Total Weekly Mileage: 235.1

“Hitting the Wall in Pennsyltucky”

Dried-up creeks, streams, and removed water caches have made this section difficult—more difficult than I expected. Relying on those things burned me, and I went 17 miles without water, which forced me to stay at an Airbnb somewhere off the trail. Initially, the owner balked, but later conceded, and I arrived at 11:30 that night. The room, a quaint studio, was covered with everything rooster: photos, bedspread, even the salt and pepper shakers—roosters everywhere. Apparently, there were over 1,100 in total.

“Rocksylvania” is tough, like New York, though with less climbing. It’s hard to get into a rhythm with pace, and the towns are depressing—one limping town after another. These were once thriving communities, now just limping along like a string of Berlin, New Hampshires scattered across the state. I finally made it to Duncannon on a cold, windy day. I sat in the parking lot, ate a breakfast sandwich, and drank coffee while leaning against a storage container to block the wind. The strip clubs across the street were closed, and I didn’t see any lot lizards cruising the truck stop parking lot for potential clients. I pressed on and knocked out the big climb out of town by 11 a.m. I was feeling pretty good.

Exactly on the start of day 200, I hit the halfway point. Forty days to do the first half. The second half needs to be much better if I’m going to break this record. Not impossible, but still—being stuck in the hiker-wall funk isn’t helping. The grind, long days, night hiking, cold, wet, exhaustion—it’s all taken its toll on me, and I can’t seem to snap out of it. I had a five-day lead when I started the AT, but now that lead has evaporated, and I’m concerned I won’t bounce back. I usually bounce back pretty well when my back’s against the wall, but sometimes I question whether these hikes are worth it. No monetary gains—I’m broke. Not much notoriety. It’s not as if ESPN cares, or a news outlet. I’m really questioning why I do it. At this point, I’m not sure.

 

 

 

Total Weekly Mileage: 190.2

“Bastard Stole My Oreos”

I was happy to have my old shoes from previous trips to use. Kind of nostalgic in a way, but I’d never worn them on the East Coast for hiking—and they definitely turned out to be a mistake. The soles weren’t Vibram, and those are the best; everyone knows it. With the slippery rocks and boulders of New York, I was slipping and falling all over the place.

The trail design of the AT in New York is funny. It will lead you up and over a boulder field with no views, only to bring you back down into the woods where the easier part of the trail had been before. A cruel joke, no doubt. It does make for cool hiking, but when it’s wet out, it’s very sketchy.

After a couple of nights of cold drizzle and fog, I decided to end early one night at the RPH shelter. This one had four walls and a front door. It was open when I got there, so I just left it open. I woke up two hours later to see a huge black bear two feet from my bunk, trying to get into my pack and at my food bag. I yelled, and it took off. The next morning, my Oreos were empty next to a tree outside.

With stiff new shoes and constant rain (almost every other day, it seemed), my feet were sliding inside my shoes, almost creating a sandpaper-like friction on the bottoms. The wet soles really started to feel messed up. I was caught in a downpour near Greenwood, NY, and after making it through and feeling my feet, I had to stop. A quaint little motel and a shower felt great after the rainstorm to warm up my bones, but my feet were so waterlogged and beat that I needed to get off them and let them dry out. I did this while watching stupid television.

Back on trail the next morning, I realized I had made the right decision. Sure, I could have hiked on the day before, but the following days would have been filled with significant pain, risking ruining my feet. I took the 15-mile loss and was happy about it.

The next day at noon, I made it to New Jersey—a cruiser section of easy terrain, which I really needed. In just over 60 miles, I made short work of it in a day and a half, arriving at a sketchy-looking horror hotel at 11 p.m. But the room was decent, and the shower pressure was exquisite.

The next morning, I had crushed pumpkin cake at the bakery and was off. I arrived in Wind Gap at noon, resupplied, and was out by 2. After the big climb out, I realized I had never filled up my water bottles—and this was going to be a problem.