Appalachian Trail Thru-Hike
spring/summer 2014 - 2,185.3 miles - 114 days
Sometimes we stumble into moments of clarity, where in a matter of minutes our lives and mindset can completely change. On an otherwise ordinary Saturday in April of 2013 I found myself in a suburban-Boston state forest out for a walk, passing by a woman with a rather large backpack strapped over her shoulders. I wondered to myself what she might be doing with such a monstrous pack given the lack of any distance-hiking to do in the park itself. Passing her again after making the "lap" trail around a large lake, I asked her directly why she was sporting her backpacking attire. She went on to inform me that her daughter was hiking the Appalachian Trail and that she planned to travel south and hike a portion with her in the coming months. Our conversation lasted only a few minutes before we parted ways, and I continued on with my own walk.
That was it. In that moment I decided that I, too, would hike the Appalachian Trail. The thought of it seemed to temporarily solve some undiagnosed sense of dissatisfaction I had with my life, and it gave me something huge to look forward to. It had been 6 years since my cross-country bicycle ride and I was yearning for some grand adventure to break the monotony of my work life. Despite traveling incessantly around the country I often found myself indoors at convention centers and in hotel ballrooms mixing audio for corporate events, product launches, concerts, and anything in between. I loved what I was doing, but there was some part of me that felt like I hadn't accomplished much in recent years. Meeting that woman on that random afternoon sent a ripple through my life. I spent 11 months planning to hike the 2,185 mile Appalachian Trail. The reactions from friends and family were fascinating, some people hugely encouraged it, most thought I was crazy. There were a few key misconceptions... it seemed that most were under the impression that the Trail could be completed in two or three weeks, many suggested that I carry a gun to fight off / attempt to kill any bears. In actuality the Appalachian Trail takes roughly 6 months to hike from Georgia to Maine, bears aren't that common and aren't that aggressive, and I wouldn't need to grow my own food. I read books, web forums, and blogs of previous hikers, gained as much knowledge as I could while buying the gear that was most applicable to my intentions, and bought a plane ticket to Atlanta with the plan to begin my hike on April 4th, 2014.
That was it. In that moment I decided that I, too, would hike the Appalachian Trail. The thought of it seemed to temporarily solve some undiagnosed sense of dissatisfaction I had with my life, and it gave me something huge to look forward to. It had been 6 years since my cross-country bicycle ride and I was yearning for some grand adventure to break the monotony of my work life. Despite traveling incessantly around the country I often found myself indoors at convention centers and in hotel ballrooms mixing audio for corporate events, product launches, concerts, and anything in between. I loved what I was doing, but there was some part of me that felt like I hadn't accomplished much in recent years. Meeting that woman on that random afternoon sent a ripple through my life. I spent 11 months planning to hike the 2,185 mile Appalachian Trail. The reactions from friends and family were fascinating, some people hugely encouraged it, most thought I was crazy. There were a few key misconceptions... it seemed that most were under the impression that the Trail could be completed in two or three weeks, many suggested that I carry a gun to fight off / attempt to kill any bears. In actuality the Appalachian Trail takes roughly 6 months to hike from Georgia to Maine, bears aren't that common and aren't that aggressive, and I wouldn't need to grow my own food. I read books, web forums, and blogs of previous hikers, gained as much knowledge as I could while buying the gear that was most applicable to my intentions, and bought a plane ticket to Atlanta with the plan to begin my hike on April 4th, 2014.
A quick night in a hotel and a failed attempt to pack a light and small backpack – there simply was far more stuff than I had planned on carrying with me – I ventured into a drizzly and foggy morning to drive to the parking lot a mile from the peak of Springer Mountain, the summit where the Appalachian Trail would begin. In this moment on a grossly overcast morning in April I was faced with the reality that a year of planning was about to become an actuality. There was no turning back, and I’d soon be left with just the gear on my back and the dedication in my heart to attempt to complete this journey. I vividly remember turning to hike North, the unnerving fear of knowing that the outcome of this mammoth undertaking rested solely on my own shoulders. I was scared shitless as I walked into the woods of Georgia, pudgy around the neck, naïve to the challenges ahead, and loving every second of it.
