Having packed the last of our gear into the Jeep the night before our departure, we had no reason to rush around the house the morning we left for Maine. With the temperatures climbing into the mid-80s and a good amount of humidity blanketed over Boston, we did a final inventory check and pulled out of the driveway around 09h30. The dash-mounted iPad had GPS coordinates put in for Millinocket, Maine, located some 290 miles north; from there we’d switch over to Gaia, our backcountry navigation app, and make our way off-pavement to our first night’s campsite just south of the North Maine Woods Telos Checkpoint.
 
The highway miles were easy, and the Jeep rolled along smoothly. We had just mounted our new Wildpeak AT3W tires a few weeks prior thanks to a partnership with Falken Tire from Rancho Cucamonga, CA, and I was interested to see how our gas mileage would compare to the factory tires. On top of the Jeep was our brand new hard-shell roof top tent - a 10" tall roof mounted shell that expands to almost 40" tall at campsites allowing us to sleep on the top of the Jeep. Our sleeping bag, pillows, and sleeping clothes are stored in it as we travel, and it collapses back down in just a few minutes when we're ready to move on. Also freshly installed on the front end of the Jeep was Chief Products' Lower Front Guard, a skid plate that replaced the plastic bumper from the factory to add protection from rocks and trees as we adventure through the woods. The Grand Cherokee had all three of these products installed in the last month and here we were, headed into the woods, excited to see how they all performed. 
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From Boston to Millinoket we averaged 21 miles per gallon, a number I was pleased with given the equipment load we were carrying. The town and roads were very familiar to me and brought a smile to my face and great deal of memories to my mind. As we slowed to the local speed limits I used every opportunity to point out to Dani places I remembered from the last days of my Appalachian Trail adventure four years prior. We drove through the sleepy town in search of a last snack from civilization before continuing down the final maintained road we’d see for days, our sights set way out of town far beyond where the pavement ended.
 
Our final stop was at an old service station/convenience store a few miles outside of town where a gas pump, antiquated by modern standards, rolled its analog dials counting out gallons of fuel at a glacial pace. Writing down the digits behind the pump’s glass, I carried the information inside and paid the attendant while Dani perused the store. Heading out again we traveled down Baxter State Park Road for another fifteen or so minutes before splitting from the dissipating pavement and breathing a sigh of relief as we rolled onto roads comprised entirely of dirt for the first time in the trip.
 
We passed the Abol Bridge Campground & Store, a place where I rested for an hour or two after exiting the Hundred Mile Wilderness during my 2014 Appalachian Trail thru-hike before heading on to Katahdin’s finish line, and continued on Golden Road for a long while. I stopped to fly the drone and capture some footage of Katahdin and the Nesowadnehunk Deadwater, a river flowing out from the Ripogenus Lake just west of where we stood.  
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Turning onto Telos Road a few miles from Harrington Pond Camp where we’d spend the night, I was able to reach Bob on his handheld radio. Our 2m Ham radio setup in the Jeep has an incredible range but hearing back from lesser powered handheld units can be a little more difficult in thickly wooded areas. He reported back that the campsite we’d chosen was a perfect spot for the night and directed us to its exact location. An open clearing nestled up along Harrington Pond, the area would easily fit our group’s four vehicles and two trailers once everyone had arrived. Dani and I found a good spot for the WK2 and I got to work setting up the roof top tent while she set up our base camp gear.
 
The Sweeneys arrived shortly thereafter, and the group cooked meals while I got some drone footage over the lake as the sun set. We sat around a campfire until 21h00 when Brendan’s voice came through on the radio proclaiming he was just a few minutes away but would need help finding the nearly invisible turnoff from the main route to access the campsite. I met him on Telos Road with my radio and a flashlight and helped him squeeze his Jeep and trailer down the narrow road, the final vehicle and driver to join our North Maine Woods adventure.
 
With nine people sitting around a campfire and two dogs playing in the clearing around us, we discussed the days ahead. As the last logs burned down and only the glow of embers (and Bob’s multi-color rope lighting) remained, people retreated to their roof top tents and trailers for the night, excited for the trip that lay ahead of us past the Telos Checkpoint and deep into the North Maine Woods.
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It’s exceptionally hard to believe that a year ago today I stepped foot on the Appalachian Trail for the first time, naïve to the true scale of the adventure in front of me.  Months of preparation had come down to this moment where I’d depart from the company of my Dad and start a long walk to Maine. On 04/04/2014 I had my first brush of reality with my quick decision 12 months prior to hike the A.T. Lots of gear shopping, admittedly minimal training, endless encouragement from friends and family, a simple flight to Atlanta, and a relatively quick drive brought me literally to the foot of a mountain where I’d take off from with no intention of turning back.

You all know the rest of the story. In 114 days, 109 of which were hiking, I averaged 20.04 miles per day and made it to Maine’s glorious Katahdin in a time I will forever be proud of. I made countless friends, many of whom networking and the Internet have put me back in contact with, and have memories that will last me until my own memory fades. You’ll be interested to know that almost every hiker who I spent any amount of time with finished the trail. Crusoe, JPEG, Soleil, Hustle & Flow (camped with on night 3), Whitey, Cheesepuff, VooDoo, Pneumo, Jellybean, and of course the entire gang that shaped the last chapter of my hike.  Not surprisingly, everyone seems to feel the same way, missing the Trail and simultaneously trying to plan their next adventure. As the A.T. Class of 2015 is underway hiking, some 14’ers are starting their final preparations for the 2,600+-mile Pacific Crest Trail or Continental Divide Trail. Though I don’t know if I’m ready for another few months in the mountains, I look back at the A.T. and constantly think about what adventure might be next. Santa and I have discussed a 660 mile thru-hike of the Haute Route Pyrenees (HRP), starting at sea level on the Atlantic side of France and hiking over ice capped mountains and farmer’s fields through to sea level at the Mediterranean side of Spain. It makes total sense for his schedule, a last real summer before his doctorate program spits him out into the workforce by this time next year. For me, I’m torn. A five week hike sounds amazing, the terrain sounds amazing and challenging, and more time with one of my best friends sounds amazing too. At the same time I’m faced with a handful of personal questions… am I ready to miss another summer? Do I want to be out of the country, away from home?  I’ve already flown 35,000 miles with work in 2015. I’ve been home for less than 2 weeks in total. Do I want to take my only time off and be gone again? And though it sounds silly to most, do I really want to miss another opportunity to see Zac Brown Band fill Fenway Park with my favorite songs live? Life is short. I absolutely get that and you of all people know that I try my best not to let it slip by without challenging myself and putting myself out there to experience things that most people won’t get a chance to. A 600 mile hike through southern France and northern Spain fits perfectly in that realm of adventures. I’ve yet to decide what I really want to do, but I do promise that if I end up hiking with him, be it for the whole trail or just a segment, I’ll write about it and post it on the web.

The biggest question people who learned of my trip have asked me since summiting Katahdin is how the trail “changed me”, a topic which seemed to draw a lot of debate over the course of the holidays with family and friends. I don’t think the trail changed me much at all.  You may debate this, you may have been one of those regular readers who I’ve never met who saw a difference in my writing or outlook, you may be a family member who’s known me my entire life and spoken with me afterwards to notice a difference… you’re all entitled to your own outlooks. I can tell you this though, I personally think the trail was simply an epic adventure that I needed to remind myself of my ability to face an immeasurably large task and see it through by putting my heart and soul into every move I made. It certainly has made me more aware of the petty bullshit in the world and people’s sometimes self-destructive tendencies to make mountains out of molehills. To help ballast the crazy world out there, I remain in regular contact with Santa, Pneumo, and Rocket Girl, and have spoken to many other ‘14ers who I met along the way.  Statistics have been published, and all in all a reported 2,500 people began a NOBO attempt at Springer Mountain in 2014. Of those, Maine’s Baxter State Park reported that 644 hikers completed their journeys at Katahdin. Combined with statistics from SOBO and Flip-Flop hikers, an impressive 26% of attempts were successful thru-hikes.

