Not an epilogue...

It's been over a month since we finished the trail. I'm having trouble processing this fact.

At some point on the trail I began to think that nothing else existed. There was only walking. There was only constant forward movement. But the movement came to an end. Honestly, it was anticlimactic, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I don't want to talk about the trail right this moment. I want to talk about life as of right now. Why? Because I still intend on talking about the trail, but later. I still have yet to write about any of Maine, and man is there some stuff to say about that section of the trail.

So right now. Let's talk about that.

It's been over a month, I got that far right? I'm currently in Eugene, Oregon. All of us are. It came to attention just recently that no one really knows a whole lot about us, and that's my fault. We're from Oklahoma... well, kind of. We're kind of nomadic. Me and Stevie were born in Oklahoma, and that's where we met Cheyanne, so let's say we're from Oklahoma. But we tend to seek out mountains, so here we are in Eugene.

Me and Cheyanne are working at a vegan greasy spoon joint called Cornbread Cafe (which gained some notoriety when it was featured on a famous television show hosted by Guy Fieri). If you're ever in Eugene you should probably check it out. Words can't express how relieving it is to work at an all vegan restaurant, but regardless, it's still work. And god damn have I been working. So I apologize for the fact that I've basically abandoned my internet pursuits for the moment.

You see, I'm in debt. All of us are. Mostly from hospital bills. And yet I'm still suffering, from what? I'm still not sure, but I got diagnosed with "post infection IBS", whatever the fuck that means. But hope is on the horizon, I should have health insurance soon and with that as my catalyst I think I'll finally be on the path to convalescence. That whole debt thing though, well it's got me working overtime every week trying to unbury myself.

The "real world" beckons with responsibilities and is not-so-slowly crushing me under the weight of its terrible burdens. As much as I suffered on the trail, I look back at that time with nostalgia and longing, often finding myself on the trail again at night in my dreams, only to wake and discover that I'm back inside the confines of a house, in a city, listening to the sounds of traffic.

And I despair.

Anyhow, my intention for this blog was to be informative. Ha, I didn't really accomplish that. But I guess it was at least moderately entertaining. So I just went with it. I find that I enjoy this whole memoiresque writing thing, especially about things worthy of writing about (like living in the forest for five months). So I'll continue to do that, but in the meantime, I still need to heal, and that's going to take some time. Regardless, I have some plans for the future.

That whole informative side to the blog? It's coming, I promise. You see I have this idea that I'm going to write a "Vegan's Guide to the AT". It's going to exist in three parts, ONE) thruhiking gear, what's vegan and why it's worth having, TWO) resupplies, what we used, what worked for us, and where you'll absolutely need to send dropboxes, and THREE) a comprehensively list of every grocery store along the trail and what they have to offer in the way of vegan goodies. It'll be available for free on this blog, and hopefully I can get it organized into a nice little PDF that peeps can maybe put on their smartphones. So you see, it won't be too much information, but it should at least help to educate anyone who might be interested in doing the trail, and doesn't necessarily apply only to vegans.

Also, gear and food reviews are going to be abundant in the near future, so watch out for those.

As for the name of this blog... well, it's got to change. You see, I'm not on the AT anymore, and I plan on going on other adventures, so I need a name that's more comprehensive... maybe Vegan On The Trail? Nah that sucks, but whatever, I'll figure it out sooner or later.

That's all for now.

Still not dead, still not giving up, still (and forever) vegan,
Colton

Day 141: I stand in awe of my body.

We're officially out of the Whites. It feels weird to be so stoked about that statement, considering how long I desired to finally be in the Whites. But they were hard as all get out, and I can't wait to have more control over where we camp.

The Yellow Deli drops us off at Rattlesnake River at about noon. We want to make it 17 miles to a shelter that we believe will be uninhabited by other thruhikers. The shelter is just beyond the border of Maine, and making it into our final state is another huge motivation.

The first ten miles are easy cruisin' and even though we're not in Maine yet I start thinking, "Ha, everyone says Maine is hard, and this is eeeasy!" Before long though, the climbs start, the trail gets relatively shittier, and I know that we're in for a struggle.

There's one major difference in this day though, and it's not the trail. It's how I feel. You see, for the last few days I've been doing a pretty significant diet change. That is, I have pretty much limited my sugar intake to less than 20 grams a day. No small feat for the real world, and an incredibly enormous feat for the trail. This means my diet is pretty restricted, and I find myself eating mostly rice, rice noodles, potato chips, and peanut butter. I know that I can't do this for the long term (because of obvious nutritional concerns), but right now I feel awesome. Awesome as in no abdominal pain, no need to evacuate, no constant threat of shitting my pants, no pressure on my intestines, no microscopic goblins hacking up the inside of my stomach with rusty pickaxes (that's how I envision my problems at this point). So I'm flying up and down mountains. I'm literally skipping down the trail listening to a playlist I made with nothing but nostalgic high school era jams. The songs are embarrassing, but I don't care. I'm dancing and singing with complete disregard for the fact that someone might hear me. It's as if an invisible force has hijacked my brain and exterminated by ability to worry and all that's left is pure undulated bliss.

This is how I feel as I make my ascent of Mount Success, the final mountain top in New Hampshire.

I'm charging up the mountain, literally yelling the words to my favorite high school jams, using my poles like drumsticks to emphasize the rhythm, and as I make my final climb, I took and look back at the sun throwing rays of light through the clouds.

Awesome. I feel awesome. Life is good. God damn.

The wind speeds on top of the mountain are crazy and they're tossing me around like a rag doll, and my sudden change in mindset interprets this as fun rather than annoying. So I do what anyone would do. I drop my bag and have an impromptu single person dance party as the sun sets on the Whites in the distance.

Before long Cheyanne catches up, gives me an eyebrow raised look as if to say, "What did I just catch you doing?" Unashamed, I run off across the bald peak still singing like a total idiot.

Before going back down into the trees, or what we affectionately call "Tree Mile" rather than "Tree Line" because of a speaking error on the part of Cheyanne, I pause.

I turn around, take one last look at the Ghost of Mountains Past. I hold my finger up in front of me, putting it on top of Mount Washington and slowly trace it over the peaks of the Presidentials and down the ridge that brought us into Pinkham Notch, then along the Wildcats and down into Rattlesnake River. I turn back around, looking off into the distance or, "The Mountains Yet to Come". Beyond them somewhere is Katahdin. I feel its presence pulsing gently in my chest, pulling me like a magnet.

Here, on this peak, looking back at where we've been and where we're going, a warmth pushes the anxiety inducing pull of Katahdin to the side and I realize the warmth is pride. We walked here. Over those mountains, over mountains beyond those, over mountains beyond those! And I can physically see what we've done! A sentiment comes to mind, one that would echo in my subconscious for many days to come. Henry David Thoreau, in describing his ascent of Katahdin, once said, "I stand in awe of my body."

Sometimes it feels like it's killing me. Sometimes it feels like I can spread wings and fly to the fucking moon. Sometimes it's eh. But always, it is there, taking punishment and providing me with input. It's always there. And it's a beautiful feeling, the feeling of  BEING a BODY. I am my body, and my body is capable of so much. And so in this moment that I realize what I've subjected myself to and survived, I take a step back (metaphorically) and just cherish the vehicle that allows me to experience. 

My body, and all of its amazing abilities. The ability to see, and feel, and run, and climb, and move, and maybe most importantly, to suffer.

I stand in awe of my body.

And like that, we're in Maine.