Day 79: Half gallon of alienation.

Firstly, let me state that we finally found the weird halfway place holder. But not only is the mileage wrong and not matching what it reads, it's not even in the correct spot for the halfway point this year.

So there you have it, more invisible pseudo progress.

Besides that, today was uneventful. We did 25 miles (a pretty big day), but it was on easy tread and didn't seem like a whole lotta work. As of now I'm jamming some Grimes on spotify (cause I have baller service at this campsite) and eating way too much oatmeal (carb load every day yo).

The only thing of note today was that we made it to Pine Grove Furnace State Park (where they have the AT museum and do the half gallon challenge).

For those who don't know, the half gallon challenge is a tradition for thruhikers, one in which they consume (or attempt to consume) a half gallon of ice cream in one go. Needless to say, we did not partake in this tradition, as is often the case, and it got me thinking about the various ways in which we're alienated on this trail.

1) We don't party.

At least not in the way that most do. You know, smoking, drinking, drugs, rock and roll. That whole bit. Well, maybe we can get down on some rock and roll, but not the rest. You see, none of us partake of any substance, and partying is a huuuuge part of the trail for some (if not most) people. Also, trail angels typically offer us beer... Which we politely decline.

2) We don't eat animal products (obvi).

There's a million and a half ways that this isolates us from the rest of the group. Trail magic is mostly burgers and hot dogs, trail towns offer us nothing in the way of restaurants (with few exceptions), we can't yogi (a hiker term, v. to panhandle food from other hikers), hiker boxers rarely manifest much in the way of vegan food (if it's even labeled), and I have to spend a thousand hours every day declining food from polite strangers which leaves me feeling exhausted and bitter (but is obviously not their fault).

There are other less apparent ways in which we don't quite belong with the AT community (ultralight being frowned upon mostly), but those are the big two. Sometimes I'm less conscious of being alienated, but sometimes I'm hyper aware, and watching hikers devour homogenized flavored cow's milkfat by the gallon whilst passers by continue to inquire if I've eaten my gallon yet and what flavor to get makes for an incredibly alienating experience.

Just sayin'.

On a side note, my hair is finally long and awesome and my shirt is badass.

I'm going to lay down, listen to the somewhat distant roar of water, and try to ignore the dozens of frogs jumping around my tent that at first was entertaining and novel and is now just obnoxious.

Peace y'all.

Day 78: Chlorinated swimmin' hole.

Mile 1084.8: Quarry Gap Shelter.

We've encountered the famous ankle breaking, thruhike ending rocks of Pennsylvania. But honestly, I don't mind them. In fact they were pretty fun, even if they do slow us down some.

We've been hiking recently with our homie Phu (who also began April 12th). He's a pretty optimistic fellow, and I've come to take for granted the morale boost he provides our group.

Today was easy; the weather was nice and the trail was forgiving as we casually strolled through Pennsylvania. I never even had to filter wate cause we hit so many campsites!

One such campsite was actually a park with a community pool... And it was baller.

So we lived out our Sandlotesque community pool fantasies for a couple hours before heading to the shelter just a couple miles up trail... It is also baller.

This shelter even has its own caretakers and small garden, and also, this:

Yeah. Those are stone turtles and a little stone turtle home. What the hell, this shelter rules.

Day 77: Gettin' there.

It feels like we pass a lot of imaginary lines these days, which is great for morale. Tomorrow will be the official halfway point. Huzzah huzzah.

The miles, once again, were relatively easy today, and believe it or not, I'm almost dry, even though my phone is waterlogged again. Which is no surprise cause literally everything gets wet when it rains for over a day straight, there's no way around it. 

All in all, today was an interesting day.

We walked up on a bunch of old people dancing to a live band in a pavilion...

We ate cashew milk ice cream from Walmart...

We made it into Pennsylvania...

We got trail magic twice...

We drank coffee from Sheetz...

And went to the highest point in Maryland... And it was hella graffitied...

Me and Phu (our hiking companion as of now) got lost on a forest service road...

All of these things serve as a reminder that the trail is not simply hiking around in the woods, it's actually the weirdest experience ever.

Day 76: A tree might kill me.

Mile 1054.5: Ensign Cowall Shelter.

Today was a day of extremes. Extreme wind and extreme rain to be exact. So extreme that I kept thinking, "Have I ever been as uncomfortable as I am right now in this moment?"

