After finishing my first entry, I looked up and realized the car was idling. Oops. I apologized to Alex again, complimented by a long chain of thank you’s. Then I got out, hoisted my pack, and began my hike.
… Which lasted all of ten minutes or so before my first official commune with nature. I pissed behind a tree. Not the most glorious beginning, but it was something! Excitement really tickles my bladder.
I’m a few miles in and pausing for a snack break. Granola has never tasted so delicious. I’ve been pretty lax in terms of fitness over the last “few” years, but I did do SOME training leading up to my hike, so I though I was be reasonably prepared. I learned the truth quickly.
My first meaningful uphill progressed thusly. A quarter up, starting to breath heavily; halfway, gasping, awkward stumble, slow down; three quarters, light-headed, downshift until clouds are outpacing me. When I finally reached the top? Overwhelming relief and, “Oh, thank God that’s over!” Delusion squashed; perspective gained.
Not tripping breaking into song and guessing the level soil is this journey’s first major achievement.
I wouldn’t mind burning off a bit of, ahem, accumulated laziness. When the impulse to hike first started niggling me, I read about “the hiker diet,” the physiological metamorphosis extended hikes tend to initiate. When the body is in motion all day, shouldering twenty extra pounds of gear, fat loss is almost guaranteed. Though my slapdash course to Providence is a far cry from the standard mega-hikes, it’s a good starting point, right? Leaving few pounds of myself behind on this trail would be a VERY appreciated side effect.
Lovecraft, Providence, Autumn, adventure – absolutely. That’s what this is all about… butttt… IF I’m being honest, I have been single for longer than I care to admit. If, while enjoying those things, I shine up my “portfolio” just a bit to appeal to potential employers… I mean, where’s the harm?
And now that I have made this embarrassing admission, I’ll just hope that any hikers I see today will assume my tomato hue is purely from physical exertion.
~~~
There is a convenient bench here, so it’s time for lunch. The bench’s other occupants, half-a-dozen still-full water bottles, don’t seem to mind the company. I’ve heard that wild plastic bottles are one of the more dangerous species in the area, but these seem friendly enough. Maybe that’s why their master abandoned them, they proved too tame to serve as synthetic sentries. Strange, strange fauna in these parts.
Just another mile or so and I’ll be out of the park and officially “in the wild.” At that point it’ll just be me, the trees, and the occasional squirrel or chipmunk. Maybe my benchmates have a den around here somewhere. Baby bottles are probably so cute!
~~~
Water break. I really chose a scorcher for my first day out. I filled up all my bottles (the ones I brought with me; I left the free rangers’ back on the bench) before leaving the park and am already putting a hurting on them.
Concerning my embarrassing admission from earlier… let’s just forget I said anything about it, ok? Lips zipped, pinky-swear and all that? Great. Thanks; you’re the best.
But the aftermath of that did get me thinking. While still in the park, I passed a handful of hikers. Most were in groups, but there were a few stragglers. I exchanged smiles, maybe even a few words as we passed; nothing more.
It’s a shame, though. What if, for argument’s sake, I (or anyone else) saw someone on the trail who sparked an immediate buzz of interest? Yes, it would need to be an entirely aesthetic attraction to begin with, but let’s not pretend a lot of relationships don’t start the same.
My point is : how in the heck are you supposed to handle that?
Even if you reach this conclusion before coming astride the other party (hey, that vaguely human-looking speck in the distance sure is appealing!), how much time will you even share in a conversationable distance? You’d need to prattle through all the preliminaries in maybe ten seconds. It’d be like being courted by an auctioneer. If I came up to you, jabbering, “Hi,itssuchanicedaywhereareyouheadeddoyouthinkthatmaybeIcould--”, I would’t blame you in the least for spraying bear mace in my face.
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It could work if you were moving in the same direction as your intended “target.” But everyone hikes at different speeds, don’t they? It wouldn’t afford THAT much more time to get to know one another. Plus, one of you will always be speaking to the back of the other’s head, downwind of any stray sweat blossoms. Romantic.
Ok, for the sake of argument, let’s say all of these requisite factors align. One party alters their pace to match the other’s (and this DOESN’T cause the other party to get creeped), the forward hiker remembers to raise their voice so the follower can hear, and, above all, the two actually jibe. What do two hikers schedule as a date while trailbound? Little Debbies at sunset?
