morvasaaty/AppalachianTrail-LD-Hikers-Blogs-and-Weather-20-years huggingface dataset:
Date: 2007-12-08
To: Suffocation and Spreadsheets 
Miles today: 0.0

Another rainy weekend in Paris. Blah. And my winter coat has lost all its buttons.         Our apartment, tiny for two people on the best of days, is shrinking all around me. Kitty, for the love of goodness, please stop meowing!                 Typically when my life and the weather conspire to trap me indoors, I fool them and instead escape to the wild in my mind and on my keyboard. I devour trail journals, lurk about hiking forums, and wiki anything and everything even remotely connected to the AT. My fingers have trekked from Maine to Georgia dozens of times as they have typed, revised and re-revised our itineraries and plans.                 Kitty, it¢s too cold to open the window. Stop meowing.        I have always had a fondness for our 34th president, Dwight D. Eisenhower. He has a nice face and reminds me of Bops, my grandfather on my mother¢s side. I like Ike. I bring him up now, because he once said, ¢I have always found that plans are useless but planning is indispensable.¢ For me, planning is essential ¢ a life-force. It excites and delights me. With seventy-four spreadsheets, thirteen PDFs, six word documents, and seven powerpoints (and counting), I could, in all fairness, be accused of being an AT 14berplanner.                 But today the claustrophobia and cabin-fever are trying to choke me, like the tie on the seven year old bored at the baptismal service. And though I climbed mountains in my mind all this mourning, the actual walls continue closing in upon me.         Kitty, PLEASE, stop meowing!                Silver-lining at last! Hank has cleared the floor and put on swing music for dancing. And thereafter we are going out to Berthillon, famous for having the best ice-cream in all of Paris¢¦and happily located just across the street.
Date: 2007-12-29
To: My Half of the Call
Miles today: 0.0

-ring-Hello?-Hello! How are you?!-Oh yes. Paris is wonderful, as always.-Christmas is lovely here. The French celebrate by eating awesome food. We were going to get a goose, but those rascals were over a hundred bucks a pop, so we got a pigeon.-Seriously! Well, two pigeons. One each. And drank real Champagne. Yum, yum, yum.-Well, we did not really exchange presents because our gift to each other was a set of Appalachian Trail maps.-Yes, we are still going to do that thing.-No, we¢re not scared of bears.-Even having seen ¢Grizzly Man.¢ -Nope, not snakes either. But we¢ve read up about what to do in ¢those situations.¢-That¢s true. We are wary of giardia. That¢s why we are filtering our water and taking special care with personal hygiene.   Did I tell you the story about how my brother and cousin ran away one summer to ¢live in wilderness¢? They were gone for like two hours, but it was enough time to drink a bit of creek water, eat a raw mussel, and make themselves really sick.-Well, what about the story when my uncle got giardia on a camping trip and it wrecked his fragile digestive system so badly he can no longer have wheat products. No bread. No beer. Tragic.-Really? Both? Wow, I need to expand my repertoire!-Well, I did lots of research when developing our menu so that it will meet our nutritional and energy requirements. -No, it does not include Hot Tamales, though Hank is campaigning for their addition.-That is true, but there are crazy people in Paris, Chicago, or anywhere really. Still, we will be cautious, use street smarts. We do not anticipate camping near any roads and only our parents will have our exact itineraries.-No, it's okay. It is nice to know people worry about us.-Nope, I am really not scared of bears.-Love you too. Bye!
Date: 2008-01-08
To: Imaginary Toys
Miles today: 0.0