In my first days on the Trail I quickly broke the mileage plan I had laid out for myself. My intentions were to hike 8-10 miles a day and ease into the lifestyle of living in the woods, but by the end of my second day I had already covered 14 miles in 7 hours on the Trail. I became fast friends with a guy named Kevin who I had met at the top of Springer Mountain, being close in age we had plenty to talk about, and we always seemed to keep a good pace together. We made our way through northern Georgia and into North Carolina, then on to Tennessee, growing accustomed to the task of hiking for the majority of each day. We developed routines with cooking meals and filtering water from streams and mountain springs, and felt our cardio strength growing along with the size of our calf muscles. We were becoming hiking machines.
Most hikers on the Appalachian Trail develop a "trail name", a persona that they take on as if to escape from the real world they came from. I chose "Texaco" for myself, drawing from my love of vintage advertising and American petroleum history. I eventually named Kevin "Crusoe", and we would each spend the rest of our time hiking introducing ourselves by these names, becoming those people. We hiked our first 20-mile day together as we climbed through the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, hiking late into the night on occasion and creating a friendship that I think played a pivotal role in my early love of the Trail itself. We were a team, brothers of the woods, and we carried on as such for almost 350 miles before he encountered health issues with his ankles that ended up separating us. Three weeks from Springer, was the first time in my hike that I needed to make the decision of whether or not to carry on alone; I needed to push myself to hike my own hike.
In my first days on the Trail I quickly broke the mileage plan I had laid out for myself. My intentions were to hike 8-10 miles a day and ease into the lifestyle of living in the woods, but by the end of my second day I had already covered 14 miles in 7 hours on the Trail. I became fast friends with a guy named Kevin who I had met at the top of Springer Mountain, being close in age we had plenty to talk about, and we always seemed to keep a good pace together. We made our way through northern Georgia and into North Carolina, then on to Tennessee, growing accustomed to the task of hiking for the majority of each day. We developed routines with cooking meals and filtering water from streams and mountain springs, and felt our cardio strength growing along with the size of our calf muscles. We were becoming hiking machines.
Most hikers on the Appalachian Trail develop a "trail name", a persona that they take on as if to escape from the real world they came from. I chose "Texaco" for myself, drawing from my love of vintage advertising and American petroleum history. I eventually named Kevin "Crusoe", and we would each spend the rest of our time hiking introducing ourselves by these names, becoming those people. We hiked our first 20-mile day together as we climbed through the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, hiking late into the night on occasion and creating a friendship that I think played a pivotal role in my early love of the Trail itself. We were a team, brothers of the woods, and we carried on as such for almost 350 miles before he encountered health issues with his ankles that ended up separating us. Three weeks from Springer, was the first time in my hike that I needed to make the decision of whether or not to carry on alone; I needed to push myself to hike my own hike.
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In the days following my departure from Crusoe, I found myself hiking alone on the Appalachian Trail for the first time. Sure, my hike was taking place "alone" but the camaraderie and friendship he and I developed was a cornerstone in who I had become at that point in my hike. We were good friends, almost brothers of the Trail, and where I was all of the sudden on my own each day, the experience changed for me; not to say it became better or worse, but the change in my routine was an important part in the development of me as a hiker on the Trail. I last saw him in Hot Springs, North Carolina, nearly 350 miles north of Springer Mountain. From there I pushed on, entering into the sleepy hiker town of Damascus, VA, and thus my 4th state on the Trail, exactly one month from beginning my trek. I woke up early on that 31st day, rising an hour before dawn to begin walking, with the crazy goal of completing 35 miles of Trail before the end of the day. A determined individual, always looking to push myself harder, I managed to move along at 3 miles an hour for 12 hours straight, covering the distance and breaking into Virginia shortly before dinnertime. It was the longest I had ever hiked in a day, and by doing so successfully it irreversibly changed the entire outcome of my hike.
