Just To Say I Did It

It amazes me how, even after over six decades of experiences, I am still learning new things about myself.

I thought I had trained well for our hike on the Appalachian Trail. We really wanted to feel the true experience. Even though we didn’t intend to camp out, we still carried with us the necessary items in our backpacks, just in case.  Having what we needed if we were forced to spend the night along the trail, there was still great comfort in knowing our hotel room was graciously waiting for us.

We found a shuttle driver who drove us twelve miles away from Harper’s Ferry, and the goal was to walk back to our car.

We didn’t know the trail wasn’t really a trail.

It was a pile of rocks to navigate. For twelve brutal miles.

Our shuttle driver told us that the steep ascent  from the Blackburn Trail Center would be the hardest part of the trip.

He lied.

It was a way to jump right into our experience, though—that is for sure. It seemed like it took forever to climb up, but once we were on the summit, the view was amazing. Only fifteen minutes into our trek, and we thought we had just completed the biggest challenge of our day. I am literally laughing out loud right now.

I did well until after about six hours. Then it wasn’t fun any more.

The rocks in the path had sharp edges, were of various sizes, and unstable. My size 9.5 hiking boots were far bigger than the spaces between them. No amount of motor planning skills properly prepared me for this constant (and rather grueling) trek through the rocks.  After about the twentieth time of twisting my ankle from guessing wrong about where to place my next step I decided this wasn’t at all what I thought it would be.

My traveling companion was moving more quickly than I was by this point. On level ground, our gait was about even, but with all of this motor planning needed with each step, I found myself lagging behind and then trying to hurry to catch up. Of course, the extra effort over the grueling rocks took its toll after awhile.

The other factor was the constant climbing and then the ensuing descent. Words can barely describe the feeling of the immense pressure on the tips of my toes as they jammed into the top of my boots with the incredibly steep downward path.  All of this was, mind you, still navigating over many rocks. Just when we thought we would have a reprieve, it lasted, at the most fifteen yards or so.  There were times we just stopped and wondered how anyone in their right mind would call this a trail. To me, it seemed more like a mountain exploded in front of us, and we had to walk across it.

Every fifteen to twenty minutes, we should expect to see a white rectangular blaze, painted on a tree to inform us that we actually were still on the AT. There were multiple times that I would ask my companion if she had recently seen a blaze. Neither of us could look up long enough to notice the blazes. Every time we took our eyes off of our feet, we would trip on yet another huge rock. It truly is a miracle that I did not actually sprain an ankle, because I sure had plenty of opportunity. We didn’t have the luxury of enjoying the scenery, with our eyes glued to planning the next carefully placed step.

Only about seven others passed us on the trail. All of them were through-hikers. That means they started in either Georgia or Maine and planned to walk the entire length of the AT. We should have wondered why we never saw another day-hiker the entire time. I think I know why!

We didn’t see much animal life – a toad, an inchworm, a beautiful dragonfly, and a feral cat stuck in a tree, plus a ton of squirrels scampering around was about it. We did see plenty of droppings, so we knew some critters were around, enjoying the prolific berries along the way.

But what we did have were the mosquitoes. I stopped and resprayed my concoction of citronella, lemongrass and another deet-free bug repellant far more times than recommended, but it did not stop the most torturous part of the trip. That shrill buzz of the mosquito in my ear is the one thing that removes all of my ability to stay in control of my emotions. That, along with being overheated with sweat dripping from everywhere, pushed me over my limit. It was here that I came to the end of my strength. I started cussing at the mosquitoes. My friend laughed, and in shock of seeing me in such a weakened, out of character state, promptly gave me my trail name. She called me “Mosquito” the rest of the trip.

When we finally came to what we thought was the end of our hike, I was out of water, and more than ready to say I had no desire for a second day of this, as we had originally planned.

The directions to my car were unclear. We followed what we thought were the right signs to the visitor’s parking lot. But to get there, (although only .4 of a mile, according to the sign), was the steepest ascent of our entire journey. It seemed like it was almost 90 degrees straight up. The dirt path turned to steep steps. We put our heads down, climbing each one, thinking we were almost there. About three-fourths of the way up was a bench. I literally collapsed onto it, and tore off my backpack that now weighed at least a thousand pounds, I’m sure. I don’t ever recall my heart rate being that high, and I was light-headed, ready to pass out.  My friend picked a handful of raspberries from one of the many bushes around us, and as I gobbled them up, I could feel my heart going back to a more normal rhythm. I glanced at the next set of straight up steps, and thoughts of a hot shower and good meal propelled me forward.

As we cleared the top, I had this major “uh-oh” feeling. I knew we had taken the wrong path. Instead of getting back to my car, we had instead moved into the upper levels of the town of Harper’s Ferry. My phone told me we were now 3.5 miles from my car. I wanted to cry, but then I saw the blessings. No rocks.  I can do this!

We walked back down the hill—on a real sidewalk, and saw a bistro. We had a choice. We could rush to try to maybe find the last bus that would shuttle us to the visitor lot, or eat. We decided to eat.

Entering this rather fancy bistro, we thought we were far too grubby and disgusting to actually be there, but the waitress assured us it was fine. I found the ladies room (up another very steep staircase) and washed off the first layer of grime and bug spray. I also was quite grateful for a real toilet once again. I had never before wished that I had man-parts until this afternoon when I needed to pee in the woods for the third time.

I had no idea how we would actually do the remaining miles back to the car, but I figured that something other than the Cliff bars and meat sticks I had eaten for lunch seven long hours ago needed to be consumed in order to figure it out.

My friend was too tired to order, so I suggested she get their specialty of Mac and Cheese. She kept saying it tasted bad, and evidently it was because she ended up in the restroom for the remainder of the evening.  We didn’t get the chance to celebrate with the wine I had brought along.

As we were getting ready to leave the bistro, we told the waitress about how we missed the last shuttle to get to our car, and she offered to have her son drive us.

It was quite the blessing to throw our packs into the car and not on our backs again. I am not sure I actually could have put that blasted thing on again anyway.

We paid the kid $20.00 and he was stunned, asking, “Are you sure?” Frankly, I would have given him more. It was worth that for every inch of the way back to my car.

Our hotel was just a mile away, and a hot shower washed away the rest of the evidence of our nine-hour day.

Until I tried to walk, that is.

Still a bit sore, but the next morning we managed to drive the 443 miles back, stopping every so often to move our noodle-legs. With each stop, it took a few seconds for my brain to get my legs to actually remember how to walk.

Deciding to take another hike at our local park the next day, we hiked six miles without a hitch. I wondered why I traveled 886 miles round trip, when we had this glorious hiking path just a half-hour from my house.

But with all this said, I would do it again, just to say I did it.