Last Sunday instead of a torte with our afternoon tea, Hank and I ate a galette des Rois as is the tradition in France for Epiphany.   In his half of the puff pastry, deep in the homemade marzipan filling, Hank found the porcelain figure of the Virgin Mary, thus making him lucky this year. Seems fair, as I won the wishbone at Thanksgiving.         At my childhood church, finding the plastic baby Jesus in the King¢s Cake not only granted one luck, but laden one with the responsibility of baking the cake for the entire congregation the following year. Such explained the look of horror on my mother¢s face many years ago when my younger brother purposely choose a piece with a visible pink foot poking out of the frosting.         I have always thought it a grand tradition: eating cake after Christmas. And had the three kings tasted this French cake, they may have brought pastries in place of incense. (Now the three magi lay up in elaborate gold coffins under the magnificent gothic arches of the Cologne cathedral, so perhaps they prefer a dish a little more German.)        The cake signaled the last of the twelve days of Christmas, which passed without the Christmas package and thus without AT gear in hand.         In case you too would like your gift to arrive considerably after the Christmas season, I will include the steps our sender found successful for such a delay: Address your package to a made-up company. Fill out the incorrect international form. Make sure the novice seasonal delivery man fails to mention a customs form when you ask. Send the package and its incorrect forms to a country, such as France, that is slow to process but is obsessive about paperwork. Spend several days faxing and calling the company until you finally get a supervisor. Wait another unexplainable five days. Make sure the recipient has been wanting these presents since Thanksgiving so that each day feels twice as long.        And still, we wait.        This is not to say that Santa brought us nothing Christmas day. The family Skype session revealed a treasure trove of equipment, the highlight being a portable solar panel I am designating as my personal luxury ounces. As my family webcammed our holiday bounty, our faces grinned back at them from their television. So ridiculously sci-fi, I love it!        Alas, the gifts were intangible - images flashing by on our computer screen.   A happy day dream - like all our backpacking equipment waiting for us back in the good ol¢ USA. Sometimes the gear seems surreal ¢ something we only talk about that lives in a far off kingdom called ¢my parents¢ closet.¢ But soon enough we will play with all our toys, every day, for 2175 miles.
Date: 2008-01-09
To: On Humility and Cleanliness
Miles today: 0.0

Two life lessons learned: the first is do not pout over absent presents - some things are worth the wait; the second is remember to start the washing machine. Oh Fortuna, will I always be forced to learn things ¢the other way¢?        Lesson 1:        Mere moments after writing my whining yesterday, the door buzzed, and our package was delivered. More toys! American candy we craved. A beautiful hand-made fair trade blanket. And the ¢big¢ present located in the smallest package ¢ a generous financial gift which will enable us to acquire the rest of our backpacking equipment. No more empty Excel cells on our gear spreadsheet!                 For fear it might burn a hole in our pockets, we immediately hopped on-line to order the tarptent over which we had been drooling. It is beautiful. (A Henry Shire Tarptent Squall 2 with floor for the gear geeks.) A ridiculously light two pounds for two people, and it packs as small as ¢a kitten in a sock¢ ¢ Hank¢s words.         So considering the grand scale of the gift, I felt a bit silly for my sniveling over its delayed arrival.   When I was young I had to write a theme on humility before I could test for my yellow belt in karate. It seems I might need to revisit that essay.         Lesson 2:         Last Sunday after my twelve mile long run, the cat ran and hid from my running clothes.   Indeed, they smelled that bad. So I placed my one and only set of exercise gear in the washing machine¢¦but failed to hit start. For two days, in the dark enclosed space, the clothes festered in their wretched aroma. Eew.   I realized my error today before my interval work. And though Frebreeze works magic, it does not perform miracles, and so I ran in horrifically stinky clothes.         I reckon I can just consider this training for all the showerless days on the trail. Back story:        A few years ago, my dad, uncle, cousin and some assembly of my brothers were out catfishing on Lake Wylie (South Carolina side). This was before we began using cut shad to haul in the monsters (Congrats on your recent 40-pounder, Dad!) in the days when we lobbed chicken liver and worms. My cousin was baiting his hook in such a way that it might slip and hurt his hand, but when my uncle tried to correct his son, my cousin refused his advice. My uncle, being a man of even fewer words than my father, said, ¢Oh, I see. You want to learn the other way.¢
Date: 2008-01-22
To: AT Training
Miles today: 0.0

