Meet Serendipity

“Ahhhhh…S#!%!!…Angel, I just felt a “pop”, can we walk for a few blocks?”…

Said “pop” would soon be defined as a fracture of my second metatarsal. An injury that was disguised in disappointment would later reveal itself to be a gift. Let me explain…

The bone problem landed me in a (ridiculously unsexy) orthotic boot, unable to partake in exercise of impact for quite some time. The boot led to a bike for its low impact avenue for staying active. Why a bike? A bike because ever since I moved to the city, post-divorce, I would stare at bicycling commuters and I wanted to be “them” but was too intimidated to ride in traffic. How would I manage the hand signal thingies while changing lanes? What if it rained? Where would I put my LUNCH, for God’s sake? “In your pannier bag, Sarah.”, Angel said. “What’s that, and will you ride to work with me for the first time?”, I asked. Of course she did, that’s what she does. She supports my wild. The rest is history. Starting my mornings at 0-dark-thirty with the crisp wind snapping back at me, the sun yet to rise, and the rest of Bloomfield still under their covers- I was hooked. I was finally one of “them”. “Them” defined as the doers, the movers, the progressive thinkers, the adventurers. I felt alive.

2 years later…

“Sarah, you have a bike…want to ride from Pittsburgh to D.C. with a group of us? There’s this trail. It’s called the GAP, it connects with the C&O towpath, and we want a 4th.”, Katie asked. I had never ridden more than 10 miles in 1 clip. Nor was Katie much more than an acquaintance. I had questions (shocker, I know). How many miles in total? Per day? How would I train? What would I wear? How would I prevent rhabdomyolysis? Death??

I said yes. I said yes because it was out of my comfort zone, because I was intimidated, and because I’d get to say that I rode my bicycle from my front porch to the White House. Now THAT sounded pretty bada$$! 333 miles, 6 flat tires, an ocean of mud, a forded river, slap happy on GU packets, all the while drenched in the arms of Hurricane Michael…4 strong women, all incredibly unique but identical in their determination, made it to Mile “0”…but most notably, I gained a best friend. Katie taught me that my mind governed my physical limits, and through me she learned that sharing her feelings conveyed strength, not weakness. We simply made an excellent team.

The flats and the mud couldn’t keep Katie, Sara without an “h”, Julie, and I from our Nation’s capitol, but they did keep us from one thing. Seeing Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia in the light of day. Redemption did not come in the form of something completely reasonable such as…ya know…getting into a vehicle, paying a toll or two, and treating ourselves to a comfortably cozy B&B while we set out to tour the home of John Brown’s Raid. Perhaps throw a massage in there? Maybe Eggs Benedict? No. Katie struck again.

We would walk there.

Each of us backpacking virgins, the skepticism was FIERCE. So much so that Sara without an “h” and Julie graciously bowed out. I agreed to partner with Katie on our very first backpacking excursion. It would be on the Appalachian Trail through its stretch across the state of Maryland. We would start at the Pennsylvania/Maryland border and head South, ending in, none other than…Harper’s Ferry. I would feverishly spend the summer preparing- reading, diagraming, spread sheeting, and hustling around Frick Park with a backpack full of sixteen 1 liter Evian bottles. Of course, my physical demise was imminent…would I fall victim to Haptovirus? Rabies? A fatal fall? Or toxic megacolon? This was yet to be determined. Katie started stuffing her hand me down pack with CLIF bars, mismatched socks, and her 9 year old son’s survival bracelet the night before we left. Are you catching my drift?

Little did I know, I was about to fall in love with a footpath.

The following summer…

“Mom, why would there be these tiny holes…almost like little mini teeth marks…in the wrappers of my granola bars, my oatmeal packets, my peanut butter crackers?”. Her response left me speechless. No. No. NO!! The 100+ year old row house that I had been renting for 9 years was being taken over by mice. I would’ve rather it had been by a family of Grizzlies…or Manson himself. I went to my landlord with persistent requests for professional extermination which were answered with…(drumroll pleeeeeeease!!)…an order to evict the property. The property that I had beautifully landscaped with blue hydrangeas and hand sewn custom leopard on begonia on burlap window treatments for. Yes, that property. I was being “too demanding”. Mice- 1, Sarah - 0.

Or was I losing score?

This was my chance. My window of opportunity. My fork in the road. The playbook that silver linings are made for. I could put all of my belongings into storage and relinquish a place to call home, bringing my outgoing expenses to nil, making it possible to be without income for the good bit of a year.

I could thru hike the Appalachian Trail.

The fracture. The bike. The trek to D.C. The birth of a lifelong friendship. A walk in the woods. The mouse in the house.

It’s serendipity.

As is my trail name.

And in 3 weeks, I will walk.