Tallying up the numbers, I wrote just over 153,000 words about my hike… to put that in relatable numbers, a Word document of my blog printed in a size 10 Times New Roman font would take up 180 pages of paper.  In the last year since I initially published 2180miles.com and set it out on its own adventure into the Internet, it has been browsed by 140,000 individual readers, and visited over 205,000 times. Many of you wrote in via e-mail or the comments section, followed me on Instagram, and consistently encouraged my trip. To this day it brings a smile to my face to think of the support you gave me. A few of you commented that you felt you knew me better than people you’ve known your entire lives. I wish I could reciprocate the feeling, but please do know that even knowing there was enthusiasm and devoted readership (or photo viewership… I admit, I frequently rambled) was more than I ever could have asked for.

I’ve hiked since finishing at Katahdin last July.  My Dad and I revisited Moosilauke in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, hiking up the weekend after Thanksgiving with a family friend in a few feet of snow with deep drifts on the summit. I miss the woods, the freedom, the down to earth people, closeness of friends I’d otherwise never have met, and the solidarity that it provided. I miss trail names; despite much effort, nobody at work wants to call me Texaco. Alas I’m back fully in the real world, with a bit more weight around my waist, and my daily walking/running averaging around 5 miles.

In my spare time (mostly while on an airplane, as I currently am while writing this) I’ve begun transcribing the blog into a book. It’s both incredibly challenging and yet fun, pushing me to put more detail into some scenes while skipping over the repetitive nature of others. It’s incredible to me how sharp my recollection of the hike is, and how vividly I can picture exact moments on the Trail. Whether or not anything ever comes of this writing I can’t yet say, but I figured it might make some of you happy to know that I’ve got 30,000 words scribbled about the first 800 miles, most certainly written in a more eloquent manner than the blog.

I’ve got an idea in my head for what the next grand adventure will be, though I doubt it will happen before 2018; it won’t be hiking and it won’t be cycling. Ideally this blog will still be bouncing around on the web, and I’ll be able to get in touch with some of you about it. I hope you’re all doing well. Thanks again for joining me on this once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

Onwards & upwards,

Ryan “Texaco” McKee

Shortly after lunch on Thursday (07/31) I left Boston and drove up to Wells, ME to pick Santa up. The plan, as I'd so concocted nearly a month prior, was to drive up to Baxter State Park and re-summit Katahdin with Rocket Girl, Dorothy, and Legs when they finished the Trail. It was hard to imagine that this was now a reality, all that time had passed, and even harder to imagine again driving the 6 hours north into Maine where the gargantuan mountain resides. I had packed up the basics of gear: a sleeping bag, my backpack, basic food, my camera, and trekking poles. Oddly enough I had a hell of a time picking this gear out, going back and forth with myself over what was necessary to bring. After having spent 3 and a half months hiking I couldn't even decide what to bring on a day hike without debate. Doing my best to occupy a minimal amount of space in the trunk of my sedan I headed off to the Maine coast to retrieve my partner in crime from his family's summer beach house. A quick hour drive up on relatively empty highways, windows cracked and listening to upbeat music on a gorgeously picturesque summer day, and I was standing in the front yard of a 130 year old home that once was once the last home before the ocean, since having been surrounded by new developments as is such with most beach houses. I met Santa's family and was served a delicious cheeseburger he had cooked me as we sat on the front porch in rocking chairs and watched some stormy clouds roll in. Santa packed up and we departed a half hour later with the GPS set for our destination nearly five hours further north.

The only benefit to the drive up to Millenoket, the town just outside Baxter State Park, is the highway itself. Just outside of Bangor the road becomes two well paved lanes, nearly perfectly straight with few elevation changes, and a 75 mile per hour speed limit. Enthusiastically falling back in love with my car we cruised along at a comfortable speed for hours. Our intention was to find a parking lot just outside the park, fold down the rear seats, and sleep in our down bags stretched out into the trunk. At some point Legs called and informed us of a campsite they had reserved, meaning Santa and I could actually get into the park that night instead of waiting for the next morning. It took us quite a while to get there, arriving shortly after 2015hrs at Abol Campground's sight #24 where a half dozen wet hikers were sitting out in the rain. We greeted them, undoubtedly looking strange as Santa and I were dressed in jeans and khakis, a stark contrast to their soaking wet and stinky polyester layers. Hugs were exchanged by everyone, and comments were made about how gaunt Santa and I look after our physically demanding and detrimental push through the last 300 miles of the trail... mind you we haven't seen any of these people in nearly three weeks. As everyone retired to their tents Santa and I made ourselves at home in the back of the Audi, stretching out in the completely dry place where we would spend the night. Literally car camping, I had also packed along my iPad and we watched the quasi new Liam Neeson movie 'Non-Stop' before going to sleep. It rained intermittently throughout the night, but by the time we woke up the clouds had dispersed and solely blue skies remained. Eating a pop-tart breakfast in true hiker style, Santa and I then drove to Katahdin Springs Campground  where the A.T. begins to climb the mountain, meeting the group as they got dropped off in the back of a park service truck.

Just like that, we were at the base of Katahdin again. With six days having passed, a decent amount of medication, and time to not be physically exhausting myself, it was almost exciting to be back. This hike would be a completely different summit than the first time, and between feeling healthy and being with friends, would likely be the one I'll choose to remember for years to come. If my dad could have been present, it'd have been an absolutely flawless day. We began the ascent with a steady speed as my knees reminded me of their recent discomfort, a sign I was nervous of this early in the day. Regardless I hiked on while listening to Rocket Girl joyfully provide a narrative of the trail. The excitement level of the group was unbelievable, and the miles passed quickly. Compared to the 4 hours it took  me to summit Katahdin the first time, the group would find ourselves atop the mountain in just 2 and a half hours this time, having departed the base at 8:00.  We passed by nearly a dozen separate groups of hikers ranging from families, Boy Scout troops, and couples out for day-hikes. If you remember, we were also planning on meeting Joules, Canary, Violet, Mary Posa, West, and Gentle Spirit to summit. They had left at 1 AM Friday morning to hike the trail in the dark in order to watch the sunrise from the summit. Meeting them at the top we took a million photographs in front of the Katahdin sign, ranging from individual photos to a group photo with nearly 20 completed thru-hikers. We hung out for nearly an hour and a half atop Katahdin, basking in the sunlight and jokingly cursing at the beautiful and occasional whispy clouds that would cross overhead.  It was a beautiful day to (re)summit the mountain, and the company we shared was phenomenal. We began the hike down at noon and after a challenging descent over the same boulder fields we came up, as technical of a descent as it is a climb, and arrived back at the car shortly after 1430hrs. We were greeted by a group of NOBO finishers from the summit who  were gathered around a picnic table with the aunt of a hiker named Guy On A Buffalo. We hung out drinking lemonade and eating homemade cranberry apple crisp before packing up the car, a challenge with 5 hikers worth of gear, and heading out of the park.

Originally our plans had been up in the air over what we would do upon finishing the mountain. As it played out we decided to drive back to the beach house in Wells to spend the night. The benefit would be a relaxed day Saturday, with the only drawback being the 5 hour drive to Santa's place on the ocean. The roads into Baxter State Park were not paved, and as such (being an anal retentive owner) I stopped by the car wash on our way out of town to rinse the layer of dirt off the car. We pulled onto the highway shortly after 1700hrs and cruised some 120 miles before pulling off to get dinner and gas. A side note, I was thrilled with the average gas mileage on the trip: 39 mpg on the way up with 2 occupants and gear, and 34 mpg on the way back with 5 occupants and gear... not bad at 75 miles an hour the whole time. Refilling the tank and grabbing dinner at a Subway franchise, we continued on with 2 more hours to kill. I drove into the night as we played upbeat pop music of years past, more often than not being serenaded by Rocket, Dorothy, and Legs in the backseat. We got to Santa's shortly before 2200hrs and were greeted by his mom who had laid out a spectacular platter of veggies and brownies, awaiting our arrival. I had some serious hip pain at this point, likely from the strenuous use throughout the day. Taking a quick shower and getting into bed, my day came to an end an hour after we arrived at the house.

