making headlines

Last week I wrote a letter to the Daily Progress, our local paper, about the need for health care reform. Low and behold, they printed it!

Here's what appeared in the paper yesterday:

Reform insurance; add new option

In 2000, at the age of 21, I had a rare form of ovarian cancer. I was incredibly fortunate to overcome the disease in good health and without debt. At the time I had health insurance through my parents’ employer, and the bills were minimal. Without that coverage, I would now be in debt $50,000, or, worse, I would have been denied care, and I would not have survived.

Aside from the cancer, I have no health problems. But now, nine years later, fully recovered and with less than a 1 percent chance of the cancer returning, I am virtually uninsurable. I am lucky to have insurance through my husband’s employer, but so many other Americans do not have this option. Healthy people like me are denied coverage and the medical care they need because they are a financial liability to the insurance companies.

Our system is not set up to make health care affordable and accessible. It is not set up to promote prevention or early intervention. It is not set up to offer the greatest care to the greatest number of people. It is, instead, set up to profit insurance companies.

President Obama’s plan for health care reform will make it illegal for insurance companies to deny coverage based on pre-existing conditions, to drop coverage for members when they become sick, or to cap the amount of coverage they can receive. For myself and my fellow Americans, I desperately want these changes.

Additionally, I want a public option. I want to walk into a doctor’s office and receive care without worrying about the out of pocket expenses. I want, and I trust, the government to manage my health care. They do a great job with our public schools, our military, our policemen and firefighters, our mail. Their intervention will enable every American to receive the medical attention they need and deserve.

America has the best medical schools in the world, the best doctors and nurses, and the most cutting-edge technology in medicine. Let’s give our people access to these wonderful resources. They are dying without it.

Anna Sullivan
Charlottesville, VA

Interestingly, here's the headline that made today's front page: ‘Hands Off My Healthcare’ tour makes local stop

This article honored the 50 some people that attended a rally held in Charlottesville yesterday to oppose Obama's health care reform plan:

"Many in attendance Wednesday held signs and cheered as speakers talked about their concerns over health care reform. Ginger Kohr, who brought her daughter to the rally, said she was concerned what the plan will do for her daughter’s future. '[With the national debt] she is not going to have the same standard of living that we have now and that bothers me,' Kohr said."

Well, Ginger, I sure hope your little girl doesn't get sick between now and her debt-free adulthood.

In England, France, Canada, and just about every other educated nation in the world, you can go to the doctor's office, receive timely and thorough care, and walk out without paying a dime. Yes, their taxes are higher, but they are healthier, they live longer, and they don't go bankrupt for having cancer, giving birth, or getting in a car wreck.

Maybe we should talk about spending what we pay in taxes now on health care instead of wars, but that's another letter.

It was the wettest of times it was the best of times.

We've finished, Kaput, done, end-o-rama or however else you'd put it. It was an utterly exhausting and exhilarating challenge, and I for one am truly glad that I'm no longer walking twenty miles a day with thirty pounds upon my shoulders; I think I can speak for Anna on that account as well. We completed our climb up Mount Katahdin, the northern terminus of the AT, on the 10th of August and are currently settling back into our home and life back in Charlottesville, Virginia.

It was a wet and wild ride during those 5 months in the woods and we would like to extend our gratitude to all of our family and friends who helped us along the way. Mamacita aka Alison Montgomery, your skill in dehydrating tasty foods and then sending them to odd locations was the envy of our trail companions. Because of you we truly ate better than any other hikers. Jessie and Sunny, Graeme and Nicole, Jeremy, Ryan, Evan and Kates, Anna O., Alison (mamacita), Leah (big sis), J. Ben Ranz (rhymes with Hands) Kirby (papa scoutmaster) and all our other friends and family who hiked with us on the trail, your smiles, conversations and laughter kept our souls happy (even though it rained all the time). Thank you.

Enjoy the Pics and Thanks again to all that made this journey possible.

A new sign this year.

A cow moose about forty feet off the trail.

Pop, Anna and I right before the hike up Katahdin.


