the Thru-Hiker Became a True-Hiker
I was 21, tired and soaking wet. Pounding out twenty-mile days for a month had taken its toll. Why did I give up four months of my young life to walk the Appalachian Trail? I still can’t give you a complete answer. But, I’d do it again…tomorrow.
I paid $2,000 and 20lbs of body fat for this story, this piece of my life. In 118 days of beating myself into a long-distance hiker I became and long-distance human. Endurance took its perfect result in me one day in New England.
Going to the post-office I expected to find my maps and bounce box waiting for me. I had mailed the bounce box to myself the week before, addressed to: Robert Lane Thru-Hiker, General Post. “Good morning, anything for Robert Lane;” The postmaster could tell I was a hiker by the way his post office now smelled. “Robert Lane…nope nothing. Sorry sir.” The words were terrifying.
“Could you please check again.”
“I guess you were counting on something.”
“Yeah, my maps.”
“Sorry, nothing.”
Looking back it seems like such a small thing. No maps on a well marked trail and every county with its own search and rescue unit. But, I was not looking back. I was looking the problem square in the face. For weeks I have relied on these maps to get me from trailhead to trailhead. Now, I had only the maps for the trails behind me. And I was walking forward.
The rain grew stronger and I ran to a pay-phone and called home. My mother had mailed the maps a week ago but they were lost in transit. She asked what I was going to do without any maps. My throat tightened and I straightened my back, “I’m gonna hike.” The words stumbled across my tongue and over my teeth. It was the best plan I could come up with. I would only know the trail within sight, following white blaze trail markers one to another.
Walking up the road I felt embarrassed as the cars passed. Do they know this lone hiker is going into the forest with no maps, no trail guide? I was ashamed and scared.
The trail south from the road was straight up hill. I was lonely and homesick, wet and exhausted. The climb warmed my muscles and something happened. The trail I had seen on paper for so many days became alive and real.
The Trail is not on any map no matter what people tell you or what is found in long frames at outdoor stores. The Trail is a place, an event; something we live, not something we walk. It’s the interplay of a man within himself. The Trail moved under my feet and the trees passed on either side. But the journey takes place in the deepest parts of the soul.
I came to the top of the hill. Steam rose from my shoulders as I hauled my pack to level ground. Seeing the trail, brown and green, something changed in me. I became a true-hiker. I had move from the map to the Trail. I was home.
My blood was hot and I walked like a man, resolute. Pumping one fist in front of the other as the grass bowed under my shoes, I broke into a sprint. The first man on the trail that rainy day and I pushed through the spider webs and low wet limbs.
With my arms at the level of my eyes I pushed the branches to each side. Then, one slipped, dragging its weight across my forearm and flying into my face. My eyes saw it before it hit me in the jaw. I open my mouth and sunk my teeth into its bark and ripped it in two.
You are such a vivid, gifted storyteller! We are praying for you, Maridith, Shep, and Roscoe. God bless you all!
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