The mantra for this trail kept repeating itself in my mind like a broken record. ”This is my last trail, this is my last trail, this is my last trail”. But knowing that I never had to hike another trail again after this did very little to comfort me. 

I felt like the most tragic person in the world eating a lump of melted-together Sourpatch Kids in my tent. With the sleeping bag wrapped around me, I listened to the wind rustling the trees above like an oncoming freight train while the rain came down on my fly. The luxury suite in Damascus that I left earlier this morning already seemed like a distant memory. 

In hindsight I probably should’ve stayed at the shelter eight miles back with the other people. Instead I had kept going, wanting to get as many miles in for the day as possible. 

My garmin device suddenly made me aware that it had let my family know that everything was fine. A modified truth. Sure, I was alive and by all means physically well. Mentally was a different story. I felt lonely, unsupported, disappointed and sad. 

When things don’t get better

It wasn’t that the past week hadn’t been good. In fact, it was the opposite. I had spent time with old friends both on and off trail on Appalachian Trail Days. The trail had been good and I had passed highlights such as Roanoke Mountain, TN. And even though I spent time with friends, I didn’t mind getting back on trail and continue north. 

I told myself it would be better in the morning. Hopefully most of the rain would pass over night, leaving the sky clear and blue the next day. 

It didn’t. When I crossed the section of Grayson Highlands – another highlight of this trail – it was grey, wet and miserable apart from its wild ponies. 

Just like the night before, I told myself that the rain would ease up soon. 

Can I come?

It didn’t. Instead, it did the opposite and got heavier and heavier. Despite my best efforts to stay dry, I was soaked to the bone when I decided to take shelter under a small roof at a parking lot. While contemplating my next move, another hiker approached me.

”You waiting for a shuttle?”

”No, just trying to get a break from the rain”.

I must have looked like a drowned cat. Dignity or anything remotely like it had since long been washed away by the heavy downpour.

”I got a shuttle arriving at 5 pm.”

I tried to contain my excitement but probably didn’t do a very good job.

”Can I come?”

Howard was a section hiker going southbound. And since he was section hiking he had his car parked at one of the hostels. After picking up the car we drove to the town Marion where we waited out even more bad weather the next day.

The time in town was good and well-needed, but when it was time to get back on trail I wasn’t feeling great. My stomach had been acting up and the thought of food made me nauseous.

Despite better judgement, I decided to hike out anyway.