A nice little lake in the Hundred Mile Wilderness and that is real sunshine on our faces.

Love T&A.

August 10: Mt. Katahdin, ME

2178.3 miles.

WE MADE IT!!!!!!!

August 9: Rainbow Lake, ME

2152.0 miles.

Holy smokes. So close to the end.

I oscillate hourly between feeling thrilled -we're about to accomplish the greatest goal we've ever set for ourselves, and heartbroken -this great journey is coming to an end.

We're camped on the shore of Rainbow Lake, one of the hundreds of pristine, still lakes in the wilderness of Maine. Last night we feel asleep to the haunting call of the loons, we woke up this morning to the sound of absolute quiet.

We pushed ahead the last few days, setting ourselves up to do an unprecedented easy two ten mile days before summiting Katahdin. Alas, in typical T&A fashion, we're now thinking, 'oh, well why not just do one more 20 mile day and summit tomorrow?' That's been our m.o. the whole trip -push ourselves to the limit so we can take a break later, then skip that break later and keep pushing.

There's no right or wrong way to do this trail, and our way got us this far. But, if I were going to do it again, I think I'd take six months instead of five to complete it -more days off, fewer miles each day, more afternoons hanging out by a lake or on a summit or in our tent listening to the rain, more moments to pause and enjoy the beauty along the way.

Though we've had no shortage of beautiful moments. Yesterday a few hours before sunset, we were following a stream uphill and came upon a wide, shallow lake where a moose was feeding. She was in the middle of the bog, head under water for 15 seconds at a time eating huge gobs of whatever grows at the bottom of bogs. She saw us sitting there watching her and kept right on eating undisturbed. What a beautiful sight. A few weeks ago Tom and I came to the top of a hill and into a clearing, and a little fuzzy dog trotted up to our feet. When it heard Tom's voice, it bolted into the grass and disappeared. It was a coyote pup, probably just a few weeks old. Three days ago I watched a bear walking through the woods. It didn't see me and was headed right in my direction. I let it get pretty close -about 30 feet or so from me, then let it know I was there, at which point it wheeled around on its hind legs and barreled back into the woods. I almost wish I had just let it walk by me -but then some people do get eaten by bears here and there, even the shy black ones.

I'm not trying to say that I want to move in with a den of wild animals, live naked and never return to civilization, just that it's beautiful out here. We're surrounded by quiet, simple, breathtaking beauty. And I'll miss it.

August 5: Gulf Hagas Mtn., ME

2100.6 miles.

I am exhausted. I don't think I've ever been so worn out in my life.

We've entered the 100 miles wilderness, less than 80 miles to go to Katahdin, and we're giving it our all. The miracle of it is, tomorrow I'll wake up and my legs will move. I know that even as beat as I am right now, I'll sleep, and in the morning I'll stand up and walk, and enjoy -yes, still, enjoy- hiking through these mountains another day.

August 2: Bald Mtn. Brook, ME

2041.6 miles.

Whew! A 19 miles day through the mud of Maine is no easy thing. And we're dragging poor Ben Ranz along through it all. He's come to join us for a few days on the trail going from Stratton to Monson, and he's hanging in there like a champ -actually, I think he's doing a lot better than we are.

With just 130 miles to go we can practically smell the finish line, and we've been pushing ourselves to the max to get there on August 11th -five months from the day we started. Looks like we'll make it, but there will be no breaks for us until we reach Katahdin.

Only nine days left of this great journey. I'm starting to get nostalgic before it's even over. I know how much I'll miss this life, its simplicity and ease, the beauty of the wilderness, and the one enormous challenge before us each day -to keep on walking.

August 1: Pierce Pond, ME

2023.1

I met Tom Sullivan eight years ago today and loved him instantly.

He's everything I could ask for in a partner -caring, adventuresome, generous, capable, hardworking, good looking, and fun. I feel at ease when he's in sight. I miss him when he's not. Just want to tell the world how grateful I am to have him in my life.

July 25: Baldpate Mtn, MAINE!!!!

1915.5 miles.