I took the day off in Damascus, a warranted celebration of hiking 460 miles in my first month on the Trail. Packing up early on my second morning in town I headed out alone, again, leaving my small group of friends behind as they slept soundly in their tents. Having indescribably impressed myself with the epic 35 mile hike into Damascus, I vowed out loud (albeit to myself) that from that point forward I would hike only 20+ mile days. This thought and its execution led me to push through the 1,000-mile mid-Atlantic region of the Appalachian Trail in less than a month's time. Traveling as a wolf pack of one and maintaining a 3 mile per hour pace, I passed by other hikers daily who I'd never come in contact with again. It was during this intense physical stretch that I came across Pneumo, a hiker a year or two younger than me, who was also turning out big-mile days. We clicked immediately, keeping pace with each other and enjoying having found someone else that was in the same hiking mindset.
Meeting up in the 700-mile region of the Trail, Pneumo and I would carry on together for another month before predetermined circumstances would separate us. In that time we became exceptionally close, relying on each others conversation to offset the otherwise loneliness of fast-paced solo hiking. As we crossed the 1/2 way point of the Trail in Harper's Ferry, West Virginia, he joined me in what would undoubletly be the dumbest and most astonishing undertaking of my hike: a 62-mile, single day, 20 hour & 32 minute hike. In honor of my grandparent's 60th wedding anniversary I wanted to give them something that wasn't tangible, something to let them know how proud I was of their dedication to each other. The idea? In one day, hike a mile for every year they had been married. With some serious dedication and physical strength, I hiked from West Virginia through the entire state of Maryland (inadvertently passing by my friend Jeff and failing to call, something he still gives me shit for... sorry Jeff), and covering 17 miles of Pennsylvania terrain before collapsing into my tent for the night. It was the longest day of my hike, and I doubt I'd ever repeat it, but there I was, hiking the Appalachian Trail for what will likely be the only time in my life; I figured it was the perfect time to challenge myself unlike ever before, and dedicate my efforts to two of the most supportive people in my life as a celebration of their marriage.
Pneumo and I made it to mile 1,350, through Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, separating a few hours shy of the New York state line. We hiked an average of 30 miles a day during our time together, and surpassed everyone we came across on the Trail... it was amazing to have a partner to accomplish this with. It was on June 11th that we parted ways at a lone road crossing in northern New Jersey. I planned to take a day off and visit my family as he hiked on, putting 50+ miles between us. In the grand scheme of hiking, making up for a 30 mile difference is nearly impossible to do without burning yourself out, so we talked via text message a few times and decided that I'd be continuing on at my own pace. As it turned out, we'd never see each other again on the Appalachian Trail, but he finished atop Mt. Katahdin shortly thereafter, only 90 days after leaving Springer Mountain.
I took the day off in Damascus, a warranted celebration of hiking 460 miles in my first month on the Trail. Packing up early on my second morning in town I headed out alone, again, leaving my small group of friends behind as they slept soundly in their tents. Having indescribably impressed myself with the epic 35 mile hike into Damascus, I vowed out loud (albeit to myself) that from that point forward I would hike only 20+ mile days. This thought and its execution led me to push through the 1,000-mile mid-Atlantic region of the Appalachian Trail in less than a month's time. Traveling as a wolf pack of one and maintaining a 3 mile per hour pace, I passed by other hikers daily who I'd never come in contact with again. It was during this intense physical stretch that I came across Pneumo, a hiker a year or two younger than me, who was also turning out big-mile days. We clicked immediately, keeping pace with each other and enjoying having found someone else that was in the same hiking mindset.