Waking up Saturday morning was amazing, the smell of French toast wafting up from the kitchen downstairs. Santa's mom went out of her way to prepare a delicious deep-dish cinnamon French toast sprinkled with sugar and accompanied by crispy bacon, as well as fresh blueberries and strawberries. Over breakfast we spent a fair amount of time discussing plans for the day: a visit to a thrift shop for the 3 who have no clean clothing, some time by the beach, a drive into Boston to drop Dorothy off at the Greyhound terminal, and meeting Legs' parents back at my folks' later tonight. Dorothy's taking a bus to Virginia to visit friends, and Legs is getting her car in order to drive back across the country as her parents drive up to Canada for a family vacation. Finishing breakfast we headed to the beach, an exciting time for Rocket who had never before touched the Atlantic Ocean. We then piled into Santa's SUV and headed to a local store where Dorothy, Legs, and Rocket shopped around for new clothing. Lunch at a small seafood restaurant included Dorothy's first lobster dinner, and we headed back to the beach house where I napped on the porch. We'll head into Boston after leaving here, then back to my parents house for a day or two before we begin the journey across the country.

In the next few days I'll write my closing blog post, a summation of my thoughts on individual moments of my hike and the experience as a whole. Knowing myself it will likely be a long post, and may take me a few days to formulate... a lot of care will be put into writing it. My second summit was an amazing experience that complimented my first summit in every way I could have asked for. Some time ago when I was debating sticking around with this group or hiking on, my dad and I had a long talk about the choice and repercussions of each decision. One of the most important things he talked about was my summit of Katahdin- whether or not I'd want to have photos and memories of being there alone, or look back and remember immersion in a group of close friends who had redefined the Appalachian Trail for me. While my interest in an impressive thru-hike time overrode my desire to stay with the group, I was able to have my cake and eat it too. My true 'finish' will be an amazing combination of two days, both gorgeously weathered and special in their own rights, seamlessly blended into one moment in my memory. For these people I will forever be grateful, and the experience I will always think fondly of. I look forward to attempting the unimaginably difficult task of summing this adventure up into words for you to read. Until then, enjoy some photos of a grand finale to an amazing journey.

Onwards we go. I'm working on the last blog and my stats blog, both of which I hope to finish over the weekend. 

Happy Friday, folks. 

Texaco

Yesterday, on the 26th day of July, I completed hiking the final miles of the Appalachian Trail. Joined by both my father and my incredibly good friend Santa, we climbed 4,100 vertical feet over 5 miles of terrain in order to reach the summit of Maine's legendary Mount Katahdin, the northern terminus of the A.T., a mountain well deserving of that title. The climb was grueling at points, technical, and involving hand-over-hand bouldering as it ascended into the sky. I know I owe you all a week of blog entries (I'm working on them- sickness, physical, and mental exhaustion proved too challenging to then write in detail at the end of every day) and I assure you they'll be posted as soon as possible, but I wanted to at least get a photo up of my summit. 

The climb wasn't easy, I was weak with a still-present water-born illness, and took many breaks. There were times where my enthusiasm level was non-existent and I wondered to myself if I'd even care upon reaching the famed sign atop the peak. Luckily, turning a corner in a rock field high above the world below, I saw the finish line and immediately became ecstatic, doubling my pace and rushing off towards the end. Embracing and quite literally kissing the weathered and storied wooden sign, a physical object that has been the main character in many of my dreams over the past year, I cracked open a still-cold Sam Adams Lager that I had carried up, and poured it into my favorite 'Mt. Katahdin' pilsner glass which you'll see in the photo. As we three hung out with a few more section hikers, luckily having arrived late enough in the day that none of the hundreds of day-hikers were present atop the peak,  I played some favorite Zac Brown Band songs (America the Beautiful, Chicken Fried, etc) on my portable speaker and drank my beer.  We headed back down in half the time it took us to ascend, and were met by my mom, lifetime family friend Dana, and Santa's mom Sue at the base of the mountain. 

I've done it. Yesterday, I did it. I have officially completed a thru-hike of the 2,185.3 mile Appalachian Trail in just 114 days. Your support has been inspirational and motivating, and I promise there will be more posts, including a detailed post about the Katahdin summit, coming this week. Please bare with me as I work through getting some real-world things done (like a doctor's appointment and attempting to fix my malnourishment) and I'll do my best to get you a few more days of decent blog reading. For now, back to Boston. 

Onwards and upwards at some point in the near future... Today, I don't have to hike. 

Ryan 'Texaco' McKee

Day: 114

Day mileage: 12.6

AT total mileage: 2,185.3

AT mileage remaining: 0

Time: 7 hours (4.5 to summit)

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I completed the Appalachian Trail. 

Unfortunately, it wasn't an event full of fanfare, rainbows, and unicorns. Fighting a full fledged waterborne illness I had a tough time sleeping well, and would be faced with an exceptionally tough day of hiking. Physically drained of energy and in no mood whatsoever to hike (despite the end being so near) I slept in, rolling over and exchanging disinterested looks with Santa more than once. In this regard I was frustrated with myself; here I am with 7.3 miles to the summit of the finale of my hike, the last peak of a dream hike, and I had absolutely no interest in actually hiking. We meandered around the cabin for an hour or so slowly packing up our gear for the last time. The benefit of climbing Katahdin is that park rangers really frown upon thru-hikers taking their full packs, instead encouraging day packs or lightened loads. This may seem wrong to some of you, and initially did to me, having come all this way carrying everything to then summit the last mountain with less than all of my gear... but today, it was a blessing to not really be allowed to carry everything. Santa and I each filled up trash bag with our 'non-essential' gear, leaving only a few items each in our backpacks. I'd take along my sleeping bag, food (despite knowing I'd barely eat), a headlamp, rain jacket and insulating layer and a fair amount of water. Though it would be a quick hike of 'up and back', a weird concept given the fact that I've solely walked forwards for 3 and a half months, it was still crucial to carry enough gear to be able to spend the night or wait for medical help if necessary. Ideally, it wouldn't be necessary in any way shape or form. 

Packing up the last of our gear and almost begrudgingly heading towards the car, my mom and Dana dropped the three of us off at the trailhead where I'd stopped hiking the day before. From the Daicey Pond campground sign where I got off the trail it was just over 2 miles to Katahdin Stream Campground where the trail began the ascent of Katahdin. Though it would have been tough to tell in the moment, simply due to my lack of interest in anything whatsoever, I was ecstatic that my dad would be hiking along with us for the day. This would be the fourth time total on trail he'd come out to hike along, a perfect bookend to having been there for my summit of Springer Mountain in Georgia some 2,185.3 miles ago. His eagerness was enough to partly counteract the horribly low moral Santa and I shared. We meandered over a picturesque little two mile section of trail between Daicey and Katahdin Springs campgrounds, and my dad was able to get a good idea of the rooted, rocky, boggy sections that Maine was comprised of.  Crossing through KSC (Katahdin Springs Campground) we went by the ranger station in order to sign in for our thru-hiker numbers. It's common to register as a thru-hiker with the ranger station before beginning your ascent, at which point they'll assign your our thru-hiker number for the current year. Unfortunately the ranger station was locked and unmanned, and we were instructed by a passing employee to simply visit after summiting. We turned back around and headed back towards the trail, beginning our ascent of Katahdin at shortly after 10:30. The first mile or so of trail was relatively basic, rocky but gently sloped, and was easy for me to carry two miles an hour on although there was a decent gap between Santa, my dad, and myself. A mile in we passed by a sign marking 4.2 miles to the summit, Baxter Peak, and the trail began to be a bit more challenging. To clarify, Katahdin is comprised of 5 separate peaks, with the Appalachian Trail terminating atop Baxter Peak. We crossed a wooden bridge over the gorgeous waterfalls of Katahdin Stream, with picturesque blue water flowing rapidly beneath us. Making a quick pit stop at the very last privy on the Appalachian Trail, we then continued on up a rocky staircase that kicked off the beginning of the real 'climb'. After a mile of more moderate terrain with the occasional boulder scramble, we emerged above the tree line and were greeted with the first bit of what would become many hours of almost technical bouldering. In just one mile of trail we would gain over 2,000 feet of vertical elevation, scrambling over gargantuan boulders laid to rest who knows how many millennia ago when the tectonic plates were having a field day with each other. This part of the day nearly killed me.  I couldn't physically go more than a few hundred feet at a time without needing to stop and almost catch my breath. The physical energy I possessed for the day was already low, but this climb was pushing me over my own limits. I cannot begin to tell you how frustrating this was for me. What made me feel a but better was the fact that Santa wasn't feeling that great either, so I wasn't the only one who was miserable on the trail. My dad made a funny but on-point comment, stating that Santa and I were at the same time the strongest and weakest hikers on the mountain. On any other day I'd have flown up this peak in no time whatsoever, but today was not my day. Literally climbing up for nearly an hour and a half we finally crossed over a southern peak of Katahdin, crossing into the Tablelands, a large and comparatively flat area of the hike that is comprised of large rocks to hop between for the remaining two miles of trail. By this point I was quite literally exhausted, moving lethargically and generally pretty miserable. It wasn't until I looked up and realized that The Sign was in sight that my mood completely flipped. In that one instant I yelled out to Santa to confirm what I thought I saw, and upon his confirmation I broke into a flat run towards the final point of the trail. Reaching the summit and bursting through a crowd of day hikers, I threw my arms around the 4 foot wide wooden sign and kissed it profusely. Although I'm sure a handful of day hikers knew why I was acting this affectionately towards the inanimate object, I do believe that the majority looked at me almost as strangely as the large masses barbecuing in Bear Mountain State Park (New York) back on that lovely Sunday in June. 