Well, the first 20 miles of Maine have proven to be just as torturous, maybe even harder than the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Talking to mom the other day I mentioned how much more difficult the trail is up here -really nothing like the rest of the AT. She asked what I meant -how is it hard?

Until we got to this part I couldn't envision why it would be so tough either. Today I thought of a way to visualize it -even better actually, a way to let our friends experience the trail for themselves. So, here it is: a re-creation of the AT in southern Maine during the wettest summer on record. You'll need a staircase, but most of you can do this at home.

First, fill a wheelbarrow with dirt. Get out the garden hose and make that dirt into mud. Pour the mud down the stair case, and fill up a few tubs with mud, too. Place those on the stairs in such a way that you couldn't possibly avoid stepping in them. Next, find some big, cumbersome objects -a dish washer or a copy machine maybe- and place those on the stairs (they may tip over, that's fine). Then grab some canned goods, broom handles, rolling pins, cookie sheets, whatever is on hand in the kitchen. Toss those down the steps. Now bring the hose inside, lay the nozzle at the top of the stairs, and turn it on.

Okay, you've got your own personal Appalachian Trail, and you're ready for hiking. Starting at the bottom, go up the stairs, up and over the cumbersome things, through the mud and running water, around the obstacles. Mind you don't slip or catch your foot on something. When you reach the top, turn around and go back down. Repeat for ten hours.


That's pretty much what we did today.

July 24: Cascade Mtn., NH

1887.3 miles.

Took a serious writing haitus there -almost made it through New Hampshire without stopping to reflect. Due in part to losing our book a week ago (got it back yesterday through a small series of miracles and kind people), but mostly it was those big and bad White Mountains that had us spellbound and -day after day- plain freakin exhausted.

What a phenomenal place the Whites are. We dropped our pace to 15 or 10 or sometimes 8 miles a day so we could take it all in, take the side trails to the lonely summits, take our time ascending and descending the long, sheer slabs of stone that stood between us and a reasonably secure place to stop and catch our breath. Everyone said this place would be a hard hike -I had no idea they were serious, that "hard hike" would apply to us, too. We've crossed hundreds of mountains, walked over 1800 miles, and are in the best shape of our lives. I thought, "how hard could it be?"

Hard. Awesomely, agonizingly, beautifully, hard.

And now, the Whites behind us, we'll walk into Maine today. For months people we encountered along the trail and in towns have asked us where we're headed. "Maine," we've always replied -confidence growing in that response with every state line we crossed. I guess we'll have to be a little more specific from here on out.

July 20: Gorham, NH

1859.0 miles

Whoa.

These mountains are HUGE.

We've heard about the White Mountains of New Hampshire since we began this trek. People on the trail talk about them like some mythical beast that's gonna eat you. You hear things along the way like, "oh man, this is the steepest climb on the trail -except for the Whites of course." Or, "dude, the rocks in Pennsylvania are the worst! Except for the rocks in the Whites. Those are actually the worst." Or, "you think this is tough, wait until you get to the Whites."

It's no joke. These hills are bigger than life. And we are right in the middle of them.

Yesterday we summitted Mt. Washington, the second highest peak on the trail, and the location of -as the sign at the base of the mountains puts it- the worst weather in America. Sure enough. It was crazy up there. The peaks here are well above tree line, and there was no refuge from the 80 to 100 mile an hour winds whipping us sideways. One wrong step and you could easily break an ankle, so at times I scrambled across the jagged boulders on all fours. The clouds were so thick we could barely see 20 feet. And that was a nice day up there we hear.

Coming down Washington, we followed the rocky ridge of the Presidential peaks for 15 miles or so, said hello to Mr. Adams, TJ, and James Madison, then ducked back down into the trees, sad to lose the spectacular 360 views, but a little glad to be back on the familiar trails of mud and roots and rocks. That was some tough walking up there.

People ask us all the time what our favorite part of the trail has been. This is it. Right here. Rugged, agonizing on the knees, and hard to breathe, you'd have to be crazy to drag yourself up these hills. But I love every beautiful bit of it.

500 miles to go!!

