Date: 2005-10-23
To: Home
Miles today: 0.0
Weather: clear sky

Hey hey! Yes, finally, my long over-due e-mail. I've been procrastinating and dragging my feet about writing this, not because I enjoy keeping you guys in suspense about my current whereabouts; but because, somehow, in some psychologically confused way, to my over-analytical mind, writing about that last day on the AT, about that phenomenally perfect climb up Mt Katahdin, crawling over boulders as we ascended through the clouds into an achingly blue sky, turning around at the Tablelands to see an ocean of white beneath us, and a sea of blue above; and then, of course, standing at the sign. The sign every thru-hiker has seen a thousand times before in photographs; but, the reality of it trumps the photos a thousand-fold. And standing there, on the summit of Katahdin, touching the sign worn smooth by the hands (and various other body parts) of countless hikers, surrounded by the embrace of the Pod, the people who shared the highs and lows, the sicknesses and the health, of this incredible journey -- well, it couldn't have been a more perfect day. And, as I was saying, to my over-worked brain, writing and delving into my summit of Katahdin (and what it symbolically and literally represents), well, that would bring reality (that my hike is...well...you know...) crashing down just a tad bit too rapidly. So, instead, since I prefer to live in a state of suspended reality (at least temporarily), I'll just move on to another subject: my current whereabouts. At the moment, I'm back in good ol' Ligonier, PA. Following the climb of that big mountain in Maine, I spent a few days just hanging out in Millinocket, in the EconoLodge, which seemed to magnetically attract hikers. (And really, with a hot tub, laundry, internet, and continental breakfast -- was there any doubt?) As the weather was unbelievably crummy and rainy, there wasn't much interest in exploring the great outdoors; so, a lot of time was spent simply talking and hanging out, enjoying the luxurious hot tub. Oh, and I got a chance to hone (or, perhaps, 'reacquire', would be more appropriate) my ping pong skills, playing with Marshmallow. (Did I mention the ping pong and pool tables? I love the EconoLodge.) But, superb as the accomodations were in Millinocket, I knew that I needed to be moving once again, as that all-too-familiar itch crept under my skin. No, there was no desire to go hiking (yet), the persistently wet weather was more than adequate a deterrent. I just needed to be doing _some_thing, moving _some_where. I had never really determined beforehand precisely _how_ I would make my way back to Pennsylvania. I figured that something would spring up, as it invariably seems to on the trail. (And not just on the AT, on the trail of life too. It seems that, the less I push and fret about things (ie, the future), the more things seem to just, fall into place. An invaluable lesson for me. One of many that the AT afforded me.) And, once again, serendipity struck. I had decided that I wasn't ready to rush myself to Ligonier, that I wasn't prepared to hop on a plane and, in 3 hours, be confronted with the reality of home. (See, more avoidance techniques.) So, I concocted a plan to rent a car and drive myself home, taking as long as necessary. Well, I don't know if calendars reach that far, but at the very least, at least taking a handful of _days_, rather than hours, to meander my way home. So, armed with a plan, now all I needed was to make my way to a rental place. And, lo and behold, just as I was thinking, "How am I going to get to the Bangor airport?", Bonfire and her parents stroll through the lobby, saying they're headed through Bangor on their way to MA. And, just like that, Click, the pieces fall into place. An hour and a half later, I sitting in my snazzy silver Monte Carlo, suddenly beseiged by the thought that, for someone who's barely driven in 7 months, is a road-trip _really_ the best idea? But, figuring that, having just _walked_ 2000 miles, surely I can _drive_ 1000... right? So, bucking up my courage, I fiddle with the myriad of controls and buttons and levers in the car, learning how to operate the windshield wipers and the lights and, of course, the radio. And then, with a gentle pressure applied to the gas pedal, I was off. A soft tap on the brakes at the first stop sign, I learned with a sudden jolt just how sensitive the brakes were. But, Monty and I quickly became accustomed to each other's quirks, and it was an enjoyable journey back home. I meandered my way down the Maine coast, on Route 1 -- a highly recommended trip for anyone with the time and inclination, especially if the weather is more cooperative than constant rain. But, despite the damp conditions, I pulled over at several stops and just sat on the beach. An isolated rocky beach, especially under steely gray skies, with the wind tussling your hair and gulls keening above you, is an excellent spot for introspection, I discovered. Nearly rivals walking in the woods. Nearly. After parting ways with the ocean, I set off westward, sticking to winding backroads rather than highly trafficked interstates, mostly because I wasn't in any particular hurry to get anywhere, but I confess that the ungodly speeds and insane driving on the interstates were more than moderately frightening to me, accustomed