This beautifully weathered piece of wood was the object of my affection, the focal point of dreams and aspirations, for well over a year before we actually met each other.  Like a recurring dream it was simply the kind of thing I'd find myself thinking about randomly and anxiously wanting to see. Here in this moment it was right in front of me, a tangible object I could run my fingers over and be photographed with. This sign is the pinnacle point for hikers  who complete the trail. The photograph next to those brilliantly carved words is the memento we all crave to have as our own. Here and now, this was a possibility for me. Every possible photo imaginable was snapped as we stood there, Santa joining me, shuffling around outfits and poses. As you'll see below there are a few great shots of us up there. At this point all the miserable feeling in my body was either subconsciously ignored or just completely forgotten. It's nearly impossible to tell you my favorite part of this time atop Katahdin. Drinking a cold Sam Adams in my Mt. Katahdin pilsner glass? Loudly playing Zac Brown Band's live rendition of America the Beautiful and Chicken Fried on my external speaker? Having Santa, a trail friend for life, there with me after all the debate as to whether or not he would make it? My dad, a driving force in my hike and an absolute inspiration to me throughout my life, standing there with me some 2,185.3 miles after standing by at the summit of Springer Mountain?  The combination of these things truly made for the most picturesque summit imaginable, and though it could have been rainy or cloudy, we instead were accompanied by gorgeously blue skies and scattered whispy clouds. It was quite perfect. 

Descending Katahdin was a lot better than climbing it. The honeymoon feeling with the Appalachian Trail continued on again as I climbed down, flying over the Tablelands and then dropping down into the steep boulder fields. Taking care with the negotiation of our bodies and packs between these mammoth rocks, we dropped below tree level relatively quickly. All in all we would descend the mountain in half the time it took us to ascend. We quite literally ran by most of the day hiking groups headed back to their cars, hearing comments after we politely passed by and thanked them about how fast we were.  With my dad leading us down we were back at the campground shortly after 1700hrs where Dana, my mom, and Sue (Santa's mom) met us with open arms and congratulations. Lingering in the park eating homemade cookies and rehydrating we made plans to meet for dinner in Millenoket, the small town nearly half an hour outside of the park where we each had hotel rooms for the night. Before leaving we signed in at the ranger station where I was officially declared the 81st thru-hiker to finish in 2014. Not bad, if I may say so myself. Likely within the top 10% of the year when all is said and done, every NOBO & SOBO hikers completed and accounted for. We left Baxter Park and headed towards town, stopping by a pharmacy to grab some shampoo and body wash for me to use in the shower. This would literally be the first time I'd shower since New Hampshire, after hiking over 300 miles in 12 days through horribly humid days and more than a few rain storms. To say that I smelled like a mix of decomposing human body and cat pee wouldn't be too far off from the truth. A long shower wasn't in order as we had to meet for dinner, but the 5 minutes I got back at the Inn were quite possibly the greatest 5 minutes I can remember in recent days. Dinner was at a local place in town with the four of us along with Santa and his mom. Though I wanted to have the appetite of a thru-hiker, I was full after a cup of Clam Chowder, leaving me with more than one takeout box. I was back to feeling pretty horrible and as we returned back to the Inn I simply climbed into bed. 

The Appalachian Trail is now over for me. In 114 days (109 of hiking, 5 zero days) I hiked 2,185.3 miles from Georgia to Maine. It was quite strange to hike down from the summit, all the while knowing that mileage didn't count... It sounds funny, but when you think about it I've spent just over 3 and a half months following maps and their exact mileage. The A.T. doesn't keep going from the summit down to the parking lot where you began, it simply terminates atop the mountain. The remaining 5.3 miles back to the campground don't count for anything. Those miles don't get me closer to anything except the reality of returning back to the world. I'm ecstatic to have finished, and though I wanted to be done under 110 days I think I got the best of both worlds. In the end I still summited over 5 weeks earlier than I originally imagined, and did it with a friend and my dad there with me. Think about that- I walked quickly enough for long enough that I shaved 36 days of hiking out of my trip. It blows my mind. In the coming days I'll be visiting the doctors and having blood work done to scan for any signs of Lyme or other diseases that may have presented themselves after my time in the woods. Medication will be started for gihardia, and hopefully that can be taken care of quickly. Though I have no interest in it right now, having just completed the mountain, I'll be returning in 5 days with Santa to resummit the mountain with the group we departed from 250 miles ago. I'll undoubtedly blog about that trip, and then of course the the finale blog post, a summation of my thoughts and experiences. There may also be one more with the statistics of my trip, for those interested in the breakdown of the finances and mileage of my trip - I like the numbers so I for one will be interested in seeing how everything worked out. 

That was it. That was the Appalachian Trail. Thanks for tagging along, I truly hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I'll look forward to hearing from any of you interested in writing in when all is said and done and the Summation post is written. For now I'm going to rest, eat, and reacquaint myself with the real world. 

Onwards & upwards... Sort of. 

Texaco

Day: 113

Day mileage: 11.4

AT total mileage: 2,178

AT mileage remaining: 7.3

Time: 3.5 hours

--

Excuse my language, but holy shit. I'm here.

It's quite interesting to wake up and know that it is your last full day on the Appalachian Trail.  I had slept rather poorly, a combination of feeling horribly sick and the uncomfortable feeling that my feet were experiencing, much alike squeezing the tip of your finger as your pulse becomes more apparent, a result of extremely tight duct tape keeping my shoes in one piece.  Despite these challenges, I felt somewhat rested and rewarded myself by sleeping in a bit.  By 5:45 I was awake for good and struck up conversation with the older gentlemen next to me, the only other person in the shelter to be awake at that hour.  Speaking for nearly half an hour before introducing ourselves, Cheyenne Walkingbird has been section hiking the Trail for five years now.  A native of the midwest, he's a general contractor who works on small projects in people's homes building custom cabinets and the like.  He used to be employed in corporate America but after his first section hike he realized that he wanted more out of life and left his job to work for himself doing something he loved.  He operates a wood shop out of his garage and though he "makes half the money" he has "twice the possessions and happiness" including two lakefront cottages that he rents out.  He would be finishing the 5th leg of his thru-hike, having started a month earlier in Dalton, MA. Despite yet another night passing by I was still feeling rather sick, and knowing that my mileage for the day would be relatively short I decided to stay in my sleeping bag for quite a while.  As the other residents of the shelter woke up I was introduced to them, a group of active duty military guys from Maine who were doing a walk for their fallen comrades.  Their trek would span the 100 Mile Wilderness and Katahdin's peak, with each man carrying not only a pack of their own gear but also a large rock with the name of a deceased soldier engraved.  The rock would be left atop Katahdin as they finished their trek.  We spoke for a while as I lazily sat around, at one point taking quite a bit of time to sign the shelter log book - the last one I'd sign on the Trail - with a very long and deeply reflecting entry.  Writing to Crusoe, Keegan & Papa Doc, Wild Turkey, Whitey, Soleil, Moe, Pneumo, Jellybean, and the whole gang that have been such a huge part of my life over the last month, I scribbled words for a few pages of the log book thanking everyone for the influence they each had on my hike.  It was incredible to look back at just how far I've come and to realize that each one of those groups represented a totally different part of my thru, all combined to make for one amazing experience over three and a half months.

