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Mud, Rocks, Blazes: Letting Go on the Appalachian Trail
Excerpt from Mud, Rocks, Blazes I sank onto a bench and tried to guide the shaking
cup of coffee to my lips, eventually getting enough into my body to slow the shivering. I
checked my watch. It had been eight minutes. I refilled my coffee a second time . . .
and a third. Eleven minutes. The pad Thai wouldnâ€t be fully hydrated, but I
didnâ€t want to wait anymore. I began wolfing down the half-crunchy meal. “Are
you thru-hiking?� a man asked, as two preteen boys beside him stared wide-eyed at
me. I hadnâ€t even noticed them come in. They looked wet and I figured theyâ€d
just returned from a hike up to Galehead Mountain. “Yes, I am.� The boys
whispered something to their dad. “Why donâ€t you ask her?â€? he said.
“Are you going south or north?� the older boy asked. “South.� “When
did you start?â€? “August 1.â€? Read more “Thatâ€s over forty miles a
day!â€? the father couldnâ€t help but interject. I smiled and wiped pad Thai off my
face with the back of my hand. Then I tipped the package up and drank the rest of the
liquid. “Sheâ€s cooler than Bear Grylls!â€? the youngest one exclaimed. His
stage whisper to his father was met with a roar of laughter. “I think thatâ€s the
best compliment Iâ€ve ever gotten,â€? I said, smiling at him. I threw my trash away
and took a deep breath. It was easier to step outside into the furor of the storm with
their admiring eyes on me. The warmth of the food and coffee in my belly only lasted a
few miles. The trail along Franconia Ridge was exposed and, despite moving as fast as
possible, I could not stay warm. The rain finally began to taper as I dropped below
4,000 feet near the Liberty Springs campsite. Even so, it seemed as though I would
never thaw. I lost elevation rapidly as the dirt trail caked my new shoes and socks in
mud. My goal for camp was Eliza Brook shelter, eleven miles beyond the Kinsman
Peaks. At the bottom of the descent Iâ€d merge with easy trail and bike paths, which,
combined with thinning clouds and lack of wind, would result in faster miles—I hoped. I
might be able to crack forty miles today after all. It was a rueful observation. I knew the
Kinsmans might crush me, but I was so far behind schedule I had to try to get past the
two rocky, exposed summits that day. Suddenly my feet slid out from under me and I
landed in the mud, banging my knee on a rock. “Iâ€m so sick of mud!â€? I
couldnâ€t help but scream. I sat for a moment. Just get to Hanover. Things will get
better in Vermont. Just get through New Hampshire. I got to my feet. I had told myself a
hundred times to just make it past Hanover to the smoother trail of Vermont. Some
days I felt like I could do it. Other days I didnâ€t. Some days I told myself I could quit
at the New Hampshire border in Hanover. Other days I told myself I couldnâ€t quit
until I finished Vermont—150 miles further. Most nights I felt an extreme hopelessness
brought on by the bone-deep fatigue of the day as I crawled into my sleeping bag,
physically destroyed and always short of my goal. Each morning it would lessen
somewhat. But every setback along the way eroded my dream that what I was
attempting was possible. The Appalachian Trail - 2,190 Miles

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Mud, Rocks, Blazes: Letting Go on the Appalachian Trail

Mud, Rocks, Blazes: Letting Go on the
Appalachian Trail

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Blazes: Letting Go on the Appalachian Trail Excerpt from Mud, Rocks, Blazes I sank onto a bench
and tried to guide the shaking cup of coffee to my lips, eventually getting enough into my body to
slow the shivering. I checked my watch. It had been eight minutes. I refilled my coffee a second
time . . . and a third. Eleven minutes. The pad Thai wouldnâ€t be fully hydrated, but I didnâ€t
want to wait anymore. I began wolfing down the half-crunchy meal. “Are you thru-hiking?�
a man asked, as two preteen boys beside him stared wide-eyed at me. I hadnâ€t even noticed
them come in. They looked wet and I figured theyâ€d just returned from a hike up to Galehead
Mountain. “Yes, I am.â€? The boys whispered something to their dad. “Why donâ€t you
ask her?� he said. “Are you going south or north?� the older boy asked. “South.�
“When did you start?â€? “August 1.â€? Read more “Thatâ€s over forty miles a
day!â€? the father couldnâ€t help but interject. I smiled and wiped pad Thai off my face with the
back of my hand. Then I tipped the package up and drank the rest of the liquid. “Sheâ€s
cooler than Bear Grylls!� the youngest one exclaimed. His stage whisper to his father was met
with a roar of laughter. “I think thatâ€s the best compliment Iâ€ve ever gotten,â€? I said,
smiling at him. I threw my trash away and took a deep breath. It was easier to step outside into
the furor of the storm with their admiring eyes on me. The warmth of the food and coffee in my
belly only lasted a few miles. The trail along Franconia Ridge was exposed and, despite moving
as fast as possible, I could not stay warm. The rain finally began to taper as I dropped below
4,000 feet near the Liberty Springs campsite. Even so, it seemed as though I would never thaw. I
lost elevation rapidly as the dirt trail caked my new shoes and socks in mud. My goal for camp
was Eliza Brook shelter, eleven miles beyond the Kinsman Peaks. At the bottom of the descent
Iâ€d merge with easy trail and bike paths, which, combined with thinning clouds and lack of
wind, would result in faster miles—I hoped. I might be able to crack forty miles today after all. It
was a rueful observation. I knew the Kinsmans might crush me, but I was so far behind schedule I
had to try to get past the two rocky, exposed summits that day. Suddenly my feet slid out from
under me and I landed in the mud, banging my knee on a rock. “Iâ€m so sick of mud!â€? I
couldnâ€t help but scream. I sat for a moment. Just get to Hanover. Things will get better in
Vermont. Just get through New Hampshire. I got to my feet. I had told myself a hundred times to
just make it past Hanover to the smoother trail of Vermont. Some days I felt like I could do it.
Other days I didnâ€t. Some days I told myself I could quit at the New Hampshire border in
Hanover. Other days I told myself I couldnâ€t quit until I finished Vermont—150 miles further.
Most nights I felt an extreme hopelessness brought on by the bone-deep fatigue of the day as I
crawled into my sleeping bag, physically destroyed and always short of my goal. Each morning it
would lessen somewhat. But every setback along the way eroded my dream that what I was
attempting was possible. The Appalachian Trail - 2,190 Miles #pdf #download #epub #kindle
#ebook #audiobook #hardcover #amazon #mobi #ipad #android #read #unlimited #free #book

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