as I was to a sedate 2-3mph pace. The route I took, through the backroads of southern New England and upstate New York was completely unplanned, as I made decisions at every little road junction, my only concern to keep my bearing in a generally south and westerly direction. I wandered from small town to small town, coasting down an infinite string of Main Streets, stopping to explore when the mood struck me. I chased autumn southward, the peak foliage of oranges and reds in Maine gradually shifting to the earlier signs of fall, the yellows and eventually even greens in NY and PA. And then, suddenly, I was home. In Ligonier. Woody excitedly jumping and trying to sneak in a few licks, her paws dangling through the open car window. Mom raking a cartful of leaves into the compost pile. Dad tinkering with his bike. The day-to-day activities that I'd been separate from for 7 months. The day-to-day realities that...was I ready to face? _Am_ I ready to face? As I'm _still_ not ready to face that question directly (Avoidance is a glorious thing, no? )... I _am_ in the process of readjusting and decompressing from life on the trail, albeit slowly and maybe not all that effectively. I mean, I'm _trying_ to get used to the idea of a daily shower but, well, when you're not _totally_ sweaty and disgusting, and when you don't have 3 or 4 days of accumulated dirt amassed on your skin, well, then, do you really _need_ to take a shower every day? I thought not. And then there's this whole concept of deodorant. Yeah, I know, I suppose if you're out in "polite society" and all. But honestly, the smell is actually sort of cloying overpowerful. At least to my sensitive nasal passages. So, yeah, I'm still on the fence about the whole deodorant vs the natural way. And don't even get me started on underwear... Thankfully, one habit I acquired on the trail has been quashed from my system. And that would be my general inability to obtain a good night's sleep. Defined, by me, as 6, maybe 7, hours of roughly continuous sleep. Didn't happen all that often on the trail for me. During our 5-day stint in the 100-mile wilderness (I _will_ get around to explaining our abbreviated jaunt in the wilderness, as well as our summit day. Eventually. I promise.), during those 5 nights, I think I accrued a whopping 10 hours, total, of shut-eye. Not exactly the healthiest of trends. But, in my defense, I _always_ get nervous and sleep-deprived on the cusp of any big change in my life. And I'd say that summiting Katahdin and finishing...well, you know, it certainly qualifies as a life-altering event. But, thankfully, once I got back to my childhood bed, in my childhood room, I've been able to return to a slightly more normal sleep-schedule. (Thankfully, I've also recovered from another of my on-the-trail quirks, which was a phobia of beds. For whatever loopy reason, for the first 5 months on the trail, I couldn't sleep on a bed. Hotel rooms? Nope, always ended up on the floor. Weird? Yeah, tell me about it.) So, now I'm getting a healthy 7 to 8 hours a night, and I feel remarkably refreshed every morning. Huh. Imagine that. 'Course, when I _do_ stumble out of bed (typically around 8:30(!) now, rather than my 6am wakeup on the trail), I'm immediately served a physical reminder of the trail. As soon as I take those first steps in the morning, the aching bones and tendons in my feet creak and cry out a reminder that I _did_ just walk several thousand miles, and is walking _really_ all that necessary anyway? My feet are undergoing a transformation as well. Upon arriving at home, I discovered that I can still cram my feet comfortably (sort of) into 2, maybe 3, pairs of my old shoes. The rest have been donated to the local Goodwill. Of course, since I've been wearing sandals for the past 7 months, I really don't relish the thought of encasing my foot in a shoe anyway (although Mom persists in telling me that I absolutely _need_ to own a pair of boots. "It _is_ gonna get cold, you know." Well, isn't that what socks are for?) As for the soles of my feet, the pounding abuse of the trail, coupled with the use of sandals led them to take on the appearance of hobbit feet -- leathery soles, of one continuous giant callous, flattened arches from the countless miles. (I did not, however, acquire the insulating furry layer, hence the need for socks...) Now, however, with the cessation of intense walking, the callouses are disappearing and my feet resemble not hobbits' but look more like molting lizards, as the skin is peeling and cracking away. Lovely imagery, no? As usual, I have to go. The itch is in need of scratching again, and I'm headed to Dayton, Ohio to see Matt and Anne for a few days, before he heads off to Mexico and Guatemala for several months. As for me? Sometime in early November, I'll be embarking on another, somewhat lengthier, roadtrip, across the states. Destination: Portland, Oregon. (And it has nothing to do with it's proximity to the PCT. Nothing at all...) Don't know what I'll be doing when I get there. (Probably, in the default post-hike pattern, I'll hit up REI for a temporary job.) Don't know how long I'll stay. But, as I said, things always seem to have a way of working out, somehow. I miss the trail, achingly. And I miss the Pod, achingly. But, when one journey ends, another begins. And I'm just hangin' on for the ride.