Date: 2004-05-23
From: Seeley-Woodworth Shelter

To: Tye River, VA 56
Miles today: 11.7
Weather: clear sky

I began my birthday by waking up in a shelter in the middle of the woods and having a couple of cereal bars for breakfast before hiking 2.3 miles to a steep, dirt road with no traffic, called Fish Hatchery Road, and following that to some paved roads and eventually to the small, Podunk town of Montebello, Virginia.    As I passed a house on my way to the town, I heard barking and the sound of a dog collar rattling, as though the dog were in a hurry. As luck would have it, he WAS in a hurry. In a hurry to see ME! After putting up with a stomach bug for the past week and being down about my friends getting so far ahead of me, I was not in the mood to put up with a territorial mutt. I faced the lesser beast, as it sprinted down the hill toward the road where I stood my ground, and just stared at him with angry eyes that screamed louder than my voice ever could have. The dog barely slowed to a trot before stopping completely about 10 yards away. His bark lost it's confidence as he looked away, no longer able to meet my gaze.   "Yeah," I said outloud in a 'that's what I thought' sort of way. Had I been in a better mood, I'm sure I would've laughed at myself.    After 212 miles of walking that didn't even count as trail mileage, I arrived at the Dutch Haus B&B where I received a delicious lunch that is offered to thru-hikers free of charge. The "free lunch" offer is truly a brilliant business move. Few and far between, I'm sure, are the thru-hikers that could head back into the woods after sitting down in the quaint, homey log house of Earl and Lois Arnold. For $25, you get a bed, shower, laundry (including the use of a robe so that all of your clothes get cleaned), the option of slackpacking about 10 miles to the Tye River, and breakfast in the morning. For an extra $10, you get dinner too. Using money sent to me from my parents and grandparents, these would be my birthday presents.   Earl drove me back halfway up Fish Hatchery Road before it became too steep and corroded for his pick-up truck to continue. We decided on a reasonable pick-up time before I climbed out of the passenger seat and ambled up the dusty, dirt road back toward the trail with a much lighter pack. It was only a matter of minutes before my stomach--which had felt FINE all day and most of yesterday--started giving me problems. Before I even got back on the Appalachian Trail, I knew that I hadn't given myself enough time to hike.   The going was slow, and I almost immediately had to pass up a view at Spy Rock. I had heard the view was great, but I was more interested in making Earl's wait as short as possible. The next 4 miles were a battle: my want to hike as fast as I could to meet Earl on time versus my stomach's desire to hold me back from achieving said goal by dispatching waves of pain and nausea. And when I finally did reach The Priest Shelter, named for the summit I would soon be traversing, a winner was declared.   I needed a privy. Now.   It no longer mattered how badly I wanted to reach Earl by our scheduled time. It didn't matter that the temperature had slightly dropped, that the winds had slightly picked up, and that the sky was getting darker though evening was still hours away. None of this mattered. Time with a privy and my toilet paper. That's all that mattered.   Happy Birthday to Me.   As I sat in the privy, exorcising the demons within, I heard the wind's howl grow louder. I heard the soft 'tap tap, tap, tap' of raindrops hitting the roof above me. And I heard--in the distance--the low, familiar rumble of an approaching storm ready to crash my party.   And I still had to hike across The Priest, one of Virginia's most prominent peaks, the apex of which was half a mile north of this shelter.   Leaving the privy, I knew that this storm wasn't about to pass me by. The wind was growing and the thunder was getting closer. With all of my equipment back at the Dutch Haus, I didn't have much of a choice. Throwing my pack on, I tightened the straps til my backpack practically fused to my torso, grabbed my trekking poles and--thanks to my privy break--started running as fast as I could, grunting a bit whenever my knees reminded me that over 800 miles of hiking had left them in no condition to absorb this kind of shock.    I ran up the trail through a gauntlet of thunder, listening to the ambuscade crash loudly above me and on each side. I hadn't seen any bolts of lightening streak across the sky, but I wasn't stopping to look either. The flashes and the explosions surrounding me were enough to let me know that they couldn't be far. Until I got off this mountain, my concentration was on getting one foot in front of the other.   