I left the shelter just after 8:30 AM, with a  few short miles to go before reaching the Abol Bridge Campground, the first piece of civilization out of the Wilderness and a place known to hikers for their breakfast sandwiches and big refrigerators of cold drinks.  Still not feeling anywhere near 100%, I took a surprisingly short amount of time to hike the 3.5 miles of trail to the dirt road where the A.T. passed by the campground store. A mile or so before the store was a sign marking the northernmost point of the 100 Mile Wilderness, meaning I hiked this famous section of the trail in 3 days and 3 hours time... half of the time a NOBO hiker spends there, and almost 1/4 the time a SOBO hiker would take. Despite the state of my existence in this moment, I'm still rather proud of this accomplishment. The terrain was absolutely fair, relatively level and void of an excessive amount of rocks or roots. Arriving there an hour and ten minutes after leaving the shelter I was greeted by half of the military hikers who had already raided the breakfast sandwich supply. Disappointed by the thought of not having something yummy for breakfast I ventured inside to see what I could find to eat. Despite my lack of real hunger I knew I needed to be eating something, though all of the food I was carrying seemed horribly unappetizing likely due to 112 days of eating the same stuff. I found a ham and cheese sandwich and bought a few Gatorades to go along with it, hoping to replenish any lost electrolytes. I ended up sticking around the general store for quite a while after discovering a Wi-Fi network that I deemed well worth the $2/hr cost. After sitting for a while reading through iMessages and emails, I learned about the status of a few hikers, most importantly Santa's whereabouts. If you remember, he and I parted ways on Monday when he got sick. Having not seen from him since then and having limited communication, I wasn't entirely sure where he was or whether or not he'd be summiting Katahdin with me like we had planned for weeks. The last text he sent me was one saying 'I'll be there.'' - I'd anxiously await his arrival as it had become a thought in my mind that he might not make it to summit with me. After being adequately updated on the state of my world by the technology of the Internet, I packed up my gear and continued on the 8 miles towards Daicey Pond Campground where my parents had reserved a cabin for the night. It was about this time that severe symptoms of giardia really set in. The remaining mileage would be absolute hell for me, struggling with being sick and suddenly even more exhausted than I already was. Sparing you the details, I'll simply say I had a tough time on the exceptionally simple terrain, but did my best to stop and take in the gorgeous views as I closed the gap between myself and Katahdin. 

Somewhere around 1400hrs I found myself passing by Little Niagara Falls in  Baxter State Park, and subsequently finding myself in the presence of many tourists. I did my best to not become frustrated by their presence and lack of etiquette on the trail, answering questions when asked and trying to keep a half-assed smile on my face. I found myself in the parking lot for Daicey Pond campground 15 minutes later only to discover a family comfortably moved into the cabin my parents had rented. Speaking with the park ranger he informed me that our cabin had been double booked, and that we were not the first people to have this happening to them that day. Calling around on his radio he secured us another cabin at another campground inside Baxter State Park, first assuring me it was an easy walk before offering a ride in his ranger truck. Loading myself and my gear up in the bed of his Chevy I then held on for the most spirited and slightly horrifying 'hitchhike' of my entire journey. We flew through the narrow dirt roads of the park, passing over 3 or so miles of ground before arriving at Kidney Pond campground. I was pointed in the direction of my new cabin, where I went and promptly laid out my sleeping pad and bag. It didn't take me long to fall asleep, but I spent a fair amount of time worrying about whether or not my folks or Santa would be able to find me. I left a note for Santa with the park ranger which he said he would deliver to the cork board at the A.T. trailhead where the road crossed, which unfortunately left me with very little assurance of Santa's receiving my heads up about the location change. I woke up some 4 hours later to my parents and family friend Dana arriving at the cabin, greeting me with lukewarm pizza carried in from the town half an hour away. As we sat around talking, the three of them settled into the small cabin, keeping a safe distance from me and the undoubtedly horrible odors my body was emitting. Mind you at this point, keeping in mind how quickly I had hiked in the last 11 days, I literally had not showered since Gorham, NH... I hated how badly I smelled. Dana braved the odors and sat next to me enthusiastically asking about the trail. Shortly before 2010hrs there was a knock at the door of the cabin which we called out to enter, assuming it was a park ranger. I literally sprung to my feet (something I didn't even do when my parents arrived) yelling Santa's name when I realized he was the visitor at our door. After 5 days and nearly 150 miles separated, we were reunited and would summit Katahdin together. 

I'm exhausted. Physically, emotionally, and every way in between. I hiked quite the distance in not much time to make it here on the day my family could meet me, and to summit on a reasonably low numbered day.  My biggest fear in the end was that Santa wouldn't make it and I'd summit without any other thru-hikers, but after hitching a ride with the empathetic ranger he landed on my doorstep equally exhausted just before dark. We'll sleep next to each other on the floor of this cabin in the same way we've shared shelter floor space for well over a month now. Tomorrow we will climb to the summit of the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, an epic 5,200 feet above sea level atop a mountain worthy of the final climb. I'm unbelievably uncomfortable with this water borne illness and have depleted every ounce of energy in my body, but tomorrow the finale is literally attainable. I look forward to this magnificent end with baited breath. Hopefully it will be attainable after a decent night of sleep. 

Until tomorrow, when the journey will end. 

Texaco

Day: 112
Day mileage: 30
AT total mileage: 2,166.6
AT mileage remaining: 18.7
Time: 9.5 hours
--

I woke up at 5 AM and immediately decided against doing anything. Rolling back over and closing my eyes again, I was able to get another hour of sleep before the two gentlemen I shared the shelter with started waking up. The rain had stopped as the night carried on, leaving us with a damp forest and relatively clear skies. Speaking with Roman Goat and Owl, two section hikers in their mid-60s, they were eager to talk about my hike and equally excited to tell me about theirs. Per usual they had comments about my mileage, but at that point in my morning I wasn't too interested in in-depth conversation so I politely ended my involvement and went back to sleep. An hour later I woke up to an empty shelter, about the same time that hunger set in. Having eaten a minimal amount the day before due to the discomfort in my stomach, I was happy to find myself two Pop-Tarts to eat. I reluctantly packed up my gear and headed for the trail, wrapping new duct tape around my shoes to facilitate their staying put on my feet as I hiked. It was about this time that I realized the feeling of sickness the day before might not have been a one day thing and instead began wondering if I had a stomach bug of sorts. 

The terrain for the day was relatively fair, initially comprised of nearly 10 miles of flat terrain before climbing up and over the 1,500' peak of Nesantabunt Mountain. Despite the level terrain of those first ten miles, I was frustrating the hell out of myself with my inability to hike at a decent speed. Between my body feeling exceptionally uncomfortable and the incessant presence of rocks and roots, I felt taunted by the trail, knowing I should be able to hike at over 3 mph and yet incapable of anything over 2. Negotiating the tricky terrain exhausted me, constantly analyzing each foot of trail and choosing the path of least resistance for my feet to tuck into. The Trail cut around lakes of all sizes, at some points walking down sandy beaches as the immaculately clear water washed up on shore . Shortly before beginning the climb up Nesantabunt I crossed over a sand and rock covered beach, disappearing back into the woods on the other side and coming across an interesting discovery as I went along.  Hardly noticeable, nestled into a ditch on the side of the trail was what appeared to be some pieces of sheet metal.  Being an investigative type, I wandered off the trail to look at whatever it was, discovering a flipped over flare-side pick up truck that likely has resided here for decades.  The truck never appeared to have been torched, but was surrounded by empty Pepsi cans, a few beer cans, and random parts of the vehicle.  The mature tree growth around it is what led me to believe it's been there for an incredible sum of years, as I don't physically see how someone could get it in there and flip it over with the state of the forest around it now.  A pretty cool trip back in time, I snapped some photos and slowly hiked on towards the mountain's peak.  Although the climb was only 1,000 feet or so it was rather steep, and I found myself taking frequent breaks to facilitate making it to the top alive.  The driving motivation behind this climb is the fact that upon reaching the top there is a side trail to a vista where Katahdin can be seen for the first time.  There are a few peaks further south on the trail that claim to have views, however with the cloud cover and storms I'd experienced over the past days none of them were visible to me, leaving this one spot and its 16 mile line-of-sight view to be my first glimpse of the mountain I've walked so far to see.  Sure enough with the gorgeously blue sky as the background, I laid my eyes on Katahdin and had a bit of a moment with myself.  Having chased this view for 2,150 miles and finally resting my eyes upon it, it was a rather amazing experience.  I lingered for a while and tried to eat some food before carrying on, beginning the descent down and passing by a few SOBO section hikers.