With five hundred miles to go it finally feels as if we are approaching an end to this journey. We are now in Vermont only two states left after this one, New Hampshire and Maine, and then back to...more work, play, family and food that is already hydrated. Just a few pictures to document our journey.

Sunfish pond in New Jersey.

Always a helpful sign on the AT.

Always Hungry!

Yes! Bears! in a zoo on the AT at Bear Mountain in NY.

This was on Mombash Mountain in NY, if you look really hard you'll see the NYC skyline. We went to NYC for two days and hung out with our PC Bolivia friends Kates, Evan and Anna O.

Anna O., Anna B and Kates in Brooklyn.

Our first swim in a long time.

Boy did it feel good. This was at Upper Goose pond in Massachusetts.

Anna on Upper Goose pond.

Snack time, PB and whatever it'll go on.

Into Vermont!

Haven't spotted one yet but here's a moose track.

Sometimes we fall down.

Hiking buddy

Another hiking buddy.

July 4: Story Spring Shelter, VT

1619.5 miles.

Happy Birthday America!

Another messy, muddy, rainy day to celebrate our life of independence.

Sick of the rain and pretty exhausted from hiking 20 some miles a day for over a month, we pinned our hopes on Vermont and the beautiful Green Mountains to cheer us up.

Well, apparently it rains in Vermont, too.

No matter, we're excited to be here, just two more states and 550 miles from our destination. These mountains are beautiful -full of fir trees and lakes, bear and moose tracks everywhere. Sure it's rained 8 inches in the last three days, the trail is a sloppy mud pit, and our tent is growing a few varieties of mold, but Leah is coming up to meet us tomorrow to hike with us for a week, and the radio says there's a chance of sunshine this afternoon!

Rain or shine, onward we march in our pursuit of happiness.

June 29: Dalton, MA

1558.8 miles.

Supreme day.

Supreme start to a supreme day -last night we stayed at Upper Goose Pond cabin, a beautiful place on what we Virginians would surely call a lake, not a pond. We got our first real skinny dip of the season in, took the canoe out for a whirl and watched the sunset, then slept on a mattress under a roof and woke up to a pancake breakfast the cabin caretaker prepared for us. Bellies full and fully caffeinated, we set out to do 21 miles through the mud.

Massachusetts is beautiful -huge hemlock groves, pretty views, cold clear creeks. It's not her fault we've had 24 days of rain so far this month.

On top of that delicious breakfast, we encountered three doses of trail magic today -two separate coolers filled with sodas and snacks and a lady who allows hikers to get water from the spigot at her house, then gives them cookies. Too great. It was a needed lift to the spirits.

We're making great strides here doing 20 mile days, but my legs have had about enough of that. Our plan was to scale it back starting tomorrow, but we got into Dalton this afternoon, and we hear that Tom, the awesome guy who lets hikers stay at his house for free, will drive you 23 miles up the trail so you can slack pack back to the house and spend the night again, then get a lift to the same spot the next day and continue north. Too good to pass up, so how about the next day we'll start taking it easy. . .

June 28: East Mountain Retreat Center, MA

1519.1 miles.

Raindrops aren't falling on your head. They're being shot at you from Mother Nature's own nail gun. You're wet. You're tired. You're cold. You're not gonna make it.

Or are you?

(an ad for Power Bars in a Backpacker magazine I read at Lois Rose's East Mountain Retreat Center)

I read this and smile. There's a power bar in my backpack that i'll eat in an hour or two when we get back on the trail. It will taste like peanut butter soaked cardboard and fill my belly for another few miles. I can relate to the woman in the picture -she's running, straining, pushing herself. And the rain is coming down as though on a mission to make her workout harder, to test her limits. I smile because I know it's not the power bar that will get here there. It's something else inside. Something you must dig for. Something, by digging for day after day after day, you've come to trust in.

You're going to make it. Not because of what you eat, not even because you're in rock solid shape. You're going to make it because you've decided to, because you've seen what you're capable of, and you trust yourself to keep on doing it.