        We run though it is raining, in the name of ¢AT training.¢         We carry our groceries on our back, stuffed inside our pack, so that we will prevail when we hit the trail.        Yesterday after a fourteen mile sprint, Hank collapsed, totally spent. With nervousness and delight, we laughed at the thought that we might feel like this everyday, perhaps worse, for the tougher terrain we¢ll surely traverse.        We ate a full dinner and drank cocoa in mugs, then fretted about Maine¢s black flies and bugs. And mosquito armies, a thought we abhor, but we¢ve faced those tiny rascals before and survived alright with not but bites.        Once in the jungle while I slept soundly and the Amazonian night gently sounded around me, a mosquito so big I¢m surprised it could fly, flew in and bit me straight on the eye!        Ew, and tales of ticks where ticks should not be, and that time Hank was stung by a bee because he was barefoot wearing not but breeches. Oh, and stories we could tell about leeches!        And Palmetto Bugs, aka roaches that fly, who are not content to allow passers-by escape without a surprise attack and spring up landing upon your back, or your hand or your face (an experience few can handle with grace).        And also that time I got bit by a squid, suctioned on to my palm and chomped down it did! But I do not reckon that on the AT, this will be a problem reencountered by me.         Alas, though the conversation was quite entertaining, our mugs were empty, no cocoa remaining, and since the long run was so very draining, we climbed into bed with little complaining. And on feather pillows I failed in restraining my urge to comment on our ¢AT training!¢
Date: 2008-02-08
To: The Lesser Spotted Woodpecker: a short essay
Miles today: 0.0

He dangled beneath the slender branch like a chick-a-dee and tapped the dying wood like a nuthatch. Though he was little larger than a lark, this was a woodpecker. The Lesser Spotted Woodpecker. Dendrocopus minor. The smallest woodpecker in Europe. Number 455 on Hank¢s life list (no.339 on mine).        Hank spotted him during this week¢s long run. I had been concerned that strenuous activities such as hiking would not be compatible with a patient hobby such as birding. But while running fourteen miles, we saw nineteen different species ¢ and this was along the streets and in the parks of Paris.         moorhen, kestrel, cormorant, pigeon, house sparrow, long tailed tit, blue tit, magpie, ruddy shelduck, mute swan, mallard, starling, canada goose, goldcrest, black headed gull, european robin, green woodpecker, carrion crow, and the lesser spotted woodpecker        The trick to simultaneously running and birding is to be sharp with your id¢s. We¢ve spent so much time studying our guidebook and looking at birds in the field that we did not even break pace for the eighteen other species. But when Hank saw the unfamiliar woodpecker delicately probing the twigs for its dinner of spiders, larvae, and wood boring insects, we slowed down for a moment. Seemed like a good time for a walking break anyway.        His tiny size was the most noticeable. He was practically a woodpecker dwarf: short plump body with a small round head and tiny bill. His back was black but noticeably white striped, as were his wings. He had a little red crown, but his vent was white, unlike most of Europe¢s black and white woodpeckers. We stored the markings in memory; we had six more miles to run before we could look him up.         Turns out it was a lucky sighting. Even though the Lesser Spotted Woodpecker is widely distributed across Europe, he is an elusive little rascal, probably due to his small size and arboreal nature. Indeed, upon noticing us looking at him, he flew in his deeply undulating flight to a tree farther from the path. The shy little cutie.         So we thank you, Lesser Spotted Woodpecker. You bring Hank one bird closer to his party. You remind us to keep up our power point study flash cards of the Appalachian birds so that we will be quick with our id¢s this summer. And you are ridiculously adorable.
Date: 2008-02-15
To: The Tart, the Trail, the Topography
Miles today: 0.0

Lest our affairs oblige us to keep company elsewhere, our Friday evenings find Hank and me cast in the blue glow of a movie and enjoying a bottle of spirits. This tradition, though limited by the tiny size of our computer monitor, is greatly enhanced by the incredible deliciousness of French wine and cheese. A full-bodied Sancerre paired with rich goat cheese from the Loire Valley. Oh, exquisite! Serve on a still-hot-from-the-oven baguette with a ripe pear. Yum. And if we are splurging (or just every week), a delicious handmade pistachio and apricot tart.Tis a rough life here in Paris. Indeed, a rough life.The Saturday variation of date-night includes Hank¢s stove top hot cocoa, a couple games of Pente, and following the AT on maps with our fingers. Some, not all, of our maps and guide books have arrived here in Paris. Enough to instill a bit of topographic terror as we look at all those tiny lines squished together.Actually, we have come across several locations that create ideal conditions for a ¢Sommerrodelbahn ¢of fun¢.¢ As we discovered during a spring holiday in Unterammergau, when wild flowers replace the snow in the Alps, one can still zip down the mountains in a summer luge, a sort of individualized roller coaster. Perhaps I will write the ATC about such an instillation.There are several occasions on the map, especially in Maine, when we nervously laughed at the comical elevation profiles. These mountain caricatures show several seemingly-less-than 90° inclines. I told Hank that this is where we pull out our ultra-light hang gliders and soar to the bottom. I¢ve not hang glided before (life list to do # 98), but I¢ve seen a flying squirrel coast from a tall pine to the soft ground as I lay dozing in my hammock on a perfect twilight evening. Seems like an elegant, efficient method for transversing space.Alternatively, we could jump.Quiz: (Fact/Fiction) You can jump to the bottom of an embankment.Fact. In his younger days, my uncle ran and leapt off a 25+ ft embankment in an attempt to ¢jump onto the railroad tracks below,¢ or so the story goes. Turns out that, with the aid of gravity, one can indeed successfully jump, in one mighty leap, to the bottom of a steep hill.   However, we also learned from this story that the consequences of such action result in bodily injury and serious pain.I think perhaps we will be purists and follow the white blazes down the mountains.
Date: 2008-02-23
To: Paradox
Miles today: 0.0