The rest of the afternoon wasn't horribly difficult, again returning to more level but rocky terrain.  I constantly struggled with keeping my shoes taped up well, and simply meandered on with the trail. I passed by many more small lakes nestled into the woods, some of which were sprinkled with "hidden" canoes that locals have hiked in with for remote access to the water when they please.  Some have owner's names on them and are locked, while others just sit in the woods in decaying shape, awaiting the next person to take them out onto the water.  Had I been with the group at this point, I'm almost entirely sure we would have stopped to go canoeing much like what we did in Vermont a few weeks prior, but as I was by myself I simply smiled at the thought and hiked on.  I came across the Rainbow Stream lean-to around 1730hrs, a small 6-person that was occupied by one southbound hiker when I arrived.  Situated next to a stream it was a great place to get water, and I took a while to sit and filter three liters while again trying to eat something before carrying on.  The SOBO seemed to be a bit of a mess with his organization and gear, and I offered advice where I thought it was necessary.  He wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to complete the trail either physically or monetarily, but I encouraged him to keep hiking as long as it made him happy, regardless of how many miles he hiked a day.  Meanwhile I was preparing to trek on, still with 11 or so miles to hike before my day would be over.  The interesting thing for me these past few days is the mileage I hike versus that of the SOBO hikers.  Identical to how I was on my first day, they hike 8-12 miles.  It has been eyeopening to compare that to how I hike now, more often than not hiking 10+ miles a day after dinner.  The trail truly has built me into a machine of hiking, though at this point I wasn't exactly feeling up to snuff so I was more alike the Oz's Tin Man of hiking.  Walking into the night would be inevitable, a fact I embraced as I knew it would be my last night on the Appalachian Trail.  I was getting to the point where I'd be doing many "lasts", from hiking at night to spending nights in shelters,  the realization that the trail would be ending soon was setting in.  The terrain would continue to be fair for the next 8 or so miles, leaving me with one more climb up and over the Rainbow Ledges, a lovely rocky bald mountain of sorts - not to discredit it, however the ledges reside at a measly 1,500 feet tall - featured spectacular views of the mountains in Baxter State Park, and Katahdin herself.  As I stood atop the Ledges, I had the delightful opportunity to peruse around and pick fresh blueberries from the plants that were scattered about the trail.  Though I knew I should have been continuing walking in order to not hike too late into the night, I lingered for quite a while picking blueberries and staring up across the mountain to the summit of Katahdin.  Knowing that tomorrow I'd be sleeping at the base of the mountain I'd walked so far to be at was a rather humbling thought.  As dusk settled in over Rainbow Ledges I affixed my headlamp and trekked on towards the Hurd Brook lean-to.  Nestled by a riverbed some two miles down from the peak of the Ledges, I arrived at the shelter shortly after 2100hrs and was elated to find space in the shelter to set my bed up.

Despite having walked another 30 miles today, I felt absolutely no urge to cook or eat anything, instead simply nibbling on some Combos pretzel snacks and retiring to bed.  After a bit of finicking I was able to get a secure grip with duct tape to keep my shoes on. Although there's a fair bit of pain from the lack of blood circulation in my feet due to how tight the tape is, I'll actually be sleeping with my shoes on because I'm running out of duct tape.  I unzipped my sleeping bag to use it more as a blanket, allowing my feet to hang over the edge of the shelter floor while I try and sleep.  With 13 miles to hike tomorrow, I'll see my parents by the time I go to bed 24 hours from now.  It should be an easy trek into Baxter State Park, but we'll see what the morning brings.

The end is near.  Onwards & upwards for one of the last times.

Day: 111
Day mileage: 30.3
AT total mileage: 2,137.1
AT mileage remaining: 48.2
Time: 10.5 hours
--


I woke up to the sounds of another hiker preparing to get back on the trail early.  As I started packing up my gear from another night of cowboy camping the occupants of the shelter also woke up and started getting ready for the day.  Having hiked in late I never met anyone the night before, and a southbounder was quick to incessantly make conversation, oftentimes talking even just to occupy the silence.  I ate my Pop-Tarts quickly in order to avoid spending too much time at the shelter, and was on the trail by 6:45.  The first bit of my day would be a series of mountain peaks with a combined climb of 2,500 feet with four separate summits.  Despite starting early I was faced with stifling humidity until I climbed to enough of an elevation for the wind to cool things down a bit.  Getting to the summit of Gulf Hagas Mountain the trail leveled out a bit before beginning the second climb up to West Peak where the blue skies of the morning were a welcome sight.


By this point I was hiking along with three other northbound hikers who had been at the shelter the night before, a record as far as NOBOs in Maine goes.  Since leaving the big group I was with, this is the most people I had seen traveling in my direction at the same time.  Tuesday, Mumbles, and Wiffle are all hikers who began in early March from Georgia, and are nearing in on their finale.  Wiffle and Tuesday are cousins from Michigan and Minnesota, and I never did catch where Mumbles was from.  We spent most of the day hiking along together, summiting White Cap Mountain in a stiff wind and overcast skies as rain was slated to be due in the early afternoon.  The amazing part of this vista was the knowledge that none of the mountains in sight were ones I'd have to hike over.  After White Cap the elevation profile of the trail dropped down into the sub-1,500' range, meaning that no climb would be over a few hundred feet.  Having come such a long way and over so many mountains, this was an exceptionally reassuring feeling.  Hiking down from the top of White Cap after stopping to have a second Pop-Tart and some caffeinated strawberry drink mix, we stopped at the Logan Brook lean-to to relax for a few minutes.  While stopped there we ran into some southbound section hikers, a group of middle aged pot-belly guys who were eager to talk about gear and trail experiences.  I was somewhat bothered by their abrasive judgement of our practices, as one guy went so far as to mock my filtering of my water.  I didn't linger there long, hiking on and noticing that the group of 3 NOBOs followed suit shortly after.  It wasn't more than 5 minutes after leaving Logan Brook that I began feeling exceptionally sick out of the blue.  Stopping a few times feeling the need to vomit, Tuesday offered up some of her Tums that she carried and though I appreciated the thought, it seemed to do nothing.  I hiked on leapfrogging with the group until we came across another shelter some 7 miles later.  They stopped for lunch, and though I should have eaten I ended up flattening myself on the floor of the shelter and sleeping for an hour, waking up to the lean-to being empty and sweating profusely in the heat of the day.  Ironically it was the hottest day on the trail in quite a while, with temperatures soaring up into the high 80s and the same suppressive humidity that has been present in recent days.  I remained flat on the shelter floor for a bit longer, mentally debating the need to hike on vs. the desire to curl up and die where I was. I eventually got myself up and hiked on at an unbelievably slow rate, sick to my stomach and sweating incessantly.  What was most frustrating was that even at the slightest uphill I felt exhausted, and stopped often to catch my breath and try and settle myself.  Despite trying repeatedly trying to force myself to throw up, hoping that would alleviate some of the sickening feeling in my body, I was unable to do so and simply had to trudge on in a state of loneliness and pure misery.  