Have you ever walked along a heavily forested ridge, winds at 70 mph, wondering what sort or action to take if a tree starts to fall?

It's funny, we know what to do when we encounter bears, mountain lions, etc. but we have no idea how to deal with trees.

I assume the best course of action would be to get close to another tree, preferably a large one, and hope that the aforementioned falling tree will get caught in your newly imposed tree guardian.

Anyhow, earlier this year a thruhiker died in this same section, killed by a tree. So I thought it pretty unfortunate that we just so happened to be here in this forest of killer trees with straight up tornadic wind gusts.

Let it also be known that the trails were more like streams, wait no, torrential rivers, today. As I waded through the brown knee deep liquid, in an attempt to be in a better mental place, I imagined myself sitting in a recliner, in front of a fire place, reading a Robert Jordan novel and sipping on espresso.

This tactic didn't help. Comfort levels remained at an all time low.

But we made it to a shelter and are drying out, drinking hot chocolate (with dope powdered soy milk that our trail friends East and Toed sent to us), and chillin' hard.

To Live Deliberately.

Almost halfway into this hike, and I think I finally found a way to put to words why I'm here doing this.

"I went to the woods to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

- Henry David Thoreau

See, that's a pretty famous quote, and one I identify with strongly, but what does it mean and how does it still apply in the year 2015? 

I'll do my best to explain:

In our every day lives we're assaulted by a continuous stream of manufactured experiences. Experiences that don't necessary have any value beyond temporarily relieving us of going through the motions of work, sleep, eat.

Yeah, yeah, certain shows and movies and music can provoke strong emotional reactions, but they're meant to do that. In fact, the vast majority of people consuming the same media are probably having a ridiculously similar emotional experience as you. It's totally synthetic, manufactured. It was made entirely with that purpose in mind, to entertain on the most superficial level. And the worst part is that so many of us are convinced that these experiences are authentic, real.

But they're not. They're designed to seduce and pacify. To alleviate the stagnancy of our real lives. You know, the boring process of work, sleep, eat. And they leave us just satisfied enough to not seek out something more, something grander and more profound. They destroy the potential within all of us before we realize it's even there.

And so our lives play out and we do nothing. We become nothing. And we die, finding that we have not lived.

And so I'm scared. But also I'm invigorated. Filled with a restlessness that cannot be satiated.

Flashback to May 1st. I'm in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It's very, very early morning and it's cold. So cold. It snowed the night previous because I guess the Smokies didn't get the memo that Spring was here.

I'm wearing literally every piece of gear I have, including my rain jacket, in a failed attempt to maintain a comfortable body temperature. But I'm not comfortable. My whole body is wet, the trail is mud and slush, and I didnt sleep at all the night previous (on account of Cold, and also on account of Two Teenagers Laying The Wrong Way In The Shelter And Kicking Me In The Head All Night). Regardless, I'm going fast, absently munching on a bland macro bar and barely taking notice of the flavor. My mind is on other things.

Like my immediate environment.

At 6000 feet following a snowstorm, the trail looks and feels like purgatory. I haven't seen anyone else in probably ten miles and for all I know, I've stepped off the side of the world and will wander through a haze of fog eternally.

The snow seems to be growing horizontally off the tree branches, three inches thick, on account of the wind.

But as I struggle down the trail listening to the melodic drone of Jesu, something starts to happen. The sun is coming out, trying its damnedest to pierce the thick layer of mist.

It begins to win, and just as a ray of sunlight hits my face, a wind picks up, gathering the snow and ice from the trees, bringing it to lightly grace the only exposed part of my body, my face. It immediately melts and falls to the forest floor, evaporating almost instantly, too quick to make any sense, and just as I watch the steam rise from the ground, Justin Broadrick croons through my headphones, "Silver's just another gold..."

A smile parts my sunburned lips, cracking my just-healed scabs. I unconsciously lick them dry and immediately taste blood.

In this moment, witnessed by no one, manufactured by no one, I know this experience to be mine, fully mine.

And I realize, I am alive, and I will not squander my life.

Day 75: Keep on keepin' on.

Mile 1040.6: Dahlgren Backpack Campground. 

The miles have been easy, I just took a free shower, and I haven't had to filter any water yet today. Awesome.

I learned a couple hundred miles into this trail that it isn't about athleticism or being mentally capable of hiking fast for ten hours or more a day (it's only a little about those things), it's about being able to walk 20 miles a day up and down poorly maintained trails with a twenty pound pack and not injure yourself.