Over and over again. As fast as possible.   I'm not even sure when I passed the summit. For about a mile, the trail seemed to be at approximately the same elevation. When the trail did change it's mind and head downhill, it did so unmistakably. Even so, I only slowed down when the trail was too steep to descend both quickly AND safely. The climax of the storm seemed to be behind me now, but I still felt safer getting to lower ground ASAP. Besides, I didn't want to keep Earl waiting.   The 5 miles from the shelter to the Tye River were covered in only 1 hour, 15 minutes. Even so, I was about 25 minutes late for Earl. He didn't seem to mind one bit and handed me a cold soda. (And yes, I know soda probably wasn't a good idea. Not with my stomach issues. I know that. Now, shut up.)   We headed back to the Dutch Haus where I showered, gathered together my laundry, and sat down for dinner. I didn't bother telling anyone that it was my birthday. People tend to make a big deal about things like that. Big smiles appear on their faces as they say with a higher pitched voice, 'OOOhhh!! Happy Birthday!!' Lots of cheer. Dessert with candles to blow out. Singing that nobody really wants to do. And I sure as hell was not in the mood for that crap.   After dinner, it was another long bathroom visit.   At this point, I am really sick and tired of being sick and tired. I'm sure that when other hikers look at me, they see a man on his way out. Even the hiker staring at me from above the bathroom sink isn't so sure anymore. I sense a sympathetic tone from Lois as she asks how I'm doing. I can even see it in her eyes. People who are a constant part of the trail community start to recognize when a hiker is about to ask for a ride to the nearest bus station. The hiker may not actually ask, but he's about to. The truth? I feel absolute misery. On the verge of defeat, even.    And so, I pick up the phone.   You call certain friends for certain things. Sometimes you need to laugh. Sometimes you need advice. Right now, I just needed someone who would listen. Someone who would understand. Someone who I could just unload everything off of my chest to and feel even just a little lighter by simply hearing her say a few "Uh huh's." Because I know she's there. And she really heard everything I just said. My friend Trisha is one of these friends.   I told her what I had been going through. I told her how miserable I was. I told her that my friend Ian and her boyfriend Patrick (who both expressed interest in hiking the trail with me) were BRILLIANT for not coming out here. For not putting themselves through this. I barked about this and about that. I told her everything.   And she listened.   Different people are out here for different reasons. Some want to finish, but only as far as the trail will let them enjoy their experience. And there's nothing wrong with that. Others have set a certain goal, despite what obstacles (including sickness, misery, and loneliness) may come their way. They want to "tough it out." They see all that as part of the challenge that they are here to conquer. I'm a part of that stubborn latter group. Always have been. For me, the question isn't, 'Are you going to continue?' A question such as that won't be enough to remind me of my goal. The question for me, though I'm not sure my friend Trisha knew it, was the exact question she asked toward the end of our phone conversation.    "So...are you going to finish?"   Know those moments when you feel your own destiny pulsing in the palms of your hands? When you know that the entire string of events proceeding from this precise moment in time will be completely dependent upon the one tiny thing you do or say next?   I didn't have the confidence to say 'Yes,' but a part of me seemed to understand the importance of that moment. With a deep breath and a quiet sigh, followed by a beat or two of hesitation, a diffident voice finally spoke up:   I have to.   There were plenty of encouraging words offered by Trisha and my friend Vanessa, whom I also spoke with tonight, but those were the ones that play over and over in my head as I lie in my bed before falling asleep. I don't even know why, but I have to. Tomorrow, I will wake up and take a ride back to the trail. I will hike another day, slowly (perhaps begrudgingly) making my way north towards Maine.   I have to.   I think about those words and the question that begot them, and, for some reason, I think about that noisy dog that might've bitten me in the ass had I not turned around and looked it right in the eyes.