Date: 2004-07-21
From: Georgia

To: Maine
Miles today: 20.0
Weather: scattered clouds

Mile 1307Forest Motel, Branchville NJJuly 21, 2004Where to begin. What to say. Well, there's always halleluiah!although I've never been too confident about how to spell that, so howabout, with a grateful nod to The South and all its angels and kindnessand trail magic (now absent here in the mid-Atlantic), how about I justsay "Hot shit! Hot damn! Hot diggety! Holy hushpuppies and grits! Thank you Jesus!"Comfortably ensconced in a motel room off Highway 206 here in Culver'sGap, New Jersey, squat on the bed, an Indian chief proud, my hair fullacolorful feathers I've found along the trail, proud yet humble as anytrue wiseman seated before the Great Woodchipper in the Sky, and typingof course, and plugged hard into Massive Attack, "Teardrop" at themoment, a powerful song for a powerful man, a powerful day, a day fullof pain and rain and ticks and filth and grace and wide, wide openspace, and a sweet 9th inning rescue from failure, defeat, retreat.Big Chief Paisley Feather sits here basking in the A/C and off my feetfor a solid day tomorrow thanks to one of a dying breed of old friends,perhaps my second oldest friend in terms of going back in time. Foronly the second time on this 1300 mile, four month journey, I pressedthe Panic Button today and a friend answered the call. At noon today, I found myself roadside at one of the many places wherethe AT encounters the real world and we are forced to dodge traffic orwalk through fenced overpass bridges or through tunnels beneath thetraffic. Crossed a zillion roads and freeways by now it seems, buttoday was different. I was looking at this rather rural road as thebeginning of the End. I wanted to quit the trail today, and I was buta thumb away. I was sick of the trail. I am sick of the trail. I am sick of therocks, of which there were about 200 miles in Pennsylvania. I am sickof checking my legs, my balls, my ass crack for microscopicbloodsucking ticks which, if undiscovered, could make of me a morephysically and mentally deranged person than I already am. (I pull oneoffa me every few days, incidentally.) I'm sick of EVERYONE on thetrail, from the worst fuddy-duddy dorkos and jerks to people I reallylike. But of course what this really means is I'm sick of myself andall the work of interacting with ANYBODY, EVERYBODY on the trail. Andthere are still a lot of us. To hear the statistics, you'd thinkthere'd be, at this point, me and about three circus freaks left wayback here at the ass-end of the pack. Nope. There's shitloads offreaks. This could be a record year for successful freak thruhikes.   But what I'm MOST sick of is the politics of "white blazing" versusjust plain walking North. Fuck! What is it about humans that nomatter how kind and gentle and soft and fluffy and eco-tickly andlovey-dovey you get, an elitist spirit is spawned in the minds of someor many or even just one, and suddenly a hierarchy is born and with itall the divisive and derisive bullshit of a Hitler Youth brigade? I almost hitchhiked offa the trail this morning (who knows maybe a fullKerouac-hitch to California) not because my feet were hamburger afterten 20-mile days in a row (a very good reason to stop, if not quit) butbecause the two cool young guys I'd recently hooked up with turned outto be serious Believers in the whole Neo-Nazi Arian Blaze Racebullshit.But the problem, as usual, was mine, not theirs. I don't believe inabsolutes. And I don't believe in going backwards, for anything. Sowhen Catherine at the AMC Mohican outdoor center said this morning,"Hey, you guys don't need to backtrack, you can just go up this trailover here and be back on the AT in no time," I said "All right!" Theboys were not in accord. They would backhike to the exact spot we'dleft the "White Blaze Inquisition" and begin again from there. Ugh.There are actually people who insist on physically "touching" everysplotch of white paint on every tree from Georgia to Maine. I loathe perfection. I embrace chaos. And so does Nature, I'll remindyou. Nature loathes perfection, as we humans define it. Nature ISchaos. Heading North, I took the logical "shortcut" back to the trail.The result, sociologically? I am alone again. Morphing the words ofthat George Thorogood song a bit, "I hike alone, yeh, with nobodyelse." I walk North. I walk North until I hurt all over. I walk North for nogood Goddamn reason at all. I walk North for me. I walk North becauseI feel that I've never really had a triumph in my life, nothing to calla total success. I will succeed, but not without the love and supportof many at home, you Mike, most certainly high up there. And Bruce,and Justin, and Timmy, and Mary, and Marie, Linda, oh,, and my GodKathleen Pearson!! My beloved stalwart friend whose postcards andletters I can ABSOLUTELY count on at EVERY mail drop. Wow. No onetops Kate for consistency. Thank you all.-RSMFor the full story of Rick's journey, visit Jigglebox.com