Meeting up in the 700-mile region of the Trail, Pneumo and I would carry on together for another month before predetermined circumstances would separate us. In that time we became exceptionally close, relying on each others conversation to offset the otherwise loneliness of fast-paced solo hiking. As we crossed the 1/2 way point of the Trail in Harper's Ferry, West Virginia, he joined me in what would undoubletly be the dumbest and most astonishing undertaking of my hike: a 62-mile, single day, 20 hour & 32 minute hike. In honor of my grandparent's 60th wedding anniversary I wanted to give them something that wasn't tangible, something to let them know how proud I was of their dedication to each other. The idea? In one day, hike a mile for every year they had been married. With some serious dedication and physical strength, I hiked from West Virginia through the entire state of Maryland (inadvertently passing by my friend Jeff and failing to call, something he still gives me shit for... sorry Jeff), and covering 17 miles of Pennsylvania terrain before collapsing into my tent for the night. It was the longest day of my hike, and I doubt I'd ever repeat it, but there I was, hiking the Appalachian Trail for what will likely be the only time in my life; I figured it was the perfect time to challenge myself unlike ever before, and dedicate my efforts to two of the most supportive people in my life as a celebration of their marriage.
Pneumo and I made it to mile 1,350, through Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, separating a few hours shy of the New York state line. We hiked an average of 30 miles a day during our time together, and surpassed everyone we came across on the Trail... it was amazing to have a partner to accomplish this with. It was on June 11th that we parted ways at a lone road crossing in northern New Jersey. I planned to take a day off and visit my family as he hiked on, putting 50+ miles between us. In the grand scheme of hiking, making up for a 30 mile difference is nearly impossible to do without burning yourself out, so we talked via text message a few times and decided that I'd be continuing on at my own pace. As it turned out, we'd never see each other again on the Appalachian Trail, but he finished atop Mt. Katahdin shortly thereafter, only 90 days after leaving Springer Mountain.
I took a day off the Appalachian Trail to surprise my family in Rhode Island. My cousin secretly picked me up just over the New York state line at a random road crossing, and I showed up to see my mom, dad, grandparents, and aunts without anyone knowing it was going to happen. I loved my time with my family, and hesitantly took a second day off to relax as rain poured down on the entire East Coast. I was elated to not be hiking through mud, drenched to my core. In my nearly 1,400 miles of hiking it was only my third day off, so I wasn't too upset about it, though thought frequently about the gap growing between Pneumo and me. I returned to the trail on a sunny Saturday afternoon and continued my trek north, starting up completely alone for the first time since leaving Damascus almost a thousand miles prior.
It was a few days after I got back on the Trail that I stumbled into the most influential group of people I ever could have imagined. I was carrying on with 30+ mile days continually before I met them all on that quiet morning, occupying picnic benches outside a shelter I was hiking past. It was the first time since Georgia that I had seen a group of 10 or more hikers in one place at one time. They were astonished to hear that I had started my hike in April, whereas the majority of them were February start hikers, and when I turned to leave I was joined by a fellow Red Sox fan named Deep Blue. Our conversation lasted for a few hours of hiking as other members of his group caught up to us and I was able to talk with each of them. They were headed to the same shelter I was aiming for, and after a great night of conversation and bonding, I felt like I had known them forever. Over the next few days I moved in and out of their group, my hiking pace being a bit faster, though breaks a little longer. I was lonely in my solo venture, and missed Crusoe and Pneumo regularly. I made many phone calls home to talk with friends and family about this new group, and whether or not I truly wanted to change my pace, to slow down my whole hike, to spend more time with them.
As it turned out, I did in fact choose to stick around, and over the next 500 miles I hiked with them, ate meals with them, and slept alongside them in shelters and open grassy fields. My hike became social and relaxed, with afternoons spent swimming in rivers, canoeing in lakes surrounded by towering mountains, and long naps taken on the roots of infinitely old pine trees. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before, and the change of pace was something I'd never come to regret. I befriended a guy named Santa, again close in age, in the same way I had with Crusoe and Pneumo all those miles prior. As we ventured through Massachusetts, Vermont, and New Hampshire, crossing over the impeccably beautiful White Mountain Range, he came to enjoy my traits of self-challenge and interest in big mile days. As we crossed into Maine, the final of the 14 Appalachian Trail states, Santa decided to join me in a race to the finish line at Baxter State Park's Katahdin mountain.