The villain of today is Zeno of Elea. He does not believe it is possible that I will finish the Appalachian Trail. Nay, Zeno holds that I will not even begin the AT.         In Zeno¢s paradox, I will never reach Springer Mountain from Katahdin, as I must always get half-way there, and half of the half, and half of that half, and so on ¢ to an infinite number of halves. Zeno maintains that it is an impossibility to complete an infinite number of tasks in a finite amount of time.         In fact, if we follow this to its paradoxical conclusion, Zeno holds that I can not actually begin. To begin, I need a first distance to hike, but there is no first distance, because the entire distance is being halved infinitely!              No, Zeno, I will leave the refutation of this to those who argue more eloquently than I. I will instead summit Katahdin and walk the white blazed infinite halves to Georgia.        Consider instead Moore¢s paradox: ¢It¢s raining outside but I don¢t believe that it is.¢ Though intended to illustrate the notion of absurdity, it might be a much more practical mind game to ponder on the trail. I¢m bringing my marmot preclip rain gear anyway ¢ I love that light breathable orange jacket.        Or perhaps I will ponder the paradox of hedonism: in seeking happiness, one does not find happiness. Hiking is not a means towards pleasure so much as I like hiking. I am happiest when my mind is fixed on something other than my own happiness. Thus by hiking I will find happiness along the way ¢ Bonus!         Plus, I know from experience that my happiness is enhanced by keeping company with Hank. And mint chocolate chip ice-cream. Yum¢¦ice-cream.        My, what a silly mood I am in today!
Date: 2008-03-02
To: An Argument for Filters
Miles today: 0.0

Tiny critters cavort about in a droplet of water. I have seen them: rotifers swirling, cross-eyed planaria slinking, delicate hydras waving their long tentacles¢¦until they snatch up a naive daphnia. They will cost us ounces. Sort of.Hank has previously benefited from a quality water filter. During a summer of drought, he was able to extract water from a trickle of a source - thanks to his water pump. When choosing our water purification system, this was Hank¢s primary argument for a filter. (I was exploring the lighter chemical and the ultraviolet light alternatives.) Then my Dad began sending us evidence that strengthened Hank¢s choice.My Dad has recently acquired a microscope, and he uses it to discover all the creepy crawlies that lurk about the edge of the pond. He photographs his findings and e-mails me the pictures, like the one above, so that I get to play with his toy virtually. The technological age is so awesome!One day he sent me a video of a black fly larva. And let me tell you, that thing is ugly. Scrawny and semi-segmented. Transparent so that you can see its digestive tract full of brown whatever. It lurked across the screen. It and its stiff scraggly hairs. It and its gaping suctiony mouth. Though it was cool to see (indeed, a great video clip), I just assume not drink one of those. Hank can have his filter: MRS Miniworks it is.Apparently, there are some things I just do not want to think about: the contents of my hot dog and what exactly skulks about in my drinking water.
Date: 2008-03-11
To: Topless
Miles today: 0.0

