Post Hike 22 May 2018
/My father picked me up at the Cleveland Amtrak Station at 6:30am on Wednesday morning. The train that I had boarded in Chicago the previous evening was over an hour late. I had spent the night being tossed around in my sleeper as the train barreled down the tracks. It was the first night that I was unable to let the movement of the train ease me into a deep slumber. Maybe I was excited to be coming home. Maybe the frantic jerking of the train moving at high speeds on the tracks reflected my emotional state as the journey leading me away from the PCT was coming to a close. Maybe I was not ready to face the questions that would be asked of me - those lingering questions that would compel me to fully justify my decision to leave the PCT over and over again. I quietly stepped down from the train car and without turning around to look back, made my way down the walkway till I saw my father standing by his car waiting for my arrival. It was a scene I had lived through many times before as I would typically arrive from New York City in the early morning. My father would be waiting for me, and then we would begin the final leg of the journey toward his home sometimes stopping for a quick breakfast and much needed coffee. But for now, my stepping off the train signified the end of this epic journey that had started two weeks prior when I said goodbye to my father at the very spot - eager, excited and brimming with anticipation. Now I was filled with a sense of loss and disappointment intermingling with complete gratitude and swollen relief. Happy and sad together.
On the drive home, we did stop for breakfast and coffee. I smiled at the warmth of being loved in that moment while the morning sun was rising from the Ohio horizon, And I let the abundance of love and available light carry me all the way to Holmes County where I took my pack from the car and placed it inside the door to the house. I walked upstairs, took a shower, climbed into bed and slept for 4 hours. I was home.
Before I left for the PCT, my sister Julie and her husband Ed, agreed to go on a training hike with me. After some deliberation, we decided to drive an hour and a half to a series of trails in Zaleski State Forest in southern Ohio. We spent the morning filling our food bags for the over night trip and then packed our packs with all of our hiking gear. Soon we were on our way winding through small country roads which led through small rural clusters of run down wooden houses and cluttered porches. I stared out the window wondering about the lives that existed in those remote spaces. We arrived at the trailhead, adding our car to the many cars and trucks that already filled the parking lot. Being the first really nice weekend of the spring season, it seemed like many people were eager to get outside and enjoy the trails. While Ed went to register for the hike, Julie and I pulled on our packs and lengthened our trekking poles. Ed reported that there were over 50 hikers on the trail. Knowing that established camp sites were limited, we faced the prospect of stealth camping somewhere along the trail. As we made our way to the trailhead, Julie quietly asked Ed if he had packed their sleeping pads. She has seen my pack loaded with the Gossamer Gear foam pad prompting her to inquire about their own pads. Ed stopped short and after a moment of careful mental review announced that he had not packed their sleeping pads. We just stood there staring at each other. Now what? An important piece of gear was left behind. Do we continue knowing that the temperature was going to get down into the 40’s and that sleeping on the hard ground would not only be uncomfortable but very cold? I announced that we had to go back. It would not be fun for them to hike into the evening and sleep on the cold ground. It happens. People forget gear, lose gear, break gear. Sometimes there is very little you can do but exist with the consequences and then find a proper moment to order new gear, replace gear, fix gear. But in this scenario, we simply had to get back in the car and drive the hour and a half back to their home. Which is exactly what we did. I don’t think any of us were particularly upset. We just agreed that it would be better to go back and hike the next day at Mohican State Park instead of returning to Zaleski. I learned a long time ago - when on the trail (or attempting to even get to the trail!!) there will exist both wonder and unpredictability. On my first Appalachian Trail hike with my good friend Christiana, within the first 2 hours we had hiked 2 miles in the wrong direction. I had fallen and broken one of my trekking poles. I had been bitten by something resulting in a large lump on my forehead. It was raining and I slipped on some rocks and cut my hand open. But eventually we got to camp. Eventually we had our dinner and then eventually we climbed into our tents while the wind blew among the tall trees and the rain fell. And I remember thinking how wonderful it was to be on the trail experiencing the excitement of adventure. The very next morning we figured out how to mend my trekking pole, the swelling on my forehead went down and we had 3 days of fantastic hiking.
So some sleeping pads were forgotten at Zaleski. We would just hike again tomorrow.
It was late afternoon by the time we returned to Columbus. As we pulled into their driveway, Julie sighed and with a certain amount of forlorn sentiment mixed with pale resignation stated “the humiliating return”. I started laughing as I imagined the nearby neighbors watching from their windows. Earlier in the day as we were leaving they would have been exclaiming from pushed back curtains and curious gazes - “Oh! Julie and Ed and their friend are going hiking!!” “Wow! They are so adventurous!” “I wonder where they are going?!!” Only to be watching as we returned 3 hours later, silently shrugging on our packs to carry them inside - “Oh no!” “They’re back so soon!” “Something must have gone wrong!” “Well, they simply couldn’t cut it!!” “AMATEURS!!”
We laughed for some time. And it made everything so much easier to accept. We did hike the next day at Mohican. And it was a wonderful hike. Every day on the trail will bring something new - both good and possibly not so good. But knowing you have the ability to push through and laugh when it’s needed, makes everything possible. That day I was so happy that we shared in that laughter.
Now, after a few days since my return from the PCT, I wonder why I had forgotten that vital acceptance of unpredictability while I was recovering at Mount Laguna. Then there was no laughter to carry me through. And even if I have to share again and again what happened and why I left, I have to remind myself that it was my decision to make. And I made it. For now, I am grateful to be with my family. In June I am going to travel to North Carolina to visit my younger sister and my mother. And then Julie and Ed and I will spend a few days hiking the Appalachian Trail in Virginia as training for the Colorado Trail Thru Hike later this summer. So onward.
Maybe soon I will fully realize that by accepting my decision to leave the PCT, I am also accepting the unpredictability that happened on the PCT. And with that the understanding that there will be new hikes - fantastic hikes. Maybe one day. But for now, I will just let my confused feelings linger a little bit longer - happy and sad together.
