I've Tested Positive...for Hiker Trash | And then I walked — sarah robison · on the appalachian trail & a life unconventional

…for Hiker Trash.

Pronounced, “hika trash”. As per thetrek.co, “the term Hiker Trash is affectionately used to describe a hiker or group of hikers who have sunk down to a lower standard of living.”

Engaging in acts such as stirring my coffee with remnants of the last evening’s chili mac still encrusted on my spork, blowing a snot rocket as I roll my chunk of Spam into a tortilla to save my zip-locked trash receptacle from the weight of a swatch of mucous-ridden toilet paper dualing as Kleenex, or wearing a sports bra and thrift shop acquired $1 skirt to the Damascus Diner was certainly giving me street cred…but it wasn’t until the showdown at Subway that I could officially wear the crown de la hika TRASH.

When I say “Subway”, I’m referring to the sandwich shop, and when I say “showdown”, I’m recounting the interaction between myself and an innocent patron.

I was 4th in line as he was ordering FOURTEEN subs for a group of hikers who lazily stayed back at Boots Off Hostel while he placed the order for their group. This indulgent order left this Hampton Subway franchise without ANY remaining bread. ANY whatsoever. Bread that I had been craving (understatement) since my last time in town. “Who does that?!?”, I proclaimed! “We’ve been hiking for FIVE days!”, he answered. I barked back, “I’ve been living OUTSIDE since MARCH!!”. Snarkily, he responded, “that’s not my responsibility, ma’am!”.

Touché.

But “ma’am”?!? “MA’AM”?!? Really, dude?!?

For those of you who’ve had the pleasure of meeting “Deborah”, she made her appearance (namesake cred to my bestie, Sara Fauls 🗽).

He proceeded to spew to the shuttle driver, once outside of the shop, “man, there’s a LUNATIC inside.”

I was now the lunatic inside of a chain restaurant who had publicly yelled at another human, undeservingly, for providing sustenance to a group of church-going, soul-searching minors.

As I boarded his same shuttle, surprised to see him riding shotgun, I asked if he had yet acquired a trail name. His answer was “no”. I gave him the option of choosing between “Bread Bitch” or “Last Loaf”.

Hiker Trash, with a capital H.

We were given the opportunity to “Aqua Blaze” north from Hampton, TN. Meaning, we could throw ourselves and our packs into a kayak and traverse only 8 miles of Watauga Lake in exchange for 21 miles of trail.

The Tramily majority said “yes”, and I said “NO!”. I want to walk past every SINGLE white blaze from Georgia to Maine. I’m a purist.

I won.

The day before we penetrated Virginia, which I like to refer to as “Virginia Eve”, was…colorful. It was cursed from the get-go as Old School stepped into not only one, but TWO piles of human s#!@ as he hung his bear bag. Unlike truly 99.9% of thru hikers, 2 very special individuals had forgone digging their catholes, leaving his bare feet to dig deeply into their piles. His flip-flops in his trash bag, Sargent Pepper cleansing his toes with her last bit of remaining water, and Deja utilizing leaves as wash clothes, we marched on.

Virginia Eve proceeded to spark joy as Pepper’s GI bug got the best of her, leaving her green in the face. Without question, we each took on a part of the contents of her pack, allowing her to hike with only the burden of her body’s illness. Old School, BZ, Link and I carrying the weight of our kin. My checking account was hacked, account closed. This was followed with abundant offers of cash from the group until I could retrieve my new card and secure my own funding (no small feat when you don’t have a mailing address). Deja’s food bag, complete with her stove and cook pot, was hijacked by a raccoon, and naturally we supported her hunger until we trekked into Damascus. Then came the…rain. Rain that soaked us to our core. Despite my discomfort and the setting sun, it was a very important personal goal of mine to have a 20 mile day prior to reaching Virginia. I reached the 13 mile mark at 7pm and chose to walk on, hell or high water. Old School wouldn’t allow me to march on alone, and Operation “don’t let Dips die” ensued. With our headlamps on, we set out on my very first night hike, landing at a campsite 20.1 miles from our origination where Deja and Wallflower had set up camp. Deja, sawing logs, was unable to be wrestled into consciousness but we were welcomed into Wallflower’s 1 person tent instead of setting up our own at 9:50 p.m. in a complete downpour. The 3 of us had our single handedly most UNCOMFORTABLE night of rest, but undoubtedly my most fond.

My Tramily is the cream of the crop.

Coupled with these perpetual gifts on trail has come continued love from home. Funds from my kindred spirit of a boss, Helen DeFranco, and a colleague and friend, Jen Coates. An unexpected mail drop filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies, coconut infused shampoo, and a MUCH needed razor from Danielle Vincent and Paige Tejera. Danielle, a former student of turned colleague of mine who, years ago, I had instinctively encouraged to face her own apprehensions during her decision to move to Texas. I said in OR 9, “Always listen to that inner voice and follow it fearlessly, it will never fail you. You can always come back love, but you can’t always go”. She repeated the same to me as I grappled with the decision to leave it all behind and walk the length of our country. Paying it forward at its most beautiful. Paige, a Nurse Anesthetist at a sister hospital who I’ve only had the pleasure of chatting with in between trauma cases, looked at me from a cubicle in B-213 last fall while shoving down our salad greens, “DO IT.”, she pleaded. “But I’ll be alone, and I’ll have no place to call home…”, I retorted. She would do it if she could financially swing it, and I could swing such things.

There are people out there who are praying for exactly what you have right now. Your opportunities. Your struggles. All of it. Bask in that. Capitalize.

