Still 3 days before the Long Trail... . We were minutes from boarding the plane that would take us to the Long Trail. I can’t say I felt particularly excited or even relieved. Focusing on doing the next thing was my simple task, scared that if I whispered my hopes too loudly or dared to feel excited it would all fall apart. Now, I know this all sounds incredibly melodramatic but it’s the real truth of the feelings I was managing, better yet avoiding, at the time. . Hiking in 2020 had felt a little like encountering a scared animal. If you made any sudden movements or looked it in the eye it would quickly disappear to never be seen again. I was fragile and a little wounded too. A postponed CDT hike followed by a cancelled CDT hike had left me anticipating disappointment rather than adventure. . Nothing would be straightforward and the obstacles were numerous, at least in my mind. We were juggling individual state Covid regulations, required testing, closed shelters and businesses, forms to fill out and boxes to check verifying you’d done what you were supposed to do. Did I mention the regulations were also incredibly ambiguous? They were. For this rule following, Type A woman and her husband, that was about enough to send us packing. But the pull of the trail and the need for beautiful spaces, crisp mornings and the quiet of nature drew us onward. Somehow, both hesitantly and confidently, we courageously boarded the plane, took our seats and began to put miles between us and the humid, sticky air of Charleston, SC.

It continues to be 3 days before the Long Trail... . After one plane change and several hours we landed in Boston. I spent the majority of the flight making sure I was properly masked and my hands stayed away from my face while simultaneously fuming inside that the man beside me had his mask down and continued to cough every few minutes with zero regard for the rest of us. After all the cautious care I’d taken this guy had the nerve to be so incredibly cavalier about his actions and it infuriated me! I talked myself off the edge by focusing on what I could do. Protect myself, listen to music, read, etc. I was thankful when the plane landed and we were off to the races. . The whirlwind began. Grab luggage, pick up rental car, dodge traffic in the “rotary” (like a roundabout with seemingly no defined lanes or rules... please someone from MA explain how these work for me!), stop at REI for fuel, then proceed to cruise across the state to familiarly named towns like North Adams and Williamstown. . Our original plan was to park at an AT trailhead and camp somewhere close to the car, wake up early, pack up, drop off the rental and hit the trail. By the time we rolled into town, we were exhausted. Like bone deep weary from travel. A cold front was bringing freezing overnight temps, a shock to the system after having been in SC summer less than 12 hours before. I was ready for cooler weather and chilly breezes but not quite ready for what MA was about to toss at us on night 1. . Feeling a little shame that we were already considering a hotel but not enough to stop us, we sat in a Wal-Mart parking lot and plotted our evening of luxury. Once the room was booked I started to perk up. No shivering while trying to set the tent up in the dark. No exposing my bare butt to the cold wind. And there would most certainly not be camping food on the menu that night! Instead we picked up Panera, took hot showers and melted into a plush bed with far more pillows than necessary. I finally relaxed, thrilled to have a good night’s rest before we started the following day. A smile crept to my face. It was really happening. I could hardly believe we’d made it!

2 days before the Long Trail... . After 10 glorious hours of sleep I opened my eyes unaware of where I was. My brain flipped through its Rolodex of options and found purchase. I was in Pittsfield, MA and today was FINALLY the day. After all the waiting, planning, cancelling, disappointment, and replanning, we were going to be on trail. . I organized my food by day and worked to finish off a bag of 4 apples that weren’t coming with me. Spoiler Alert: I threw away three of them after hauling them around town all day. We checked out of the hotel and dropped off the rental car. After grabbing our packs we were on our way. No more vehicles for ease of travel or walls and plush beds to protect us from the elements. We were stripped down to the bare essentials. A 4 to 5 mile walk would take us to where the AT intersected the town of Dalton, MA. . Once on foot I immediately felt more relaxed. Something about a simple backpack filled with everything I need does that to me. Life slows down and starts to be viewed at 3 miles per hour rather than 30 to 70 mph. You start to notice small details you wouldn’t otherwise. Things such as which streets don’t have crosswalks, where the sidewalk curves or a lovely patch of roadside wildflowers. This slowing down met me with a strange, almost physically palpable, pull of the trail. As if I could feel the white blazes of the AT drawing me in. . Then the memories of 4 years prior flooded back in vivid color. On the right was the community center where I took a shower, down that road was the laundry mat Miss Janet drove us to and gave us Tide pods, and next door was the red velvet donut that gave Dave a bloody poop scare the next day. The convenient store, the quaint post office, and the bakery all promoted sweet memories as we walked by. Like seeing old friends after too much time apart. . And then we saw it, our first white blaze, a simple rectangular paint mark that means nothing to most but signals familiar comfort for a few. I took a deep breath and did what I’ve done so many times before, I let the white marks guide me home.

