3 Degrees of Separation
Joe Triebsch sold an REI Co-op cycling windbreaker to me in the fall of 2018.
He was humored by my diligence to bike the C&O Towpath during one of its wettest seasons to date, resulting in numerous reroutes and sectioned closures.
So, naturally, we became friends.
Joe invited me to sit in on a talk that John Inserra, “Buddha”, was giving at Grist House Brewery in the Spring of 2020. Buddha would be speaking of his L.A.S.H. (Long A$$ Section Hike) on the Appalachian Trail. The how-to’s of maildrops, ramen bombs, and blisters. The list went on. To date, I had only spent 44 miles on the AT.
44 ethereal miles.
Buddha and I became friends.
Buddha rang my doorbell, unannounced, in support of my apocalyptic meltdown the evening before I left for Georgia, in the Spring of 2021. I couldn’t get both my eye glasses and my sunglasses to fit into my pack, and therefore, was convinced that I had just flushed my entire life down the toilet by leaving my career and committing to 7 months in the wild.
He put both sets of glasses into the same case. The case being an empty Crystal Light container.
And then they both fit into my Osprey.
And I stopped crying.
And I began to believe in myself.
In February of 2022, Buddha emptied his pack of his gear onto the floor of my rental. He was about to embark on his own thru hike and wanted a “shakedown”, my expert advice.
I was now coaching the once stranger that had gotten me to the starting line.
Buddha was hiking through New Jersey last month when he was met with “trail magic”- hot dogs, ice cold drinks, and conversation with John Noltner.
Noltner captured Buddha’s photo and featured it on his media arts site, A Peace of My Mind.
Buddha forwarded this link to me.
I was captivated.
I reached out to Noltner, praising his work. And his message.
We shared stories on an August afternoon over a call, both shrinking the miles and expanding our mindsets between Minnesota and Pennsylvania.
I now consider Noltner a friend.
Just as I connected Solo with Fisherman. And Solo, me to Cockadoodle. And me, Wallflower to the Fishers. And Misana, to Sue’s prayer chain, to my father.
Just as Joe Triebsch ultimately connected John Noltner and I.
3 degrees of separation.
Of human connection.
Keep your hand extended. Your mind, stretched. And your heart, open, friends.
Noltner’s showcase of John Inserra, “Buddha”, on the trail.
Noltner asked the passing hikers, “What have you learned on the trail?”
It has little to do with the “walk”.
Read that again.
“Discomfort is the price of admission to meaningful life.”
My itch has intensified. Not eased.
I want more. And more…and more.
You can follow John Noltner @apommstories, where his media arts project aims at helping us rediscover what connects us, on and off of the trail.
“This trail is only one person wide, but its community is worldwide.”
The trail provides.
And the trail, a metaphor for life.
It’s the universe that abundantly provides.
Joe Triebsch provided.
Again.
“I’ll be leaving to meet you as soon as I can find my water filter!”, Katie “Fuel” Webber-Plank yelped. Amidst her kitchen renovation. Andrew’s mountain biking camp. Stephen's fractured clavicle. Nicky’s upcoming Cub Scout getaway. Donald’s pending rowing clinic in Idaho. And her recent 60 hour work weeks.
She never found the water filter.
But Joe found his, readily willing to lend, and then drove she and I to the northern terminus of the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail (LHHT), which spans 70 miles to its southern finish in Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania. She and I had planned months ago to dive into the woods for 6 days, together again, just as we had for the first time in the fall of 2019.
When one spends 207 days on trail, it can be assumed that if “x, y, nor z” hadn’t presented themselves, that…well…they never will.
The odds.
Right?
No.
Wrong.
The 0.01% probability is real. And it’s fierce.
Fierce in Katie’s profuse and untoward allergy to Leukotape, blistering her already blistered heels. Her spontaneously burst sleeping pad, spurring her pup, Maggie, into a midnight’s hour startle. Which alarmed me awake to face an aviated hummingbird/mosquito/bald eagle hybrid, loose in my tent, ultimately falling victim to a Huggies wipe. Katie’s desperation in drinking from the very dog bowl that her canine had, in our drought, while Maggie found satiation in ingesting the diarrhea that yesterday’s camper had gifted to our tent site. Ranger Rick’s understanding in my inadvertently spilling a half empty Modelo can unto his boot, telling me that I had “dropped my water bottle”…(wink, wink). Would he have also suggested that I not trash my rain cover into a receptacle at Highland’s Market when the radar called for T-storms? Most likely. Just as I would have preferred that an acrobatic mouse not scale a red oak with the goals of gnawing through my food bag, robbing me of my cashews and ramen, fully revealing himself with his little itty bitty bite stamps. And my fractured toe, straight attacked by the Webber-Plank’s ottoman…no…I mean…a black bear…yes, a feral animal…that’s what caused my injury…upon our return.