Eh, I’ve had worse dates.
No, that’s wrong. It’s got to be s’mores, right? Surely that’s the best option for two people alone in the forest together…
Yes, there’s that OTHER thing, but I’m going to assume that the s’moring would come first. Nothing sexier than someone who can properly toast a marshmallow.
And if the other party ISN’T interested in being wooed with gooey chocolate sandwiches? I suppose when they stop responding and power-hike the hell away from you, it’s the equivalent of, “It’s not me, it’s you.”
S’mores or bust; that’s how I live my life.
Standing up, my stomach sounds like an aquarium that just sprung a leak. Time to get back to it.
~~~
Dinner. Ok, instead of justifying each entry with an explanation of whichever mundane need I’m satisfying, just assume I’m always eating.
During my research, I discovered that people who attempt the big hikes, like the Appalachian Trail, end up with “Trail Names.” I think they’re sometimes self-assigned, but not necessarily. They stick with you, though. If you become “Lavender Goblin” on your first time out, you keep that moniker throughout your hiking career. That’s a lot of responsibility.
So what should my trail name be? I’ve spent the last several miles thinking about this. “Sweatface,” “Mr. Puddles,” and “Swat” (half my energy is wasted shepherding inquisitive gnats from my eyeballs) all seemed appropriate in the moment, but I think I’ll hold out for a better appellation. “Lovecraft” has been a contender as well, but that may be a tad too on-the-nose. Plus, introducing myself to other hikers as, “Lovecraft, pleased to meet you,” makes it sound like I knit prophylactics. I’d prefer that not to be my legacy when this hike is over.
~~~
I’ve gone about as far as my legs will take me, so I’m relaxing in my tent (I cheated and got a “quick set up” model) and settling in for the night. There’s a little bit of light left, but I’m not going to push my luck.
My legs are scorched. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a welcome sensation; phoenix-like almost. The pain is my muscles tearing through a years-long chrysalis. Break time is over, fellas; get ready for a lot of overtime.
I’ve never kept a journal before, but I’m enjoying it. It’s comforting. I don’t know that I’ll remain so loquacious after a few days of this; most of my down time has been spent rapping on this screen. But I’m going to keep at it. I expected to write maybe a short paragraph or two in the morning and at night, but at this pace, I’ll have a novel of this drivel by trail’s end.
I’m used to being around people, so this degree of isolation – of separation -- is very foreign to me. Writing this all down, though, communicating like there’s someone on the other side of the screen, has helped a lot.
Before leaving, I couldn’t shake being worried about my plan. I may have slept well (TOO well; ask Alex) last night, but it was still an uneasy repose. It’s been like that since I made the decision to hike. It’s created a frustrating daily cycle. During the day, I’m full of excitement and positivity, but when night falls, I shift to doubt, second-guessing, and apprehension. I think I slept so well last night because I lost too much sleep previous nights and my body didn’t have any other choice. An accumulated debt of fatigue demanding payment in full.
Still, every time I wake up, it’s back, that stubborn optimism, reminding me why I’m doing this, why I NEED to do this, and that everything is going to be all right. Hopefully now that I’m actually ON my hike, pessimism will finally relent and keep its mouth shut for a while. It has my full permission to pronounce a hundred smug I-told-you-so’s if I get eaten by a bear or something. Just let me sleep.
I’m camped near Butler after completing a little over fifteen miles. Not a bad bit of distance to have under my belt. My reward for pushing out those hard miles? A few seething cramps and a scent I’ll call “trail musk.” Comes with the territory, I suppose. I’ll adjust.
Brain fog is setting in. Despite having just eaten a few miles ago (I’m already thinking in terms of distance instead of time), I’m starving. I’m going to interpret constant hunger as a good sign, like my body telling me, “Ok… we can try this, but you’re going to need to bribe us with chow!” I’m slipping a few strips of jerky under the door in an unmarked envelope right now.
Off to bed. Tomorrow morning I pack everything up and start this over again, one day closer to my destination. I absolutely can not wait.
535 miles to go. See you tomorrow!