Just Call Me W.T.

The continued adventures of Procrastination Girl:

Having promised her theoretical readers that she would post about her incredible trip home, she found herself fighting petty crime in the rough Korean neighborhoods instead. The people begin to lose faith, seeing her false promises and the transparency of her supposed Super status. But then, just as the sun is setting on her reign, Procrastination Girl once again sits down to the computer...

So here, finally, begins my updates on my adventures at home. I just love my family. As soon as the option of coming home for vacation began playing through my mind, spending time with them was what most galvanized me. Likely if you have ever read any of my posts, you already know what my brother is doing. But since I never miss an opportunity to brag, I will tell you again. He and my cousin Chad are hiking the entire Appalachian Trail, a 2,174 mile stretch (3,499 kilometers) from Maine to South Carolina. The average length for hiking is from 5 to 6 months. And why are these two fine young gentlemen doing this? Not to waste time or for their only glory (trust me, the hiking is hardly glorious), but to raise money for the Susan G. Komen foundation, an organization focused on fighting Breast Cancer through education and research. Awesome boys. Awesome. Need a link to their site? Try this one!

So when my mom said that if I came home from Korea, it would be perfect to go see Daane and Chad, I nearly immediately went to get my ticket. Early on one Sunday morning, four girls packed the car for a road trip from Michigan to eastern Pennsylvania, a mere 11 hours away. Every minute was worth it. The aforementioned girls were me, my mom, my grandma, and my sister Ashley. While I have spoken extensively about what Daane is doing, I haven't yet had the opportunity to talk about Ashley. Neither of us are that good at maintaining contact, so spending time with her was wonderful to catch up on everything. I told her all about Korea (and if you are there, I probably told her about you, too). She told me about her all-encompassing passion: horses. I realize that this may sound underimpressive unless you are actually familiar with her sport. Ash bought her first horse when she was only 14, doing this with her own money. Since I can barely save 50 cents, this alone impresses me. Now 23, she has owned 3 horses; she recently sold both her first and second after buying a beauty she found on a trip to Germany.

I really don't know that much about horses. So anything that I say would probably be wrong. But I learn a lot from Ash, who adores to talk about it. Everything that happens, she connects back to her horses. To Ash, life is an analogy for horse riding. And yes, I know how I said that.

This new horse of hers, with the registered name "Safari," will someday bring her to the Olympics. I have no doubt of that. Ash is a true athlete, training both herself and her horse. She works at and runs a barn for a family in Lansing, Michigan (a family I incidentally met during my time home this past winter and now see why she loves them so fiercely). This connection has also led to her knowing many high people within the horse world, but I'm not one to name names. (Liar!) No, it's just if I could remember their names to drop them, I would imagine you to have the same blank look on your face that I get when she speaks of them. Ash is also studying to be a teacher (woohoo!) because, like me, she loves kids. Runs in the family.

And speaking of running in the family... So these four ladies drove all the way to the east side of the country to see our dear boys. We got in late Sunday evening, sleeping in a hotel while the boys slept in an A.T. (Appalachian Trail) shelter. Our plan was to meet at 10 am the next morning. We left early, giddy with excitement at knowing our reunion was imminent. As we pulled of the highway to the road which intersected the A.T., we spotted them in a small parking lot. The immediate reaction was like teens spotting a celebrity: screaming. Jumping from the still moving vehicle, I lept into Chad's arms while Ash jumped at Daane. Big hugs for our hairy (not shaving), stinky (lots of hiking + few showers), handsome (it's a given) boys.

Oh, I love them so much. They voraciously wolfed down the food prepared by mom and gram, while I basically pelted them with tons of questions about their trip. To fill you in, they are what's called "through-hikers," meaning that they hike the entire trail from north to south (how it was traditionally started, though nowadays most through-hikers do it south to north). Although I like to call myself a through-hiker, it’s purely fictional at best and is, at worst, a horrible lie. I did 20 miles. Chad and Daane are doing 2,174. So lets just say that I am currently a 0.1% through-hiker. Ah, the sense of accomplishment.

The boys had already hiked 10 miles to meet us, starting at 5:30 in the morning (“No, we were late. 5:40 or so,” Daane told me. I say, “Whatever. Anything before six is still the night.”). After stuffing ourselves with various and sundry goodies from mom and gram, we began our “long and arduous” 8 mile hike. Ashley and I had gleefully anticipated what Northbounders had informed the boys was the “most difficult part of the trail.” When the boys apologized later that day regarding the lack of challenge, I merely gasped that, no, this was fine that it wasn’t at all difficult. Indeed. Let’s just say I slept well, albeit with sore muscles, that night.

