On a cold day in March’98, I started up the trail to the beginning of the 2160-mile Appalachian Trail. I finished six months later. Come join me on the way to Maine.
Prologue
On a cold, winter day in early March of 1998, I began what some call “a trip of a lifetime.” With a backpack full of brand new gear, a friend and I started up the trail. The 8-mile approach goes up Springer Mountain, the start of the Appalachian Trail. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, that’s for sure. I was nervous and excited. I knew deep down I could finish the six-month hike, but “would I?” was the question.
The following entries are my unedited daily journals. I wrote mot by candlelight, huddled in a shelter. I never want those memories, both good and bad, to fade with the years. You will read about beautiful days and spectacular sunsets. You’ll meet other hikers that I now call lifelong friends. Complete strangers helped hikers in need. There will be a lot about sore muscles, blisters, aches, and pains. And a lot about rain!
I miss the trail now. The simplicity of getting up, eating, hiking, eating some more, resting, then bed, is a far cry from the ‘normal’ life. There was an honesty on the trail that was refreshing. No one that lasted past those first weeks put on ‘airs’ or fed you a line. They were who they were. It didn’t matter what sex, age, social standing, or career path, we were all thru-hikers. This is my story. Enjoy!
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