90 degree droughted days in the mountains will bring gratitude, I assure you.
You want for ice water more than gold.
For this is why I hike. To reseed within me what is most essential.
On July 25th, Tom intersected me, hiking Northbound. He asked if I was out for just the day, or the night. He was hiking back to his vehicle after 1 overnight on the LHHT. “You’re doing the whole thing?!”, he belted. “Yes, 70 miles, over 6 days of hiking.”, I answered. The size of my pack, proving my honesty.
Tom replied, “I’ve never had the time to do the whole thing. Maybe one day.”
Tom looked to be about 60 years young.
Tom has never made the time.
To spend 6 days doing what he loves the most.
6 Days.
Time is free, but it’s priceless. And once it’s lost, you can never get it back.
“It is disturbing how tenuous our potential is, due to our fervent defense of the comfortable norm.”
We make 35,000 decisions per day.
Clint Murphy explains in his Law of Choice, “Everything that we do in life is a choice. If we stay in a job that we don’t like, it’s a choice. If we are in a relationship that we don’t like, it’s a choice. There are consequences to changing those situations, and that is a choice. Make the right choices.”
Make the right choices.
What is a “right” choice, anyway?
It is the choice that your gut feeling, your internal alarm system, is telling you to make. For you.
There is no manuscript.
Have I made all of the right choices?
Hell no.
I’m also no kettle.
I brought controversy to my ex-marriage. I have been dishonest. Selfish at times. I have softened my boundaries in exchange for security, turning a blind eye to my gut feels, despite them ringing loudly. I have made poor choices in an attempt to be seen, to fill a void that lies deep within. I have played it safe, living for years not spending those 6 days doing what I loved the most. Because I wasn’t an astronaut, or a movie star, I thought that thru hiking the Appalachian Trail was unthinkable. That living outside of the pages of the manuscript was unthinkable. I have let fear be my guide.
I was scared.
When we are afraid, we shy away from choosing what will serve us best.
“Doing the work is so important to knowing oneself and will help you to choose what you want and what you want it for.”
Robin Arzon reminded me to look, in the face, of what I am jealous of. What I am envious of. What is that telling me? What is that telling you? Perhaps, it is what we are missing within our lives. Ourselves.
Keep growing.
Keep knowing.
And then do.
Choose.
Katie, Maggie and I at mile 70, July 21st.
Now meal prepping with my eyes closed.
Joe Triebsch at the northern terminus of the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail.
Yellow blazes led the way.
Kirk “Solo” Ward Robinson poignantly shares in his most recent novel, “The Appalachian Trail taunts the imaginations of those who have never hiked it from end to end and haunts the memories of those who have.”
Chills.
Thank you, dear Solo.
Siesta!
Firewood chopper at the Route 271 shelter.
I like lunch.
Ramen bomb o’clock!
A shelter from the heat.
Crossing the LHHT bridge, which crosses over the Pennsylvania Turnpike on a 224 foot single-span steel K-frame pedestrian bridge.
Webber-Plank trail magic on a stormy Saturday night!
Nicky asked to camp solo with Aunt Sarah at the Route 31 shelter. Effectively evicted from my sleep system, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Nicky and Dips.
Bear (mouse!!) hang.
My oh my, how my first aid kit has shrunk.
Leukotape blister prevention.
Mapping for the day over cold soak.
Katie, Donald, Nicky, Stephen, Andrew, and Maggie Webber-Plank!
Stephen never leaves home without one.
A short road walk for a mini-resupply at Highland’s Market.
Secured Dill Pickle Ranch sauce with Leukotape, packed out from Highland’s Market. Success.
Andrew helping out with water caching.
Donald and Maggie.
Roughly 40 miles into a Southbound hike of the LHHT, you’ll pass directly through Seven Springs ski resort, which houses the highest point on the trail at 2,961 feet.
Rest on a shaded lift.
Waiting out a lightning storm on the morning of July 26th in the Route 653 Shelter.
Like a locked door at the end, and through it, all of the secrets…
Lunch on Cranberry Lake.
Goldfish chowder!
Vermont, is that you?!?
Taking nature’s bath at the end of a long day while filtering stream water.
Clothesline inside of my tent in an attempt to dry the day’s perspiration.
The aftermath of the nocturnal acro-mouse…
Miss Maggie and I kinda, sorta fell in love.
Meet, Sharon, Sandy, Tim, and Dave, day-hikers on the LHHT who we stopped and had beautiful conversation with.
Sharon…Dave…you will get to Georgia. Choose.
And that was a wrap! Maggie completed ALL 70 miles with us! A purist canine!
Footage of my run-in with the ottoman…I mean…the bear. Yes, the big black bear.
