Fuel
My feet were on a Nittany Lion, the nemesis of my alma mater (P-I-T-T…LET’S GO PITT!!), all of the way to Georgia.
Quite a small price to pay for my very own Aunt and Uncle to deliver me to the starting line, Amicolola Falls, Georgia.
My seriousness regarding this hike was peaking last Thanksgiving, a holiday that Aunt Sandra has hosted for 42 years. Uncle Roy rose from his Chianti and stuffing, “if you go, I’ll take you”, he said. Boom. Was he being serious?? I was both completely taken aback and humbled by his offer. Why would he, why would anyone be that invested in my wanderlust? After all, he and my Aunt take care of my beloved Grandmother, better known as Aurora to those closest to me, full-time. And when I say full-time, I mean FULL-TIME. They have, and continue to, sacrifice their own odyssey for her well-being. Selflessness and dedication to family at its finest. A Robison gene.
He left no stone unturned. From the subs with ham AND turkey, American NOT Swiss, and PLAIN seltzer for our lunch on the road…to his exhaustive research of the trail, its weather tendencies, and map hung at 12 o’clock in his office…he’s made me feel understood. Supported. He’s made me feel special.
I’ve had a quiet comfort with Aunt Sandra and Uncle Roy by my side over the past 2 days. It’s inexplicable. The Universe is whispering, “you are exactly where you should be, Sarah. You are ready.”
Netflix was a thing in their very first class conversion van, people. Not to mention the wifi, plush leopard throws, and avocado toast topped with a fried “egg”. I mean, let’s get real. I’m fancy.
My fuel.
It’s also the well-earned trail name of my wingman. Katie, who you’ve come to know through my previous stories, is here. She’s laying (well, snoozing, as I should be) right beside me as I write this, in fact, and accompanying me in my first 4 days on the AT, to Neel’s Gap until she returns home to her family. My bridge from a life at home to this abyss that lies before me. My creature comfort.
My Fuel.
We’ve made it to the Peach State. My tangibles are finally strategically puzzled into their cube. I have no keys, as I have access to nothing warranting locked entry. My pack came in at a dry base weight of 34.5 pounds, which I’m personally stoked about, historically speaking. It’s St. Patrick’s Day, so naturally we shared green beers for lunch where we met Heather. Heather eagerly offered to be my “point person” in Georgia, should I need a THING. Heather is going to thru hike one day, mark my words. Corks were popped after dinner with toasts and prayers to follow. There is a tornado advisory until 11am tomorrow morning, and we have plans to penetrate the approach trail at 8am.
Ouch.
Oh- and about our meal last night… Hands down the waitress placed bets that the brunette from Pittsburgh wouldn’t make it to Katahdin after requesting to transfer tables after the ladybug/ant/air conditioning apocalypse. You’ve pegged me wrong, sweet Justine. You just wait and see.
And in 8 hours, I’ll walk.
“I replaced the fear of failure with the fear of regret for not trying, and everything changed.”
Saying goodbye to my things.
Fuel and I, Georgia bound.
Aunt Sandra and Uncle Roy.
We made it!
First food supply.
Base weight 34.5 pounds, Amicalola Falls visitor’s center.
Southern terminus.
Thru-hike eve!