Many days to go. Many miles to go. But we'll make it. All we've got to do is keep on walking.

June 25: Limestone Spring, CT

1485.2 miles.

Remember running the mile in gym class?

Four laps around the track. The first you're feeling good, setting the pace, having a good time. The second lap you're doing okay, trying to keep your speed even, almost halfway there. The third lap sucks. You wish this thing were over, but you're not even close. The fourth lap you stretch it out and give it your all.

Hiking the Appalachian Trail is kind of like running the mile, just 2,000 times longer. And here we are in the third lap right now. I knew this wouldn't be easy -that was part of it's allure, but we were up for the challenge, and really I thought all we'd have to do is walk somewhere every day.

Walking is nice. People do it all the time -for fun, for exercise, to get to work or to the store. Put a pack on your back and it gets a little harder. Add some rocks and roots and stumps and creeks in your path and the excitement factor is on the rise. Then throw some mountains in there -and don't skirt around the side, we're going straight for the top and back down again. Finally, toss in some rain -good long soakers, and take away the possibility of a hot shower at the end of the day, a warm bed, a roof, or a change of clothes. Now we're walking.

So I get it; it's hard. Not just physically hard, though it is. Hard in ways that go beyond the body. This experience has demanded a kind of humble persistence, a slow, steady, quiet determination. A daily, sometimes hourly pep talk to the brain to stay positive, to the feet to hang in there, to the legs to keep on truckin.

Every day for the past month we've seen nearly the same thing all day long: thick forest at our sides, and rocks at our feet. The views doesn't really let on that we're actually getting anywhere.

But look! We're in Connecticut! Tomorrow we'll be in Massachusetts! We are really, truly walking north and ever so steadily working our way towards Mt. Katahdin, Maine.

Tom and I are both excited to get into Vermont; we hear it's beautiful country up ahead full of beastly mountains and epic views. One more week until we're there. I know we can do it. I know at this point, having come so far, that we'll be part of that 20% that make it to the end.

And I know, yes I'm certain, that when we're done and it's time to head back home, I'll miss the heck out of this life, this experience, this walk in the woods.

June 18: Little Dam Lake, NY

1371.4 miles. 

Lotta dam rain.

New York, so far, has been really steep, and really wet. They say this is the rainingest June on record. Tomorrow we'll head into New York City to play with friends for the weekend -a welcomed break!

p.s. New Jersey deserves a better name. The armpit of America, at least its northwest corner, is really quite beautiful. 

June 12: Delaware Water Gap, PA

1283.6 miles. 

Three months into this adventure and we're still alive!

Woke up yesterday to more rain. After a rockin midnight thunderstorm and waking up many times from my legs cramping, I feel like junk. Tom's already up, making coffee and oats with the fresh blueberries we picked the day before on top of a rocky summit. He looks whooped, too. Despite the promise of a yummy breakfast -usually my favorite part of the day- and the weak high five we give to celebrate our three month anniversary with this beast of a journey, the rain's got me down. 

Our tent  is soaked and splattered with mud. I have one pair of clean, dry socks and one pair of stank nasty, wet, dirty socks. To put the clean ones on would be three minutes of bliss, then they'd soak through and I'd have two dirty pairs of socks and no clean ones. With a sigh I reach for the stanky ones and pull them onto my whimpering feet. My eyes water up and a tear rolls down my cheek. I don't know what's got me today, but it's got me good. 

Tom sees my dismay and laughs while he hugs me. I laugh, too.  This is just part of the glory. It wouldn't be an adventure if it were easy. It wouldn't be one of our proudest accomplishments if we didn't have to work for it. These wouldn't be some of the greatest days of our lives if there weren't a few moments of agony thrown in there. 

We pack up our sopping tent, squeeze into our disgusting shoes, and head back to the trail, rain falling and rocks awaiting. Tonight we'll make it to the Delaware River and the border of PA and New Jersey. With our gear wet and dirty, our legs tired, and our shoes shot, we decide to take a day off in Delaware Water Gap, just fifteen jagged boulder ridden, slippery, sloppy miles away. 