We pushed through Maine with a vengeance, hiking nearly 30 miles every day over some of the most gruesome terrain imaginable. Our days, hours, and minutes were focused solely on each step forwards, each stride that brought us closer to the finale of our epic hike. We were powering through the 300 miles that Maine presented us with in order to make it to Katahdin by July 26th, the day my parents planned to pick me up. Months prior, hiking crazy mileage each day, I had chosen the 26th as a finish date for my hike, as it was the only day in a 2 week span that my family could make the 6.5 hour drive to Maine and pick me up from Baxter State Park where the Trail concluded.
It was a few days after I got back on the Trail that I stumbled into the most influential group of people I ever could have imagined. I was carrying on with 30+ mile days continually before I met them all on that quiet morning, occupying picnic benches outside a shelter I was hiking past. It was the first time since Georgia that I had seen a group of 10 or more hikers in one place at one time. They were astonished to hear that I had started my hike in April, whereas the majority of them were February start hikers, and when I turned to leave I was joined by a fellow Red Sox fan named Deep Blue. Our conversation lasted for a few hours of hiking as other members of his group caught up to us and I was able to talk with each of them. They were headed to the same shelter I was aiming for, and after a great night of conversation and bonding, I felt like I had known them forever. Over the next few days I moved in and out of their group, my hiking pace being a bit faster, though breaks a little longer. I was lonely in my solo venture, and missed Crusoe and Pneumo regularly. I made many phone calls home to talk with friends and family about this new group, and whether or not I truly wanted to change my pace, to slow down my whole hike, to spend more time with them.
As it turned out, I did in fact choose to stick around, and over the next 500 miles I hiked with them, ate meals with them, and slept alongside them in shelters and open grassy fields. My hike became social and relaxed, with afternoons spent swimming in rivers, canoeing in lakes surrounded by towering mountains, and long naps taken on the roots of infinitely old pine trees. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before, and the change of pace was something I'd never come to regret. I befriended a guy named Santa, again close in age, in the same way I had with Crusoe and Pneumo all those miles prior. As we ventured through Massachusetts, Vermont, and New Hampshire, crossing over the impeccably beautiful White Mountain Range, he came to enjoy my traits of self-challenge and interest in big mile days. As we crossed into Maine, the final of the 14 Appalachian Trail states, Santa decided to join me in a race to the finish line at Baxter State Park's Katahdin mountain.
We pushed through Maine with a vengeance, hiking nearly 30 miles every day over some of the most gruesome terrain imaginable. Our days, hours, and minutes were focused solely on each step forwards, each stride that brought us closer to the finale of our epic hike. We were powering through the 300 miles that Maine presented us with in order to make it to Katahdin by July 26th, the day my parents planned to pick me up. Months prior, hiking crazy mileage each day, I had chosen the 26th as a finish date for my hike, as it was the only day in a 2 week span that my family could make the 6.5 hour drive to Maine and pick me up from Baxter State Park where the Trail concluded.
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Nearly halfway through Maine, however, things took a turn for the worse. After a long day of hiking together Santa began vomiting profusely off the side of the trail. He spent the night at a shelter continually getting up and throwing up whatever was left in his likely malnourished stomach. The next morning he told me to hike on without him, knowing that I had to make it the remaining 150 miles in just 4 and a half days. It pained me to leave him, but it was what the situation called for. I departed early, covering 18 miles of Trail and hitching into town before the post office in Monson, ME closed in the early afternoon. I managed 11 more miles of hiking that night, entering into the famous Hundred Mile Wilderness, passing the sign that warns hikers of being unprepared for the miles of forest void of any civilized amenities. I stopped 1,000 feet short of my intended shelter due to a wide and rushing river that I sanely decided wasn't safe to cross alone in the darkness of night.
I struggled through the rest of The Wilderness, still covering thirty miles a day over some of the most grueling terrain the Appalachian Trail had ever subjected me to. The need to finish prevailed over everything I did, every decision I made; I was frankly exhausted with hiking, and was growing tired of the Trail itself. I stopped filtering my water, partly out of laziness and partly due to the stupid thought that the spring water in Maine must be unadulterated and plainly drinkable... This bit me in the ass in a way I'll never be able to put to words. I became weak and violently ill, struggling over even the most gradual inclines as I literally inched my way towards Katahdin's illustrious summit. I tore the soles off my shoes climbing down off a peak, the result of 1,000 miles on an insole designed for a third of that. Tightly wrapping what little duct tape I had around my feet, I felt the pulse of my heartbeat through my toes for the remaining two days on the Trail. I slept with my shoes on, not having enough tape to re-secure them each morning. I struggled with every mile of Trail, but after 97 miles of Maine's untouched Wilderness, I spent the night in my last shelter, emerging the next morning at the Abol Springs Campground where the reality of a civilized world made itself apparent to me again.