As the afternoon went on the sunny and humid skies gave way for stormy clouds and raindrops, a miserable little addition to my already depressed state of existence.  With an 800' climb in my future and moving at no more than a mile and a half an hour, I stopped to breathe and battened down the hatches for what promised to be some significant rainfall.  Moving my dSLR into my back itself (lesson learned after the first one died in the Vermont hurricane) I cinched up the straps of my rain cover and hiked on, not a moment too soon as the rain began trickling down from the sky.  Thunder and lightning were present around me as the precipitation fell more heavily, eventually soaking through all of my clothing and leaving me simply to walk along the muddy trail, stepping carefully onto slippery log bridges over bogs and onto mossy wet rocks.  Luckily at some point the trail changed it's attitude and became a lovely carriage road some 10 feet wide and made solely of a bed of pine needles.  Though the rain kept falling this certainly boosted my spirits as I was able to carry on at a better clip, not having to worry about stepping over incessant roots and boulders.  I pulled up at the Cooper Brook Falls lean-to around 1600hrs, finding the three aforementioned NOBO hikers and a few others piled into the shelter built for 6.  The rain subsided for a short while as I tried to eat a bagel, unsure if I was actually hungry or able to keep it down, but knowing that I needed to at least try and consume something.  At this point I still had 12 miles of trail to hike before I'd be at the shelter I was aiming for, and with the stormy skies it would be getting dark much earlier than normal sunset hours.  I said goodbye to the group and headed off onto the trail at the same time that Mother Nature decided to start raining again, just my luck on a day like today.  Luckily the trail continued to be a carriage path, and a few miles north I passed over the famed Jo-Mary Road, a place where many SOBO hikers get a resupply.  A dirt road located some 19 miles from the nearest town it's still quite a ways out from civilization, but there were two cars parked there, one of which was being packed up by a woman who looked to have just finished a day hike.  Upon noticing me she introduced herself as Ty, a 2013 NOBO thru-hiker who lives in locally and works at a small hiker hostel/cafe.  She gave me a large bag of chocolate candy and a small zip-loc of baby carrots, refilled my water with Poland Springs from a gallon jug, and sent me on my way, reassuring me that the "Pine Needle Highway", as locals call this section of trail, would continue all the way to the shelter I was aiming for.  Snacking on cold carrots as I went along, I pressed forwards.  The time to the next shelter would pass quite slowly as I battled thousands of mosquitoes all who seemed out to either drive me up a wall or kill me by drawing all my blood out of me.  I struggled to swat them all away (deet would be quickly irrelevant due to the rainfall) and my shoes presented yet another challenge for me.  By 1930hrs I was wearing my headlamp, and just 45 minutes later was pulling into the Potaywadjo Spring lean-to, a large a new shelter with space for 8.  Occupied by two gentlemen on opposite sides of the shelter I made my home in the middle, being sure to keep my possessions organized so that in the unlikely event of another hiker arriving, there would be plenty of space for them to set up as well.



Dinner was chocolate.  I know that's terrible, especially after not having eaten much all day, but a few Twix and Hersey's bars were all I felt like eating.  Settling into my sleeping bag around 2030hrs, I'll try and get a good night's rest before heading on tomorrow with another 30+ mile day.  I have less than 50 miles until the end of this venture, so I figure if nothing else I may actually make it to Katahdin before my stuff dries out.  The thought of not having to carry soaked gear for days on end is an exciting one.  The thought of soon being able to not be in the rain is also exciting.  Tomorrow I'll get to a vista where Katahdin will be visible for the first time, a thought that both petrifies me and excites me to no end.


Onwards & upwards.


Tex

Day: 110

Day mileage: 28

AT total mileage: 2,106.8

AT mileage remaining: 78.5

Time: 10 hours

--

You'll notice I have added a "Mileage Remaining" stat at the top of the post.  Having crossed the mark of 100 miles remaining, I'm now counting down the mileage to the finish line at Katahdin.

There were no new holes chewed in my backpack this morning, so I'm going to pretend that my mouse-aversion technique was masterful and worked flawlessly. I packed up my tent and food bag, a task I'm most certainly not used to doing due to the weeks of staying in shelter. The first order of business for my morning was to ford the river I had decided against attempting the night before. The debate in my head was whether or not to put my shoes and sox on for the traverse of the river, or leave them off until I got to the other side. Going with the latter of the two options, it was a bit more difficult to cross due to the slimy rocks at the bottom of the river, and the fact that I literally felt every stone as my feet contorted to give me a steady stance as I pushed through the rushing water with a fair amount of weight on my back. Making it to the other side some 30 seconds later I dropped my bag and dried my feet off with a pair of dirty socks (all I had available in terms of fabric to dry with) and stared at yet another dead moose carcass lying by the river as I tied my shoelaces.  This being the second skeleton I've seen in two days, it really makes me wonder why all these moose are dead. Laced up and dried off, I put my pack back on and began the short trek uphill to the shelter I'd aimed for the night before. 

I spent mere minutes at the Wilson Creek lean-to, signing the log book to mark my presence and heading on. After 1,000' or so of climbing from the riverbed the trail would drop back down to an elevation of 700', traipsing along before beginning a second ascent to the summit of Barren Mountain. With a summit of 2,600' it was a fair bit of climbing, and I realized upon reaching the peak that there was a long stretch of trail where water would not be accessible. Of course I realized this far too late, and was then pressed with the option of hiking another 7 miles to a water source, or taking a 1/2 mile side trail to a shelter on a lake where water would be available. I'll be honest, I've never before ventured half a mile off the trail for anything so it was a serious debate in my head as to what I was going to do. Having gotten a later start than I'd have liked I really wanted to keep moving forward but the heat of the day and strenuous climb pushed me to hiking the distance on the side trail to the Cloud Pond lean-to for lunch.  I cursed the trail most of the way to the shelter, hiking on more narrow log bridges over marshy areas where a lake was overflowing.  I eventually reached the shelter, isolated on the edge of the lake and completely vacant of other hikers.  Though I had been hiking for 4 and a half hours at this point, I was only 10 miles into my 28 mile day, meaning I shouldn't have spent much time at the shelter before hiking on.  That being said, the beauty of the lake and scenery overrode my need to continue hiking, and I took some time to hang out at the shelter in solitude.  Gathering water from the lake and filtering it, I actually went so far as to take the time to cook a pasta dish for lunch, and closed my eyes for a quick nap while I was there.  Drinking nearly 2.5 liters of water during my stay I filled my water bottle a final time and headed off back to the trail just before 1400hrs.  From the Cloud Pond shelter the Trail would cross over the Chairback mountain range, a 6 mile region that would traverse four separate peaks, finally summiting Chairback mountain.  Shortly before the final peak I stopped at the Chairback Mountain lean-to for a quick dinner as the time was nearly 1800hrs.  Delaying my departure (with 10 miles left in the day), I spent a fair bit of time talking to two lovely women who were section hiking northbound towards Katahdin. It's been a long while since I've had such pleasant conversation with other hikers that weren't in my group, and I truly enjoyed staying around longer than anticipated just to talk with them.  Unfortunately, I didn't get either of their names.

It was 1830 by the time I continued hiking, leaving the Chairback lean-to with two hours of daylight and 10 miles of hiking left to do.  I made the climb over Chairback Mountain as the sun started sinking, hiking over some rather tricky boulder fields before the trail disappeared back into the forest below.  Crossing over a bald rock section, I was reminded of the first time Crusoe and I ever hiked into the sunset hour.  Somewhere around mile 166 when entering the Great Smoky Mountain National Park.  At the time, all of 3 months ago now, we were up atop a mountain ridge as the sun started going down casting huge shadows onto the forest floor as we hiked along.  I'm not sure why this memory was triggered, but it really brought out the realization of how far I've come on this journey.  Descending down 1,300 feet to the west branch of the Pleasant River, I was then faced with yet another wide river crossing to complete.  Knowing that daylight would be gone soon and that the likelihood of my shoes and socks drying out overnight were low, I took my footwear off and began crossing the river barefoot, again experiencing the discomfort of the rocky riverbed directly under my feet.  Getting to the other side of the river and drying my feet off with the same dirty socks as before, I snacked quickly and drank a liter of water before carrying on. With 5 miles left the sun disappeared below the horizon leaving me solely with the light of my headlamp as the world grew dark around me. Luckily, although uphill, the 5 miles were gradual and were easy to maintain a quick pace on.  I hiked alongside a series of quick-flowing rivers, serenaded by the rushing water as I hiked along.  Talking to myself, thinking about my hike, and listening to music, the time passed by quickly.  It was around this time that I realized just how comfortable I am night hiking alone in the woods, no fears, nothing other than a more attentive stroll through the mountains that the Appalachian Trail cuts over. Sometime around 2200hrs I arrived at the Carl Newhall lean-to, unsurprisingly finding it completely occupied by less than half the amount of people it was designed to hold.  My frustration with southbound and inconsiderate hikers continued as I loudly inflated my air mattress and searched the dark sky for any clouds that might hint at rain overnight.  Finding nothing but brilliant stars I cooked a quick dinner and settled into my sleeping bag.

