“Pretty Flowers & Sh*tty Pants”

AT Day 40

Miles: 28.40

Total Miles: 716.34

(Past Craig Creek Crossing)

Today was my 40th day on the Appalachian Trail, and I started the day with (L)ove.

It’s become a more familiar and comfortable experience as the AT has continued to unfold. That first time in the Smokeys felt like such a commitment. Then today, by comparison, felt like slipping into a warm bath.

The weather was beautiful from start of the day to finish. There had been chatter amongst the few hikers I’ve met on trail these last two days that there was going to be some big rain coming in today or tonight, and as the day rolled on, the frantic feeling in the air seemed to grow more acute. But again, it never materialized. Instead, we were treated to a day of mostly blue sky and only a scattered bit of clouds in the afternoon. If anything, an afternoon rain might have been welcome to drop the temps a bit, as it was a bit warm in the hours between 11-4.

(I swear that just as I wrote that last sentence, it started to sprinkle a little bit. I can hear it starting to fall down onto my tent.

There is a flower out here called the Mountain Laurel. It is a stunning flower, and it’s been popping up on trail for the last three hundred miles at least. But there had never been blooms like I got to see today. There were times where it felt like they were absolutely everywhere today–hugging the trail almost. Overtaking it. And in the bright sun, it made them all pop even more.

No doubt, the (L)ove from this morning had a great impact on my appreciation of the flowers today. And on my appreciation for everything in the whole world today. They would have still been beautiful without it, but there’s something specifically about the Mountain Laurels through the lens of LSD that is quite beyond anything that I quite know how to describe.

I found myself lost in them, and every single one was so incredibly mesmerizing. They were like little floral pops of fire works in every direction, highlighted even brighter in the sunlight.

I thought to myself, that every single one of the thousands of flowers were so beautiful, and that if you let yourself, you could have become so easily transfixed by any one of the blossoms.

The thinking went on, that there is surely someone out there in this would who had brought that thought to its extreme–someone who has dedicated their whole life to the Mountain Laurel. Perhaps studying it academically, achieving a PhD in specialized Botany, focusing on that specific flower so that I could look it up on Google to learn more about it than can be fit into a day’s worth of reading.

I thought to myself that someone couldn’t be blamed for choosing to spend the rest of their lives with any one of these little flower buds. They’re beautiful enough that any one would be worth stopping and staying forever. But then there wouldn’t be any more flowers to see. If I let myself fall into any one of these buds, then think of all the ones I’d be missing by not continuing on to Maine–all the flowers that surely will be blooming between here and there.

Still… I don’t think that it would be wrong to decide that this was enough–that I don’t need to go on to Maine, and that the beauty in any one of those little flowers would have been enough. I honestly get how someone could feel that way about something so beautiful.

As such, it wouldn’t have been wrong and it wouldn’t have been right, no matter the choice I made–either to stay and get lost in this beautiful thing, or to appreciate it for a passing moment, then continue down trail.

The next thought was about my crashing into a girl named “Boots” this past weekend at Trail Days. I’ve historically had a bad problem of falling in love too easily, and wanting to hold onto it so tightly that I squeeze the life from what was a wonderful thing until it dies. I don’t mean to be overly dramautic, but there are surely some ex girlfriends out there who might be reading this right now, nodding their head up and down, and saying something under their breath like, “about time he figured that part out.”

So I was scared of last weekend ending. I was scared as I held her closely, like we had been long-time lovers, that after it was over my heart was going to ache.

I was talking to another hiker yesterday morning before leaving Angel’s Rest. He had asked me what my favorite part of Trail days had been, and I made some kind of comments about meeting a girl named “Boots.” He turned to me incredulously, asked if he’d heard me right, that I’d met her just that weekend.

“The girl we saw you there with?” He asked. “Oh–we just thought that was your girlfriend or something.”

“Well, she was,” I told him. “At least for this weekend anyway.”

I don’t want to reduce it down to something as simple as a hookup. There was authentic and deep connection that I felt with her. We both have expressed real desire to do what we can to see one another again.

All that aside though–I thought back to the Mountain Laurels. Then to the girl.

I’d been afraid that coming back to trail was going to be painful and that I’d be longing to be back with her again. But that hasn’t been the case. I’ve missed her, to be clear. But more than that, I’ve felt more alive than ever in these last two days on the AT. Like the weekend and the connection reaffirmed some of the things I forgot were possible in life.

And I could have easily lost myself in her. I easily could have given up the trail, packed up my summer, and headed south to live a life with a girl named “Boots” in Tennessee. That wouldn’t be any different than stopping to lose myself forever in one of those flowers this morning though.

For some reason, this experience of being on the AT has allowed me to become more comfortable with letting things go.

—

I was listening to some lectures by Alan Watts and a few others yesterday and today. One of them mentioned that we must “cultivate the art of uncertainty.” I loved that. Meant to write it down, but here I am remembering it a day later, so I guess it didn’t need to be written. The other thing from Watts was this metaphor about our pasts and our futures.