I never thought I'd be so happy to cross into New Jersey. Pennsylvania has been the toughest state so far. The terrain is pretty flat, but the rocks are ferocious, rain has been a constant, and the trail is flanked by dense forest, affording few views that let you know you're getting somewhere. 

June 8: Allentown Hiking Club Shelter, PA

1229.8 miles. 

For months we've heard threats about the trail in PA. Though it's pretty flat we heard over and over, "yeah, but it's rocky." The first 100 miles in we stepped over a few boulders and thought, man, this is no big deal at all. And then the rocks began. 

Fist sized rocks, head sized rocks, couch sized rocks, cow sized rocks, house sized rocks. They come in all shapes and sizes and, no doubt about it, they are right there in the middle of the trail. It's like every Pennsylvanian collected all the dinner plates and bowling balls they could find and scattered them along the path. Sometimes there's no dirt in sight, just thousands of small sharp stones that roll when you step on them. Sometimes there are boulders, big slabs of rock two or three feet high and just as far apart -up to you if you want to leap from one to the next or crawl up and over each one. But when they're wet, leaping is a risky venture. Even when they're dry they're jutting up at an angle, not nice and flat such that you could just put your foot out and step on one with confidence. We look like a bunch of toddlers walking around out here -slow penguin steps, arms out ready to catch you when you plop down, trip, or slide.

I'm sure Pennsylvania has some beautiful views, but I wouldn't dare look up to check it out. 

Oh look, just started to rain. That'll make it even more fun. 

June 4: Peters Mountain Shelter, PA

1148.6 miles.

We are cruisin! Over the last week we've averaged more than twenty miles per day, and we're feeling great -no aches or injuries. We crossed the half way point of the AT two days back (1089.2 miles), which called for a celebratory drink from the whiskeypus -a platypus, which is a plastic bladder for carrying water, except ours is filled with knob creek. There are plenty of occasions that call for a toast out here, so it's pretty much carrying its own weight. 

Mom came up to meet us in Boiling Springs the night before last. What a blast! We went out for dinner at the tavern and stayed at a cozy bed and breakfast in town, where they cooked us up a great breakfast, then we got on the trail and went a few miles together before mom hiked back to the car and headed home. How great of her to come up and see us and experience a little slice of life on the trail. 

May 30: Blue Ridge Summit, PA

1056.7 miles.

Well, that hostel on the other side of Harpers Ferry where we intended to stay a few nights back was lacking a sign, and we didn't figure out we'd passed it until we were two miles too far along. It was nearly eight at night at that point, foggy, and three steep miles to the next shelter, but we pressed on, sad and tired and ever so gross from wearing clothes that had been rained on four days straight. It was our first night hike since March when we headed up Springer Mountain, the AT's starting point in Georgia under the full moon. No full moon this time, and the fog made our headlamps useless, so we stumbled along in the dark over the rocky, muddy trail. And as it was just getting pitch black we arrived at the shelter, which was chock full, but everyone scooted together to make room for the two late comers. That's how it goes out here. We help each other out, we always greet people we pass, because a little kindness goes a long way.

We spent just two days hiking through Maryland. About forty miles of trail pass through there, and this evening we crossed into Pennsylvania, the seventh state along the trail, and the one where I was born. So far it's got lots of trees and hills and rocks and someone's firing their gun not too far from where we're sleeping. Not so different from the other side of the Mason Dixon line. 

We've done a few twenty mile days this week and we're feeling good, walking fast, sleeping hard. I love this life. So simple and rewarding. 

Two young amish girls and their grandma stopped to talk to us as we passed through a park today. They were curious about what we eat and where we sleep and how far we go everyday and what we do when it rains. We chatted for a while, and I showed them our gear and said that they should think about hiking the trail one day. The look in their eyes reminded me, as I'm reminded every day out here, of what an amazing time in our lives this is. 

May 28: Blackburn AT Center, WV

1001.0 miles!