Dara, my best friend from kindergarten, now jovially referred to as my “wifey” for our effortless amalgam of traveling, cuisine and honesty, sent a batch of Cheryl’s cookies to my Mom for Mother’s Day. She is loving me from afar by loving my family in ways that I’m unable to right now.

My friend and Pittsburgh native, John Inserra, “Buddha” (ref: “Das Gear” post), traveled to Virginia for a week to hike with my tribe and lose himself in Trail Days. He came equipped with Rye, an acoustic guitar, a Tibetan prayer flag, the willingness to share vulnerabilities, and unconditional love for my Tramily. We’ve executed acceptance and adaptability this week. Together.

Now for the reconnections that my choices have birthed. My beloved Aunt Chris has gotten to know me beneath the layers that our Thanksgiving turkeys haven’t allowed over my 40 years. She reaches out to me reliably with interest, love and encouragement. Mitch Oblak FaceTimes me once a week. Patty George, a pulmonologist who I had the pleasure of training with 15 years ago and haven’t seen since, has been inspired to bring her next fat tire bicycle adventure to fruition by grabbing ahold of my journey. My Brother-in-law’s sister in NYC, Maria, has asked me to share my location with her so that she can keep close tabs on me. Janelle Pickering, a Nurse Anesthetist who I trained 2 years ago, reached out in extending her home to me once I reach New Hampshire. Ken Fasenella, a gastroenterologist whom I’ve practiced with for over 13 years, makes sure that I know that he’s proud of me. College roommates, Megan and Ang, have hot showers and meals waiting for me once I reach Northern Virginia and Pennsylvania, respectively. To name a few.

You all are making a serious difference in my success.

I am one lucky lady. Or one lucky piece of solid Hiker Trash, I should say.

The Appalachian Trail has featured my story on their Instagram page, both a right of passage and nirvana for any thru hiker. Because I took the time to engage with a stranger at a coffee house in Erwin, TN, he shared his desire to be “me”- to thru hike the trail once his children are grown and he and his wife have the opportunity to bud. In exchange, he was insistent upon helping me along my way in absolutely any facet that he was capable. He picked Wallflower, Buddha, and I up from Massie Gap to return to Trail Days in Damascus once I reached my 500 mile mark. The ride complete with orange Gatorades, Oreos, denim and Advil, he drove 4 hours in total in charity, all of the while refusing reimbursement.

Chad fulfills his trail name of “Giving Tree” on the daily. One of the best humans that I’ve ever encountered.

Once complete, I will have walked 83 marathons with 35 pounds on my back in 6 month’s time.

“I made it the mantra of those days; before yet another series of switchbacks or skidded down knee-jarring slopes, when patches of flesh peeled off my feet along with my socks, when I lay alone and lonely in my tent at night, I asked, often out loud, “Who is tougher than me?”. The answer was always the same, and even when I knew absolutely there was no way on earth that it was true, I said it anyway. “No one”. ”

— Cheryl Strayed

Wallflower and I, sharing a headset 🎧, 5/6. Approaching Laurel Falls!

Tramily leaving Hampton, TN heading for Damascus, VA, 5/8

Wilderness Bob, a Triple Crowner (meaning that he has thru hiked the AT, the PCT, the CDT…A.K.A.- MY IDOL!!) has silently shared his pearls with us at Vandeventer Shelter, 5/9

Doughboy, wearing his Grandfather’s WWII uniform for his entire thru hike, has served as an inspiration for us all through his quiet confidence, 5/9

Spam, greens, and Mayo! If you’d like to send along a mail drop, MAYO PACKETS PLEASE! Hard to come by 🙏🏼

Embedded blaze within the cow escape prevention bench!

Then I just feel criminal tearing into my jerky with the cow still in earshot

Right foot, Tennessee ➡️ Left foot, Virginia!

KWP signature “oatmeal mix” has ARRIVED 🙌🏼!

“Ello!!”, Webber-Plank honey 🍯! (In Anna Gombar’s non-leak breast milk contraption…don’t be salty, Wysocki’s!!)

Grandma Gatewood was the first woman to hike the Appalachian Trail in 1955. The 1st of her 3 thru hikes, she traversed this land in our modern day equivalent of Converse All-Stars without exception. These are her originals, showcased at Mount Roger Outfitter in Damascus 👞

Tawny took the time to add a note after placing my phone order ♥️ Little touches like this remind me of home and aren’t lost on me

My 2nd pair of kicks…from Altra…to Fleet Feet Pittsburgh via Tim Lyman to Hampton, Tennessee…back to Pittsburgh as a result of a USPS glitch…baaaaaack to Damascus, again with the help of Tim…to the wrong outfitter at the mis-discretion of UPS…then into my hands after a 1 mile walk 🙌🏼 👟 — My 2nd pair of kicks…from Altra…to Fleet Feet Pittsburgh via Tim Lyman to Hampton, Tennessee…*back* to Pittsburgh as a result of a USPS glitch…baaaaaack to *Damascus,* again with the help of Tim…to the *wrong* outfitter at the mis-discretion of UPS…then into my hands after a 1 mile walk 🙌🏼 👟

Wallflower’s FIRST time seeing snow in his LIFE! Florida boy ☀️

Buddha, myself, and Wallflower…I had them “over” for coffee, mile 492

“Vaguely approximate”…double entendre?! Made me chuckle

Bridging the gap between 61 and 21 years young

“And I have walked 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more…”, 5/13

Wallflower, Buddha, Giving Tree and I outside of The Virginia Creeper Lodge, 5/14

I’ve Tested Positive

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