Dad’s surprise visit upon my return for a hug and photo sharing. He prefers to do a once-over of me with his own eyes, that I’m intact post-trail jaunts. No crutches. Black eyes. Missing teeth. Ya know…
Rub-a-dub-dub, my pack’s in the tub!
Solo leads with his poetry in Final Notes from the Field: Northbound on the Appalachian Trail, the third and final installment in Robinson’s Notes from the Field series.
In addition to speaking of our time together in Unionville, NY, Solo put my summit photo to print.
A complete honor.
Decorating familial graves on 4th of July weekend. Walter & Aurora, now together forever.
Road trip! Took the ‘rents to the Norton’s farm in Portersville, Pennsylvania.
Pam reading poetry over appetizers in the gazebo.
Tom on the grill.
Happy Independence Day!
Misana loves being a kid again!
Thank you, Mary Byrne!
Meet Gary “Wingman” Giffin. Gary first reached out to me, last November, after reading Abby Mackey’s article in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, featuring my journey. A few weeks ago, Gary treated me to pizza and pale ales, in exchange for my answering his very detailed list of questions, outlined on a Microsoft Word document, which he excitedly pulled from the pocket of his shorts. I was humbled over the interest of this once stranger, turned friend.
Maura, to Abby, to me, to Gary…
I met this family from New Mexico while volunteering at the Appalachian Trail Museum in early July. They had just reached the half-way point of their Northbound thru hike, tailoring their home school schedule to provide for their children, this experience. They carried 2 tents between the 6 of them and opposed any self-publicity of their journey, refraining from engaging in YouTube, Instagram, or the like.
They were doing it for them. They were present. They are admirable.
Meet Julia, Vicky, Jonna, and Della, best friends and freshly graduated from high school. They toured the museum while I was on staff, and I did my best to engrain into their young minds- that they always have a choice.
Meet Sport, Spyder, and Lightweight Tango. Passing thru Northbound in mid-July, they are now approaching New England.
Stumbled into Gettysburg’s Bike Week, 2022 in between raindrops.
The Foeg’s!
Fuller Lake after a Sunday morning volunteer shift, less than a quarter mile from the museum.
Ben “Front-Back-Fannypack” Hillis says, “If you can’t bend with the branches, you’re gonna break.”
And then Foeg, Big Al, and Ben secured my undercarriage, after it fell victim to the Pennsylvania Turnpike.
Ang picking homesteaded fresh herbs for dinner.
Bobby and Ben on the hibachi.
Trail magic on Shippensburg Road, Northbound trail mile 1,095, led me to True Grit.
And to Strayer, thru hiking class of 1975.
And to Flamethrower and Nitro.
And to Walmart, having hiked over 7,500 trail miles, with tear filled eyes as he shared the story of his son’s recent passing. He’s carrying his ashes to Mount Katahdin.
And to Luscious, who I had hiked with through the Great Smokies, last Spring, only to cross paths with him once again, 15 months later. So I gave him a cannoli…
Chest, tris, back, and bis.
Tried my hand at a homemade corsage for Mom!
My mother’s mother, Marian, who passed during childbirth. My Mother never had the chance to meet her own mother.
Surprise! Cousins Roz and Kenny from Nashville busted in for cake! Eeeekkk!
We shared stories of Roz’s father, Uncle Gene, who was a renowned glass etcher from New Castle, Pennsylvania. Here, Kenny shows Gene with his prismatic.
Pig roast at the Myerburg’s!
Mike was a Critical Care Resident turned Pulmonology Fellow in the 2002-2005 era of my days nursing in the Intensive Care Unit, only to be invited to his home 20 years later…
Angela, to Misana, to me, to Myerburg…
Fresh hot tamales!
Jim and Drew, seasoned respiratory therapists who run circles around mechanical ventilation, my mentors.
The Hiker Yearbook has arrived!
Ken visited the Burgh on his travels from Florida, toasting with Rosie, Bullet, and I.
Mackenzie Minney spent the day shadowing with me before her departure to Indian Wesleyan ⚽️! She is grace, intellect, beauty, and confidence.
Mackenzie chooses far beyond her years.
Ned, summiting Mount Katahdin on July 17th 2022.
I connected with the Jones’ in Salisbury, Connecticut last summer, now sacred friends.
Cakes, my blood brethren, summited Mount Katahdin on July 13th, 2022.
Cakes had previously walked the entire Appalachian Trail in sections, yet still needed to fill his desire for hiking it from end to end.
He was taunted and persevered.
Buddha summited Mount Katahdin on July 27th, 2022, and then began to hike Southbound to complete his thru hike of the Appalachian Trail.
Camelbacks up to Nicole’s first day hike on North Park’s Orange Trail!
