Sorry for such a long absence of posts. Getting to a computer is a lot more difficult than we had initially anticipated.
Ash is putting up over a month's worth of pictures right now. We are off the trail for a short 4th of July holiday/family reunion at Ash's family's pad in Lake Luzerne NY. We will be getting back on Tuesday and finishing up the northern section of the trail.
There is so much to say about what has happened, and I am truly bottle-necked with where to start. Instead of getting into the fine details, I'm going to do my best to relate my feelings to you readers.
Imagine you have walked 1500 miles. With a 38 pound backpack. Up and down every mountain in the way. You, your partner, and the forest. Food is fuel. Legs are transportation. Feet are wheels. Toes are spokes. Shoes are tires. Water, well that's up to you to find, judge, and treat with chemicals then drink, in hopes of not getting a stomach infection. Everyday you get up, you eat, you pack everything you own in a bag. You walk. You listen. You whistle. You talk. You sing. You dance. You laugh. You think. You remember. You eat. You stop. You rest. You see. You never, ever give up. There are others out there with you, ahead, behind, right there. Some you know. Some you don't. Others you never will. They are your brothers and your sisters. They are your parents and your roommates. They are the neighbor you never wanted, or the little brother you always dreamed of. There is an underlying bond between you and everybody you meet. North. There is an undying feeling that is always running through your veins. Nature. The forest is more comfortable to you now than your old kitchen. You know what to expect under the rocks. You know birds by their voice. You speak deer. You read paw prints. You smell fields from miles away. You feel a three degree drop in temperature, and taste the static in the air. It's going to rain. Rain is nothing more than a free shower. You no longer fear the dark. Things go bump in the night outside your tent and you face them eye to glowing eye. No hiding. You long to sit still, but when you do, you feel something missing. Not moving forward is as uncomfortable as holding your breath. Every day you remember something deep down, from your childhood. You know that somehow, everything led up to you being out here. And you love it. You never want to go back. But it ends. It has to end. You need to climb that one last final summit. You need to achieve something. You have been driven by your own mental projection of yourself, arms wide open in the air next to a sign that signifies you are a select individual that hiked 2181 miles without hesitation. You remember your first step on the path like it was yesterday. And you are awkwardly anxious and scared at the same time, for what your last step means to you. Everything is fair game in your mind, you are an open book, you are a new you, you will never be the same. Nothing will.
I don't know how to end this post, but I guess that is fitting, because our journey is not over. This was kind of an open forum into my brain right now. We're ecstatic for the well-deserved rest, but eager to get back on the trail and continue into the final weeks of our trip. We appreciate everyone's support, and send a big thanks out to those who read, our parents for helping us out, and those who just give us a bottle of water on a hot day. Every bit makes a difference to us. Please know that, and thank you.
-Flying North,
Crazy Goose