But let me be clear, I injure myself all the time. It's a constant struggle. Sometimes I'm coming down a steep incline and my knees feel like they're going to explode, or I roll my ankle and my tendons start acting up, or I put too much strain on my calves rather than my thighs and my shins begin to protest, so I switch to targeting my thighs and suddenly my quads or my hamstrings begin to develop sharp, stabbing pains. I could go on forever, but I think you get the point.

All of the injuries listed above are what I would call "overuse injuries", and those are bad, but guess what, we're out here and we're "overusing" our bodies. There's no way around it. But regardless, we have to get up every morning and put in more miles. And so we do. And that makes for a difficult convalescence.

It also makes us tough (or stupid) as shit. Because eventually we learn to deal, and the pain dulls to background noise.

So this is where I'm at today. I have a new pain, one that I can deal with, but it's slowed me down as I try to figure out how to use my trekking poles to keep most of the weight off my right ankle. Why am I doing this? Because I'm afraid of a stress (hairline) fracture, a potentially serious injury that could have me putting miles in on crutches if it gets too serious.

I'm a little stressed (pun intended) about it, but regardless of what happens. I'll find a way.

We look good, I know.

Day 71, 72, 73: Please get me out of Virginia.

Flashback to Mile 1002.9: Bear's Den Hostel.

Just finished "The Rollercoaster". Named so because the elevation gain and loss in such a short period of time makes it look (but not quite feel) like a rollercoaster. Or at least it looks like one on an elevation map. Let me tell you, giardia took something out of me (my athletic ability, or at least some of it), and what was once easy is now very hard. Or maybe it's just the heat/humidity. The last few days have seemed to stretch on forever with nothing to look forward to.

So we're still in Virginia, but only until tomorrow, so I guess we have that look forward too. Thank the sweet merciful father above for that, I cannot wait to be out of this state. Say goodbye to the Virginia Blues.

I know it's irrational, and West Virginia (Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York too) promises more of the same, but I can't help but associate Virginia with everything awful about the trail.

Let me rant for a minute:

1) It's gone on forever. Seriously. If nothing else it feels like we're finally making progress by leaving this state.

2) I had giardia for over 300 miles of trail in Virginia.

3) Ticks. They're everywhere now.

4) Rattlesnakes. Virginia's got 'em.

But TOMORROW! We're done with Virginia! It's all over! Right? Right?!

And can I get a round of applause for being over 1000 miles in? God dang it feels good. We just hiked a thousand miles. It seems pretty unreal.

You see, I'm trying to maintain a positive attitude because I feel anything but. So let's take a minute to reflect on the good in a series of pictures:

Okay, so I guess it wasn't all bad.

Day 74: The unofficial halfway.

Almost immediately upon leaving Virginia, I noticed something... The miles had gotten so much easier.

What exactly does that mean? Well, it means a lot of things, but only a few that matter to us thruhikers. One, the trail was mostly hard packed dirt. Two, the elevation ascents and descents became almost imperceptible. Three, it's no longer five thousand degrees outside, in fact, it's a little cool (still almost 90 degrees) with a nice breeze.

This only solidified my opinion that Virginia is pretty much just a bad joke. A joke that has to be explained after the fact to make any sense, rendering it unfunny and a little awkward.

So after walking an easy 20 miles, we strolled over the Shenandoah River and into Harper's Ferry (where radical abolitionist John Brown went out like a true baller).

Dang! Too legit.

Anyhow, this town is super weird and really touristy and even though it looks cool and historic, it's pretty whacky. Also, there's no food for us here. Not even a grocery store. There's also nowhere to sleep that doesn't cost a million dollars, so after asking a local, we tented behind a church (hiker trash status elevated).

I woke up at 7:00 am the next morning (that's pretty late for most hikers) and immediately found out that all of Harper's Ferry is completely dead until at least 9. I mean there was literally no one. It was a total ghost town.

At 9 the ATC opened and we took our obligatory pictures:

Then we got our packages. Lots of goodies from friends (including tons of cookies!) and new shirts from Jessica over at Vegan Outdoor Adventures (veganoutdooradventures.com). And damn was it time for a new shirt. This is my old one after a thousand miles:

And now it's time to head out, over the Potomac River and into Maryland, another state in the bag.