Ashley, full of her infinite energy, continuously ran up hills and bounced over fallen trees (not kidding), earning her the trail name “Captain Kangaroo.” I should explain that, too. When you hike the trail, you are generally given a trail name. Daane, my brother, got "Mountain Goat" (shortened to "Goat") because in hiking the first part of the trail, he bounded from rock to rock like a (say it, everyone) mountain goat. Chad was named "Stretch," given to him by another Southbounder, because he is so tall and lean. I was named "Walkie Talkie" (shortened to W.T.). You may guess how I got mine. Mom and Gram also earned trail names, though as chauffeur hikers. They suggested many, but I believe settled upon “Hansel and Gretel,” for wandering in the “urban” wilderness before meeting up with us.

We were quite a distance from the hotel mom and gram found for us, so Chad called for them to pick us up at Smith Gap. Nearly 1 ½ hours later, our car was escorted by a man gram and mom described as their “greedy guardian angel.” When they were hopelessly lost, fruitlessly asking countless befuddled locals where Smith Gap was (“Never heard of it!”), he drove up and asked if they wanted help. After finding us, they offered money to him as thanks for leading them; he snatched it quickly with a brief “Thanks,” and drove away. Apparently generosity does have a price. Nonetheless, this kind stranger allowed for another reunion. The evening was spent relaxing and recuperating with the boys.

On day two of my and Captain K’s hike, (day 66 of the boys’ hike) we completed 12 miles. The start of the terrain was exceptionally easy. We grabbed a few good scenery shots, deciding they were excellent opportunities to practice our intimidating poses. The hiking in Pennsylvania, I am told, is drastically different from that of the northern states, especially Maine. Here, you are hiking mostly through the woods, shutting your view narrowly into that of the path. The terrain is littered with small, jagged rocks as well, so you must always look down to ensure that you don’t trip and break an ankle (though I, an expert at clumsiness, managed to fall once anyhow). Thus the hiking is quite tedious and, dare I say it, boring.

This is something I never could fully grasp while reading their excellent journal entries. My responses were consistently, “I’m so proud of them!” (still true) and “This is so exciting for them.” In actuality, it poses a great mental challenge in forcing the hiker to overcome both the simultaneous boredom and physical pain that they endure. For a long time, I nursed a large blister incurred along my short trek, something that made walking quite painful. Daane and Chad have endured these physical pains (blisters, shin splints, athlete's foot) for over 900 miles. And they told us stories featuring the incredible people they have met, displaying their continuing and growing passion to help fight breast cancer (I now proudly wear a pink “Sharing the Promise” wristband that Chad gave me), and evidencing their resilience at overcoming the various obstacles. Without sounding repetitive, allow me to reiterate: these boys are incredible.

As we hiked up to an area of dead trees, naked stumps clustered like a natural ghost town atop the ridge, Daane and Chad identified it as the place with coal underneath; it somehow caught fire... 50 years ago... and has been burning underground since. As we passed beyond the trees, looking onto a field of rocks, a sign indicated a split in the trail. One, marked ‘94, pointed to the right. The other pointed left; a white blaze was shortly beyond it. These white blazes, the boys explained, mark the entire distance of the trail. They even made Ash and I take the role of “point” and guide the group (we only got us lost once, but the boys quickly redirected us). Ash... uh, Captain K, delighted at this and began to call the blazes “bread crumbs.” She would call it out at each one we passed.

We hiked about 2 miles of the rock and boulders before we came to the top of the mountain. As we reached the peak, Captain K called out, “This will be a hard one guys,” noting the group of people just ahead of us sitting and resting. Upon hearing us, one man from the group turned around and shouted at us to go back, that the trail was closed. “Closed?!” we all shouted into the wind. Chad suggested that they should have put up signs where the path split, but the man said they didn’t have any materials for that. Feeling aggravated, we asked Daane to get more information from them. As he walked nearer, the man jumped up from his spot and threatened, “If you take one more step, I’ll have you arrested.” Daane stopped and suggested that the man come up to him for a moment. Walking over, Daane was afforded a view over the edge of the cliff. On the ledge below, with the other workers now resting, Daane saw a body with a sheet over it. Meanwhile the man explained that he was sorry, but they had closed this section of the trail for the day; obviously, Daane understood. The man suggested we go two miles back, then take the other trail that led three miles to the bottom of the mountain. The group of us decided to take a better route, meaning faster, but not safer: straight down the mountain. I felt very nervous, especially knowing that someone had just died while staying on the trail; here we were forging a new one. An hour later, after sliding on unstable stones on a steep mountain, we made it to the highway where Gram and mom picked us up. Needless to say, they were happy to see us alive and well.

Regarding the dead man, we could only discover sketchy details. Gram and mom were told that he was found with a weapon and a dog so protectively vicious, it required tranquilizing before the rescue team could approach the body. The evening news and morning paper yielded no information. Aunt Sharon (Chad’s mom), adept at surfing the net, told us that he was a 45 year old rapist wanted by the police. Apparently it was a suicide.

As we safely made it back to the hotel with a mere 20 miles under my Appalachian Trail experience, I felt grateful for experiencing even a fraction of what Stretch and Goat are doing to help eradicate breast cancer. I topped off my newfound experience with a dip in the hot tub. Thus ends my tale of adventure from the trail.