talk is voiding your inner monologue and spewing it out to the mountains.  It’s a great way to entertain yourself (and other unfortanate people you come across).  Bonus: helps keep the bears away.

– This is most definitely a guy’s sport.  Not that it wasn’t expected.  I spend a LOT of time hanging with a bunch of dudes.  Farts, burps and snot rockets are all the rage.  It’s nice and all, and they have all been very respectful of the female folk, and have certainly offered some great conversation, laughs and support, but more women out here would be welcomed.  So come on, ladies!  I promise it’s not that bad 🙂  Can’t exactly talk to the guys about bra issues and the sweat debacle.  Nope.

On that strange note, it’s time to peace out.  Sorry this is so scatterbrained and rough.  I wish I could write more, because there is so much more, but it’s shuttle time.  And, yet again, I haven’t had the time to post photos!  Bwahhh!!!

Until next time, when I hit Gatlinburg, baby!

Date: Sunday, April 19, 2015
Current Location: Hiawassee, GA
Trip/Journal Details: Springer Mtn, GA to Hiawassee, GA – 52.9 miles

So for my first 7 days out on the Trail it’s been raining its booty off!  Everything is wet, all my stuff is muddy and covered in dirt, the mountains have been turned into mud luges – making the walk more like a slip ‘n’ slide gone wrong.  And if you’re not sliding, your schloggering through, ankle deep.  I’ve become almost skilled at the art of setting up a soggy tent and keeping almost all of my posessions relatively dry.  Every potential view has been covered over by a misty, foggy white cloud.  I’ve slept in the rain, walked in the rain, eaten in the rain, brushed my teeth in the rain, and used the “facilities” in the rain.  I might have even cried in the rain at one point (on Wildcat Mountain) when it just…wouldn’t…STOP!!!  Ahhhh!!!

So hats off to you, Appalachian Trail, for the initiation.  Talk about a hazing!  Then again, this wouldn’t be hiking without it 🙂

Despite the relentless rain, I am so far enjoying my trip, believe it or not.  I have met some of the most genuinely friendly, good-natured people ever.  I’m learning routine and self-reliance, and to enjoy the little tasks.  I get to watch spring pop up all over the mountain – all fresh and green and happy.   I’ve had some fun conversations with fellow hikers, and have really gotten to know some nice folks.  We’re all in this together and watch out for each other.  Nothing like seeing a fellow hiker after a couple miles alone – you just smile and pick up right where you left off, like best buddies.  There is a certain bond amongst those toughing it out in the woods, sharing the same experiences – good and bad – that seems to speed up the getting-to-know-you process.

I’m currently taking what’s called a “zero day.”  It’s called a zero day because I am hiking zero miles on the Trail and am staying in a town – Hiawassee, GA – 52.9 up on the Trail.  I needed to rest the knees, sleep in a real bed and dry out all my gear.  My room looks like a hobo exploded.  The contents of my pack are spread out and hung up in every cranny and on every available surface.

There is so, so much I could blog about.  I feel like I could write a chapter with just these first 7 days.  I’ve been keeping a paper journal on the Trail (double-bagged to keep from getting wet!), and will summarize some of my notes for ya.

– The first day was really tough.  That was the day Neal left and we walked separate ways on the Trail.  I miss him every day, but that first day and night was exceptionally crummy.  I was sort of a weirdo that day.  I forced myself to socialize with fellow hikers, but I wasn’t right.  All I wanted to do was crawl into my tent, in the rain, and be poopy.

– Even with no sunshine, cheerfulness can be found.  The trillium, violets and ferns are springing up EVERYwhere.  They are my little sunshines on earth, and help to perk me up.  That, and my fellow hikers.

– Trash.  Oh what a thing it is to just throw your trash away!  Honestly, it is a luxury.  On the Trail, you have to pack out every bit of trash.  And your trash bag, a zip lock baggy, has to be packed away in your food sack, which is in your backpack, and which also gets hung up in the trees at night so the bears don’t get it.  So you have to strategize when you eat and what trash you will accumulate before doing so.  It’s a pain.  Of all the things I appreciate most in my hotel room – the trash can is up there!

– I mentioned those nice people I’ve met.  My fifth night on the Trail, a kind father and his two daughters, also hiking, offered me a space in their cabin after we conquered Blood Mountain together.  Totally took them up on it!  We plowed into Neel Gap, went to the outfitters there, pigged out on some freezer pizza and chocolate milk – total gourmet – had the best-tasting Busch Light ever (and if you know me, you know I don’t drink Busch Light!), and showered and dried out our gear at the cabin that night.  So nice!