One thousand miles. Whoa. Did I ever think I'd walk a thousand miles? And here we are, made it to West Virginia, and almost at the AT's half-way point. Yesterday we hiked the infamous roller coaster -13.5 miles of straight ups and downs (picture a heart beat monitor, that's what the profile of the trail looks like). If we'd hiked it a few months ago I would've been begging for mercy, but being in the shape we're in by now it was downright enjoyable. 

We passed by Bear's Den Hostel midway, ate a pint of Ben and Jerry's, then pushed on to get to the Blackburn center, a PATC managed cabin where hikers can stay for free. Helen, awesome friend from Bolivia, was waiting to meet us when we arrived, and as we walked in the door the guy who runs the cabin handed us a beer and invited us to sit down for a homemade supper. Too cool!

It was great to catch up with Helen, reminisce about Bolivia and talk about what we're up to now. She's going back to Bolivia to lead summer trips for a group of students -put some ideas in my head....

Today we'll head to Harpers Ferry, WV and stay in a hostel so we can shower and wash our clothes. It's been raining for four straight days and my smartwools have a serious case of the funk. 

We were hoping to meet mom in Harpers Ferry, but the timing didn't work out. She sent a package in her stead, but I wish we could hang out tonight. 

We've been seriously blessed with visits from friends along the way. Last weekend Graeme and Nicole came up Skyline to meet us in Shenandoah National Park. It was a gorgeous weekend, perfect weather, and the four of us hiked up to Mary's Rocks, pitched our tents, and watched the sunset unfold. Which was made all the more spectacular by the BOX of wine they lugged up the mountain with them. The next day we hiked a good stretch to the north end of the park and stayed at a great little hostel (some guy's basement in a residential neighborhood) near front Royal, where we had all the fun to be had in a small town -beers and dinner at the tavern, a gripping round of trivial pursuit with Mike, the hostel owner, coffee and breakfast at a cafe on main street, and milkshakes before we got back on the trail. 

Graeme and Nicole hiked in a few miles with us on Monday morning, then headed back home. They're hoping to come join us for the final stretch in Maine, too, which would rock. But for now, real world calls. And man does it make me ever grateful that we have this time, this fantastic opportunity to be out here. 

Well, a call to all friends and loved ones: it's a darn good time on the Appalachian Trail! Come out and join us for a few days. You'll leave sore and dirty and not regretting it one little bit. 

May 21: South River, Shenandoah National Park

900.8 miles


Back at it and lovin life.

On Tuesday afternoon we hiked up to the AT from Sugar Hollow with Leah, then said goodbye to my awesome sister a little sad to leave home, but excited to continue our journey north. It's a different feeling to be walking away from home rather than towards it, as we did for the first two months of the trail.

Yesterday we stood on top of Loft Mountain and caught our last glimpse of home. We could see Charlottesville below, the university and monticello in the distance, and Fox Mountain, where we'd spent two great weeks with Leah and Joe in their new beautiful home, just below us. Now the distance between us and home has grown, and Albemarle county is out of sight.

Do I detect a twinge of homesickness? Maybe so, it's a place to be missed, no doubt about that. But I'm happy to be back out here, getting my butt kicked by these hills, feeling the thrill of a free day, taking in the air the trees the birds the flowers the wide open sky. What beautiful country we live in.

We timed where we'd pick up the trail just right. When we got to Black Rock hut the first night there were a pile of familiar faces -and some new ones, too. The trail felt downright crowded today. We were in a pack of eight or ten other thru-hikers, which felt bizarre since we'll sometimes go a whole day without seeing anyone else. Those two weeks off took their toll on us, and we stopped to camp after a fifteen mile day while everyone else pressed on to the next shelter, another five miles up the trail.

We'll get our legs back in another couple days I bet. For now, feeling good enough, happy to be where I am, and can't get over the good fortune I have to be in the midst of such a fine adventure next to such a fine adventuresome man.

what everyone really wants

I could ramble on all day about the beauty of the trees and the flowers and the freedom of life on the trail, but I know that everyone just really wants to look at some pictures. So here you go (in no particular order, actually in rather reverse chronological order, and without captions, because that would take forever, and I'm due to be back in the woods in an hour):