Through some kind of miracle, and the antiquated communication of written word in shelter logbooks, Santa made it to Baxter State Park the night before we planned to climb the final mountain. Katahdin was 5.3 miles north of the cabin we spent the night in, joined by my parents and close friend. We climbed the mountain with immense pride, though slowly and weakly as my body had low tolerance for the terrain that the Appalachian Trail claimed as its finale. I ran the last quarter mile, embracing the weathered wooden sign denoting the summit as if it was my long lost sibling, separated at birth. The sign had plagued my thoughts for the last 15 months, and had rudely interrupted my meandering daydreams for each of the 114 days I spent hiking north from Georgia. In a quick moment, celebrated with loud tracks from Zac Brown Band's early repertoire and a cold Sam Adams lager, my hike concluded.
It was the first endurance adventure I'd undertaken as a solo effort, and undoubtedly won't be the last. The Appalachian Trail didn't change my life in the way most people seemed to hope it would, but it changed how I saw myself. We as humans have the ability to be infinitely powerful, infinitely successful if we trust in ourselves and desire achieving things far beyond mediocrity; chase whatever adventures you dream of... find your own Katahdin and see to it that you reach the summit.
Onward & upward,
I struggled through the rest of The Wilderness, still covering thirty miles a day over some of the most grueling terrain the Appalachian Trail had ever subjected me to. The need to finish prevailed over everything I did, every decision I made; I was frankly exhausted with hiking, and was growing tired of the Trail itself. I stopped filtering my water, partly out of laziness and partly due to the stupid thought that the spring water in Maine must be unadulterated and plainly drinkable... This bit me in the ass in a way I'll never be able to put to words. I became weak and violently ill, struggling over even the most gradual inclines as I literally inched my way towards Katahdin's illustrious summit. I tore the soles off my shoes climbing down off a peak, the result of 1,000 miles on an insole designed for a third of that. Tightly wrapping what little duct tape I had around my feet, I felt the pulse of my heartbeat through my toes for the remaining two days on the Trail. I slept with my shoes on, not having enough tape to re-secure them each morning. I struggled with every mile of Trail, but after 97 miles of Maine's untouched Wilderness, I spent the night in my last shelter, emerging the next morning at the Abol Springs Campground where the reality of a civilized world made itself apparent to me again.
Through some kind of miracle, and the antiquated communication of written word in shelter logbooks, Santa made it to Baxter State Park the night before we planned to climb the final mountain. Katahdin was 5.3 miles north of the cabin we spent the night in, joined by my parents and close friend. We climbed the mountain with immense pride, though slowly and weakly as my body had low tolerance for the terrain that the Appalachian Trail claimed as its finale. I ran the last quarter mile, embracing the weathered wooden sign denoting the summit as if it was my long lost sibling, separated at birth. The sign had plagued my thoughts for the last 15 months, and had rudely interrupted my meandering daydreams for each of the 114 days I spent hiking north from Georgia. In a quick moment, celebrated with loud tracks from Zac Brown Band's early repertoire and a cold Sam Adams lager, my hike concluded.
It was the first endurance adventure I'd undertaken as a solo effort, and undoubtedly won't be the last. The Appalachian Trail didn't change my life in the way most people seemed to hope it would, but it changed how I saw myself. We as humans have the ability to be infinitely powerful, infinitely successful if we trust in ourselves and desire achieving things far beyond mediocrity; chase whatever adventures you dream of... find your own Katahdin and see to it that you reach the summit.
Onward & upward,
Ryan "Texaco" McKee