– Out here, you are one with the dirt.  You step on it, sleep on it, live in it, and in some cases, even eat and drink it since you get all your water from natural springs.  MMMmmmm….dirt particles.  Crunchy.

– Only five days into the Trail, and I got a new pair of shoes.  I developed a monster blister on my right heel and will probably lose a toenail on my left foot, thanks to some shoes that were evidently too short.  And I thought they were too big!  I got upgraded to a size 11 shoe, and have been MUCH happier hiking since.  Just call me Big Foot.

– Mice can be very industrious little beings.  At the aforementioned cabin, in the middle of the night, a mouse came out and lugged a water-logged dehydrated strawberry off the table and up into the rafters, where it lost control and bombed it on my body.  Dude – it hurt!  Woke me up like a bat out of hell, it scared me so much.

– You will do anything to avoid a midnight pee.  I camel up in the morning, drink throughout the day, but taper down in the evening.  I ain’t getting out of my tent if I don’t have to.  No sir.

– Mind-expanding thoughts don’t happen on the Trail.  I spend most of  my day hiking with a song stuck in my head.  That, or a cacophony of endless, pointless brain banter.  Yesterday, the song was “The Warrior,” by Scandal.  Laugh if you will, but it got me over those hills!

– Trail names.  I don’t have one yet, but hopefully soon!  There is a small batch of us still waiting for the right name to befall us.  For those who don’t know, a Trail name is a nickname that other hikers call you. So far, I’ve met Twister, Pitbull, This Guy, Captain America, Jelly Legs, and 8 Days, amongst others, to give you some examples.

– Speaking of characters, I met a guy out here in full Civil War regalia, hiking the Trail as sort of a reenactment – sword and wool coat and all.  He was sort of an odd lot, with his homemade outfit and such, but entertainment nonetheless.  Definitely the oddest cat I’ve encountered thus far.

– No bears, no big critter sightings yet.  Just birds and bugs.

…And so are just SOME summarizes of my first week.  There is no way to put into words all the feelings I’ve had, the characters I’ve met, and the kindness of strangers I’ve experienced.  Just know that yes, this is hard, but yes, it is also gratifying.

My next zero day will most likely be in Franklin, NC (in another 5 days or so, or 56.9 miles up the Trail).  Reception is in and out on the Trail, and to be honest with you, getting on Facebook or journaling is really a challenge even when you do have service because you are in the element, so to speak.  So if you text, call or email me, and I don’t respond right away it doesn’t mean I don’t love you, and I am so glad that you care about my wellbeing!

Now, if I can just figure out how to upload photos, I will share them with you as well.

Until Franklin!

 

– Nicci

 

Well folks, I’ve been to every outfitters in town (and some in other towns).  I’ve spent obscene hours researching wicking properties, loft and synthetic insulation, and everything ultralight.  I’ve read countless books.  I own a pair of Crocs.  …Bright purple, neon-green Crocs (affectionately called my “Barney shoes”) for wearing at camp.  My living room has been a rotating circus of boxes – purchased gear, gear that needs to be returned, and gear I’m keeping.  Piles of miniature first aid supplies and toiletries dot the floor.  There are bags of granola, peanut butter and noodles lined up for consumption.  Every single day for the last month, I’ve gone from “this is a GREAT idea!” to “WHAT in the bejeezus am I thinking?!”, back to “nope, this is IT – I’m doing it.”   I paid off most of my car.  I sold my house.  I quit my job of eleven years.  My life will soon fit into a backpack that I will wear for 2,189 miles on the Appalachian Trail.  I can only hope I’m ready.

Hiking the Appalachian Trail is something I decided to do many years ago after an extended solo vacation traveling along the Blue Ridge Parkway.  The road was great, but the hiking unexpectedly called my name.  It was all I wanted to do and it felt like home.  After years of planning and plotting and thinking and dreaming about it, I’ve created the opportunity.  To quote the infamous naturalist John Muir, “the mountains are calling and I must go.”  So here I go!  In T-minus 2 days, I will be on the Trail.

To all my friends and family and hometown Memphis peeps, THANK YOU for your support!!!  Words cannot express my gratitude for your kind encouragement as I undertake this journey.  It has been most unexpected.  And to my most amazing husband, Neal, who has listened to me talk about this forever, and who loves me for my adventuresome spirit (and who also likes to remind me that he has a lifetime free fishing pass for “letting” me go), you are my hero.

Please bear with me as I get acquainted with this here blog thingy.  More sections – gear lists, about me, location tracking, etc. – will be added as time allows.

Until later, and thank you for following my shenanigans!  – Nicci