Still 2 days before the Long Trail... . Following the white blazes meant I could exhale and let the weeks and months of uncertainty, disappointment and frustration roll away. I let the white marks guide me through town, past the homes of locals until the footpath left the concrete and entered the woods, the bread and butter of the Appalachian Trail. . My relief was short lived. Where the path met the woods a sign at the trailhead caused my mind to spin. It felt like a kick in the teeth or a punch in the gut. Joy drained from my face and I saw the deep concern in Dave’s eyes. How had we overlooked this important detail? Like it or not we were 1000s of miles from home staring at a sign that read “the AT in MA is closed to overnight camping for the remainder of 2020”. . Disbelief and shock coursed through my veins followed by a heavy, thick disappointment. We walked 10 yards into the woods and sat on the trail. Both of us dared not speak or even look in the other’s direction. Eyes focused on our feet, afraid of our own emotions. We had followed the steps and checked all the boxes to enter the state of MA but didn’t think to check the status of the trail. After several minutes of painful silence we started to carefully voice our disappointment then think through our options. We had close to 4 hours of daylight and it was time to set aside our heavy feelings and be pragmatic. . Thanks to previous trail mishaps we knew better than to make a hasty decision. People were hiking in MA and presumably camping but our conscience very quickly took the option off the table. I know myself and was well aware that I wouldn’t enjoy being on trail knowing I wasn’t supposed to be there. Since we dismissed that idea, it was time to make our way back the way we came. It felt a bit like what I’d imagine the walk of shame feels like. We briskly walked through town, gaze down, certain to avoid eye contact with the same locals we’d jubilantly crossed paths before. . It was time to face the music. As we made our back to the heart of town we walked and talked, walked and silently considered our options. The first item on the agenda was what we would do with ourselves that night!

Still 2 days before the Long Trail... . I do my best thinking while walking so our plan to walk back to town and consider our next move seemed the perfect fit. Did we fly home to Charleston? Did we try to do something else entirely? Did we just go for it from the traditional approach trail knowing we were safely away from other people? How much time and money were we going to spend regrouping? These and a handful of other questions kept us busy as we pounded the pavement. . We landed on booking a hotel room for two nights (Saturday and Sunday). The rental car company would be open Monday and two days would give us time to consider our options. It also allowed us to watch the final day of the Tour de France. At least there was a silver lining tucked away in there somewhere. . With our wallets $160 lighter, we rolled into a less than ideal hotel and sat on the bed in silence. How did this happen? As soon as I caught hold of hope it was squashed in spectacular fashion. Disillusioned, quiet, in shock. We spent the evening this way. I researched a few options, watched HGTV, and then set our troubles aside, content to leave them until morning. Maybe, just maybe, we would wake up and find it had all been a bad dream.

The day before the Long Trail... . We would indeed wake up and find that, no, it was not a dream (for context, read my previous post). I woke up first and decided I wasn’t yet ready to think about our predicament and would rather focus on the final stage of the Tour de France. It was a welcomed respite and escape from my mind. But it was just that, an escape, and our problems still needed tending to. . Before long we were back to researching quarantine requirements, possible testing locations, etc. Soon enough our research gave way to a tentative decision. We were going to go for it knowing we’d done the best we could given the circumstances. We had been tested, we would stay 6 ft from others, wear our masks in town, avoid shelters and privies like the literal plague and pick up our resupply box at the Inn of the Long Trail to be sure we stayed out of town as such as possible. . All that deliberating in a dark, dingy room was taking a toll and I needed some fresh air. Our glamorous hotel had a beat up picnic table outside where we proceeded to cook some Annie’s mac n’ cheese, because we’re classy, on our camp stove (see photo). The scene matched my mood and it only got better as I looked up to see smoke, big billowing plumes of black smoke, rising over the backside of the hotel. Instant anxiety riddled my insides and I was planning my escape plan in my head. Getting my gear out of the room was top priority. . Rather than immediately jumping to worst case scenario, Dave, always the pragmatist, slowly stood up and started walking around the building to check it out. He easily sauntered over and a few minutes later made his way back. Matter of factly he let me know the house behind the hotel was on fire but he proper people were on their way, as evidenced by the sirens I was now hearing. We apparently handle stress differently! ?‍♀️ . The previous 48 hours had felt like I was living in the twilight zone. As I packed my things and prepared for bed, I silently prayed the next day would be a bit more calm, provide a bit more clarity, and that I would finally be on the Long Trail.

The Long Trail : Day 1 : Part 1 : 9/21/20 . Morning came quickly and I was all too ready to leave our temporary home. The too big furniture and spiders we were sharing space with suddenly felt like they were closing in on me and I needed out. The last shower before getting on trail always feels a little sacred to me. Spending time for an extra shampoo scrub and a little longer under the hot water, realizing my next date with being clean is unknown. . Anyway, back to the hotel. We packed our bags and tried to get an Uber. One, two, three tries... no luck. Why was literally everything about this trip harder than it needed to be? Then I tried Lyft and raised my phone up and slightly tilted as if I were trying to find service on a hill. Supposing this would will a driver to appear and IT WORKED! Right away we had a driver, God bless Paulo! After 30 minutes and a conservation about football we arrived at the Stop and Shop in Williamstown, MA. We were mere steps away from the AT where it would link up with the LT after a few short miles through the forest. . First, we grabbed some groceries and I did my best to push away the lingering thoughts. The ones doubting if this was a good decision, the ones reminding me I wasn’t following the regulations in their purest sense, the ones determined to make me walk away. I forced the thoughts in the back of my mind, far enough away to start hiking. I knew it would be easier to continue once we were in the woods and away from people. . From the grocery store, we set off down the highway until it linked up, yet again, with the familiar white blazes. This time there was no overwhelming joy or peace. I’d let my guard down once and was playing my cards close to the chest this time. But as the pavement gave way to a dirt path I couldn’t help but loosen my grip. I started to feel that familiar calm, the one where my cares fall away and peace washes over me like a gentle breeze. . We stopped for water a couple of miles in. The act of filling my Sawyer bags by a picturesque stream suddenly made the disappointment of the last few days feel worth it. We made it and everything seemed as if it was going to be okay.