He talked about our sometimes feeling like we are being pushed forward by the force of our pasts and the things that have happened to us. Like we are victims of our past circumstances. We live as if that were the case sometimes. Often times, even.

Then he said to consider the image of a boat cutting across a lake. Looking at the sight without considering, one might be compelled to think that the wake is what is propelling the boat forward, but that of course the wake is just what’s left behind from the boat moving along. Not the force that is pushing it forward.

Watts said that we are the same–like that boat. That we are not a product of our past, but that our past is a wake of our moving forward and cutting through.

I don’t know… it felt profound at the time. But then again, I was peaking on acid….

—

I met another hiker today who will remain annanomous. Let’s call him “DP” for now…

There is so so so much talk about Norovirus right now on trail, and I was talking about it with DP after he joined me for a few miles.

Those who have not caught norovirus yet are a rare bread at this point, and some people have been really f*cked up by it! So I was hiking with this other dude for maybe an hour when he tells me that he has not had it yet. I tell him that he should count himself fortunate, and to continue doing what he’s doing to stay hygienic.

He then goes on to say that maybe he did have it though… that he had bad diarrhea, and that maybe it was norovirus. But he thinks it might have just been that he had The Runs because he ate too many gummy worms that day on trail.

I laughed a bit, but then he went on to tell me that he “couldn’t get out of my tent in time…”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but he continued to explain that he has basically sh*t his pants in his tent because he’d eaten too many gummy worms that day, but he was thinking that maybe he just had Norovirus.

“No dude,” I told him. “That’s not Norovirus. That’s just called shitting your pants.”

He seemed unsure how to respond; whether I was being funny or condescending. The answer was both, but I didn’t mean to be an asshole. He went on to say, “That’s why I’ve learned that it’s a good idea to carry extra Zip Lock bags.”

“I thought you were going to say extra under pants.”

He took a second before going on. “No, I’m going to have to pick those up in the next trail town I think.”

Then it dawned on me, and I turned around to look back to him. “Please tell me you are not carrying your shitty underwear in a ziplock bag, inside of your pack right now…”

He hesitated again. “Well it’s my underwear and my shorts, I guess.” There was a moment of silence and just the crunching of dirt under feet. “But I didn’t get it anywhere else. Not on my other gear or on my tent or anything…”

We are in fact, not camped together tonight.

Before we parted ways however, he told me about an encounter that he had with a bear two weeks ago, at camp. He told me that he heard it coming in while he was trying to get to sleep, and that he just laid there quietly. For the record, this is where he should have started yelling and screaming “HEY BEAR! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEAR!” But he says that he was too scared, and he just laid there quietly and terrified.

He went on to say that the bear got so close to his tent that it seems to have stepped on the side corner, and as he did it cut the edge of his tent with its claw.

“Are you serious?” I asked. “Was that the day you shit your pants?”

“No. That wasn’t the same day.”

“That’s probably the day that I’d shit my pants. Also,” I said, “in the future, you should probably tell people the story about a bear ripping your tent before you open up about the shitting your pants thing… just saying.”

—

At the end of the day I ran into another hiker that I’ll call BT. We had been crossing paths a bit around mile 200, but hadn’t seen one another since Hot Springs, when we both had Norovirus (I like to call it “riding the noro-dragon.”) I was going to push another 2-4 miles this evening after that last river crossing, but then I saw her at camp at my mile 28. I shouted down to her from the trail, “Hey, is that BT?”

And she responded, “Is that wormwood?”

We chatted while I made dinner and set my tent.

Still getting used to this new tent setup. It’s a big big change to what I’m used to, but I think I like it. It’s just new and will take some getting used to.

—

Spent some time this morning thinking that I may need to take a tolerance break from the psychs. It’s been 40 days now, and in the early hours of the trip this morning, I kind of felt like maybe a tolerance had developed after all the mushrooms and the bit of (M) that went down the hatch at Trail Days this past weekend.

By the early part of the afternoon however, any thought about tolerance was out the door. I ended up having an incredible and electric day. I’ve really appreciated growing more comfortable with it over the last 4 trips in 40 days. It’s brought a lot of good to my hike of the Appalachain Trail.

—

Temps were hot by mid day today, and the humidity is different out here than it is in the west. I get muggy in hot climbs and it makes me quite miserable. Fortunately the climbs in Virginia haven’t been too bad. But the temps will grow warmer this summer. I know they will.

—

Will get to a small grocer tomorrow that has pizza and burgers available. I don’t have hopes for anything too great, but a warm meal is always appreciated. From there it’ll be another day and a half to Daleville. Last I checked, my buddy will still be meeting me there for 3 days of trail.

—

The night grows late and typing in my tent is uncomfortable. I hope I got what’s important onto the page.

Wormwood.

Out.