Today wasn't exactly 30 miles, though with side trips and the venture to the shelter I'm sure it ended up at nearly 30.  The plan for tomorrow is yet another big mileage day which will begin with a decent climb out of this shelter first thing in the morning.  The days are dwindling, and I'm certainly showing a tiredness I haven't experienced since Pneumo and I were hauling ass across the mid-Atlantic region of the trail.  I'm physically exhausted and hiking more mileage after dinner than most SOBO hikers will hike in an entire day.  This is the challenge, this is what I thrive on.  I look forward to tomorrow's climb, and moving closer to my finish line.

Onwards & upwards,

Texaco

Day: 109

Day mileage: 28 

AT total mileage: 2,080.6

Time: 9.5 hours

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When I went to sleep last night, Santa wasn't feeling well. He had thrown up once or twice in our time since descending off Moxie Bald, but had settled into his sleeping bag in the shelter and slept as far as I knew. Imagine my surprise when I woke up to find the shelter void of his presence, only to find the two other NOBO hikers lying next to me. A few minutes of investigating led me to find Santa in his sleeping bag on the ground next to the lean-to, having spent the night repeatedly throwing up. He climbed back into the shelter and curled up into a ball, as I began debating my course of action. My options were to either stay with Santa as he was sick, or to hike into town and meet him at a later point. It may seem horribly rude for me to have moved on, but keep in mind the post offices in small towns are single-man operations, and missing the 1615hrs closing time would hold us over one more night in Monson, something that wouldn't jive with my need to be at Katahdin on Friday. I ran this by the two other hikers there, posing it as a moral debate, when Santa spoke up and told me to hike on. Double checking with him half a dozen times as I packed up, I followed his wishes and began my 18 mile trek into town. 

The hike from the Moxie lean-to into Monson wouldn't be difficult terrain-wise, mostly level ground, but having left well past 8 AM time was most certainly not on my side to make it there without hiking quickly the entire time. Luckily for me the trail much resembled that which I hiked in Virginia,  pine needle covered forest floors, sometimes interrupted by gnarly roots and rocks that threw off any kind of rhythm I had. One of the more (or less, depending on your view of the situation) exciting things was that I would need to ford half a dozen rivers before making it to town. The terrain in Maine differs from most of the rest of the trail in many ways, one of which is the lack of trail infrastructure. Every river (save for the Kennebec where we traversed in the canoe) requires actually hiking through, no matter the speed or depth of the water. You as the hiker basically have the option of removing your shoes and sox at each crossing in order to attempt to keep your feet dry, or simply to say 'screw it' and hike on through without removing footwear. I'm a member of the latter camp, and simply forged my way across while retaining my shoes and socks, an act that got strange looks from the SOBO hikers I'd pass.... soon enough, they'll stop caring too. I hiked along at a solid 3mph clip listening to some upbeat electronic dance music, quasi stressed about the timeline I was up against, enjoying the gorgeously sunny day. That all came to a crashing halt when my right shoe caught a tree root, splitting the sole from the upper half of the shoe, sending me flying forward and crashing down on my face in the middle of the trail. I took a minute to right myself, knees soaked in blood and hands tattered from the fall, doing my best to shake it off before continuing on. Little did I know, this was to be the beginning of many shoe problems. 

I stopped at a shelter 9 miles from where we had spent the night to leave Santa a note about where I was timing wise. My plan was to take his mail drop from the post office and transport it to a local hostel down the road so he could pick it up without the constraints of the post office hours. I snacked quickly and got right back on the trail, still only halfway through my hike to town. With a few more river fordings and a relatively simple uphill climb over the next miles before reaching town I was able to maintain my good clip, learning to lift my right foot higher than usual in order to avoid tripping on the now separated sole. At the top of the climb, a mile or so out of the road that Monson was located on, I was surprised to be greeted by a familiar face as Radio Man hiked by me southbound. He and Bangarang are still hiking in opposite directions in order to facilitate moving their car up towards Katahdin. We spoke for a few minutes, he assured me I was close to the road and congratulated me on the pace and mileage Santa and I were keeping up with. We parted ways and I made it to the road crossing at 1440hrs, a full 20 minutes earlier than I'd hoped to. I wasn't overly concerned about hitchhiking into town (3.6 miles east) as its a known thing for hikers to need rides. As I stopped on the shoulder to double check the direction I wanted to be hitching in, a car pulled over (I didn't even have a thumb up, nor my face to the road!) and offered me a ride. As it turns out, two very kind women who were vacationing in Maine were familiar that hikers visit town and wanted to offer me a ride, delivering me at the post office a quick ten minutes later. My post office stop took no time at all, and I surprisingly was able to collect Santa's box without issue despite his not being there. It took less than a minute to find the Lake Shore House inn/hostel where I'd heard great food was available, and after wandering around a bit I found myself in the back yard on the edge of an expansive lake, introduced to Rebecca, the owner, and Tim, the manager. He informed me that the restaurant was actually closed on Mondays, of course I arrived on the one day they're closed, but that he'd be happy to get me a soft drink of my choice. Settled in with a cold Coca-Cola, we chatted about my hike and situation with Santa, and Tim agreed to hold onto the package until Santa arrived in town. Becoming fast friends, I walked over to the gas station with Tim to get some food from the grill they operate, then headed back to the lakeside. My stay in Monson was quick, as I had 10 miles left to hike, and Tim was happy to drive me back to the trail when I was ready. Dropped off at the trailhead parking lot at 1730hrs, I thanked him profusely and began my trek into the 100 Mile Wilderness. 

I know I've already informed you about The Wilderness, but I think it's one of the coolest parts of the trail so I'll detail it again. From the edge of town in Monson, trail mile 2,070, to the edge of Baxter State Park some 100 miles later, the Appalachian Trail will trek through a complete wilderness. The trail passes by a few dirt roads, most of which are abandoned logging roads from years past, though a few are active roads that are accessible by half an hour of driving in a car. A large sign warns of the danger of entering the wilderness unprepared, reminding hikers that up to 10 days of food will be necessary to traverse the terrain. Most northbound hikers will take 5-7 days to hike the wilderness, while most southbound will spend upwards of two weeks getting through. My goal, my deadline, requires hiking the wilderness in 3 full days. With a very heavy pack carrying much more food than I actually needed, I headed on into the final stretch of the Appalachian Trail. 3 miles in I'd come across the first shelter, bewildering southbound hikers by stopping only to sign the log book before heading on to the next shelter 7 miles further north. The elevation profile for the rest of my day much resembled a roller coaster, hills of a few hundred feet dipping down and climbing up repeatedly. I hiked well into the dark, finding myself half a mile from my destination shelter before realizing that a 70' wide river resided between us. In the pitch black with the light of my LED headlamp and the stars above, I decided it wasn't the right time to try and cross a river. I may be stubborn and determined, but even I know where to draw the line when it comes to safety. I begrudgingly set up my tent on the side of the river, disappointed in having stopped shy of my goal, and began cooking dinner. I laid in my sleeping bag exhausted, and as I started to fall asleep I heard a rustling next to me. Turning on my headlamp I saw two mice climbing over my backpack that resided in the tent vestibule. With no hooks to hang it, I resorted to reenacting the scene in the movie about wolves where the guy pees to mark his territory. So there I was, in the dark, peeing around the base of my tent to keep the mice away. Whether or not it worked or I just slept soundly enough to not hear them return I'll never know. 

The plan for the next day is simply more mileage, aiming to hike 30-something over whatever terrain I am faced with. After an exhausting push at 3+ mph through almost my entire day today, I'm already dreading what challenges the next few days will bring. I'm hoping Santa is doing better and that he'll catch up soon, though the likelihood will be low that I see him before the end. First thing tomorrow, I'll cross the river and continue on. 

Katahdin is near.