Major Milestones

The last few days have been packed with milestones,  but sadly I have no computer access so I can't show you photos just yet. But don't worry... they're coming. Or, hey, worry all you want. As we say on the trail, "hike your own hike."

The first major milestone happened a week ago, when I hit the 1,000 mile mark and walked out of Virginia, all in one day.  For those of you who don't know, Virginia is a big state,  encolosing about 25% of the entire Appalachian Trail. That's over 500 miles in one state alone, which makes the positive reinforcement that goes along with ticking off major milestones disappear for about a month.  When you add in the lack of regular views, the heat and humidity,  and the beginning of bug and tick season,  you get a handful of hikers with the Virginia Blues. In short: I needed to get out of the state, in a hurry, and last Monday I did. Hooray! Which is not to say that Virginia didn't kick me in the ass on the way out: at the end of the Shenandoah my feet swelled up again, and all of a sudden my boots were too small. Hiking when your boots are a half a size too small is incredibly painful, and in my experience either causes blisters on my toes (I'm looking at you, first 30 miles in Georgia) or loss of feeling in the tips of my toes (which is hopefully not permanent). Either way, bad news. Thankfully I was able to pick up a pair of $25 KMART shoes and walked 60 miles out of the state in those (for the record,  they held up better than three of my five pairs of Keens).

Walking out of Virginia and into West Virginia made me a bit emotional,  as did signing in as a thru hiker at the ATC.  A friend of mine recently completed a Marathon, and wrote the following on my Facebook wall: "I discovered that the emotion of the finish line transcends the numbers. I hope you have tears of joy when your foot hits the Earth on the last step of your journey." Based on my reaction to the ceremonial halfway point, I'm going to be bawling my eyes out on the top of Katahdin, regardless of whether I finish it in three months or three years. (Note to self: bring a hankie. Or three.)

In the past week I left West Virginia (but I didn't want to, because Harper's Ferry is a beautiful and historical time suck of a town), entered and left Maryland, crossed the Mason-Dixon line (back to the land of no eye contact from strangers, aka HOME) and have now completed 10% of Pennsylvania (confidential to Virginia: why can't you be more like your neighbors to the north, short and sweet and with lots of places to get a bite to eat?). Today I passed the official halfway point in the pouring rain, and "rewarded" myself by consuming a half gallon of ice cream as part of the Thru Hiker Half Gallon Challenge (I strongly suspect that my brain cells are dying off in massive quantities because looking back to this morning, the only thing I can definitively say is that I might have one upped my 'backpack in the woods because I wanted a milkshake' story). Friends, I hope you don't need me to say this, but don't eat a half gallon of ice cream in one sitting. It may seem like fun at first, but is one of the most revolting experiences I've ever had, and has made the thought of consuming just about any cold dairy based treat absolutely nauseating.  In short, don't try this at home. (But if you do, try to beat my time: 3 hours, 45 minutes. It shouldn't be hard, as most people who attempt this most assinine of challenges complete it in under an hour.)

Another milestone that passed by quietly was me dropping my pretence of having a Plan B in case Plan AT didn't work out. (Plan B, for those of you I didn't want to frighten with the details,  involved three months bumming my way through Central America, learning Spanish, and frying my skin on the beach.) Sometime in the last 1000 miles I lost interest in Plan B. Radar, a thru hiker from 2007 and 2010, said it best, "Eventually the AT stops being optional,  and starts becoming a quest." If I'm forced off the trail tomorrow due to injury,  I know I will be back to finish.  This has become who I am, and what I do, and is so firmly tied to every fiber of my being that I will finish the trail, even if I have to do so on my hands and knees when I am 80 years old.

Apologies to Tom Waits, but he summarizes my thoughts well (with a minor modification from me):

Spent last night in a cedar grove
I was born to ramble,  born to rove
Some men are searching for the Holy Grail
But there ain't nothing sweeter than walking the trail.