waa = a French word I didn¢t understand¢waa waa waa. Lock the door. waa waa waa waa. Take off your shirt. waa waa. Yes, topless. waa waa waa. No bra. waa waa waa waa waa waa. Photograph. waa.¢And so it was that I found myself sitting half naked in a tiny room with two doors. The first was locked; the second led into a mystery room. The French government apparently wants a picture of my chest. I need a visa, so I comply.The second door opens. The room is dark and full of equipment. I am led to an ¢X¢ on the floor, mushed against a white sheet, and told ¢waa waa waa. Stand still.¢ The machine is warm and vibrates. Oh, an x-ray. That¢s not nearly so risqu©. My internal photograph in hand, I go down the hall to the government doctor. He stamps a bunch of forms, puts a sphygmomanometer around my arm, and sends me off with a ¢you have good blood pressure.¢ Well, good. The French government signs off on my health.Apparently, this is not sufficient for the Marathon de Paris, which requires that I have a certificat m©dical. So the next day, I find my arm squeezed by another sphygmomanometer by another doctor. He sighs and signs my form. ¢You have good blood pressure,¢ he says. ¢But these long distances will ruin your body.¢Sheesh, glad I didn¢t mention the trail!So what if he¢s right and I ¢ruin¢ my body this way! The mountain views, the plants in bloom, the animals encounters, in fact, all the AT experiences will be worth it. And I¢ll still have good blood pressure.
Date: 2008-03-15
To: I Can Eat Anything
Miles today: 0.0

Two great things come from running twenty miles: the opportunity to see cool birds in the outskirts of Paris and the excuse to ¢refuel¢ (eat goodies) the rest of the day.   Yeah, sure, the feeling of accomplishment exists, and there are, of course, bragging rights for running so far. But I saw twenty-five bird species today and then ate hot tamales ¢ and that¢s just awesome!Let the listing begin!BIRDS: pigeon, house sparrow, blackbird, mute swan, mallard duck, black-headed gull, herring gull, wren, blue tit, great tit, long-tailed tit, kestrel, barnacle goose, greylag goose, canada goose, shelduck, starling, coot, moorhen, european robin, magpie, carrion crow, chaffinch, wood pigeon, and yellow wagtail (25)CALORIES BURNED: 1707 (according to my Garmin Forerunner 101)LOST CALORIES REPLACED WITH: 3 energy gels, 2 bowls Lucky Charms, 2 bowls Cocoa Puffs, a piece of Salmon, a heaping serving of ratatouille, tons of buttery rice, 5 cookies and a box of hot tamalesAnd we are still hungry and ravenously eating anything in sight. In the spirit of having an irrational AT fear, running out of food is ours. After our long runs we are deliriously hungry, but happily return to a well stocked fridge. This is not a luxury available to us on the trail. Hank just knows we will starve.Yeah, sure, there are plenty of places to purchase groceries if we run low on supplies. And we can eat at restaurants every few days if we need to/want to. And if we find ourselves in a real pickle, chances are a good Samaritan will help us out. But what is the fun of having an IRRATIONAL fear, if we spoil it by considering the legitimate reasons for its refutation?
Date: 2008-03-26
To: Insanity Acknowledged, a short one-act play
Miles today: 0.0

Characters: Hank (H), Andrea (A)Setting: The Rieselfedler Wildlife Refuge, near M14nster, Germany. The temperature flirts about zero degrees, but feels at least eighty below due to the ridiculously blustery wind.ACT IH: Hey¢¦I can still feel my toes!A: Showoff.H: Are you crying?A: No. It¢s the wind. It¢s ripping tears from my eyes.H: Do we need to get you back to the car? Get you warmed up?A: No! There are supposed to be Reed Buntings ahead.H: Oh, good. Because I was hoping we might pick up some White Storks and Great Crested Grebes while we were here.[Begin snowfall. White-out, pelting-you-in-the-eye snow]A: Well, this is going to make seeing those White Storks a little trickier.H: If it is like this on the AT, are you going to be able to keep hiking like you keeping birding?A: No.H: No!? But you are always so resilient.A: If AT conditions are like this, we are hiking straight off the trail to the nearest outfitters and buying all new WARMER gear. Resilience will not be trumped by stupidity.H: Okay. For a moment, I thought you lost your resolve.A: Don¢t be silly. It¢s just snow.[Wind and snow increase to seemingly arctic levels.]A: Hey, Dear, do you remember those ambitions I had to work a season on Antarctica?H: You had ambitions to work on Antarctica?A: Nope, not anymore.EPILOGE: During their recent wintery birding excursion to Germany and the Netherlands, Hank and Andrea saw 61 species, 12 of which were lifers. Andrea promises a big smile as soon as her face thaws out and her face muscles begin functioning properly.