I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but I know that I’m lucky.

I’ve hedged some bets on this hike, and I’m all in. So in, I’ve sold my car, and the last five months of my car insurance policy. I allocated that money as an emergency fund of sorts. So far it has covered all the zero’s I’ve needed due to my leg, an orthopedic boot, and my meals for the next five weeks. I haven’t even touched my trail budget yet. It’s an absolute wonder what abundance can arise when you put to death a few vices.

In the past few weeks I’ve gone from being one of the strongest hikers on trail, to having my wings clipped by injury. Now I’m home and I’m bound by the fact that I can no longer legally drive myself anywhere, nor can I reasonably walk more than a few hundred yards a day without re-injuring myself.

This would be emotionally debilitating, if not for the fact that I have an amazing family. Family willing to pick me up at a bus station at 11pm, no questions asked. Family willing to let me live in a guestroom, even if my “rent” comes in the form of doing dishes, laundry, and a few odd electrical jobs around the house. Family willing to let me tag along to the grocery store, so that I can buy my food for the week.

My lifestyle has gone from free range, in every possible sense, to monastic; in a very real sense. I have such immense gratitude though. For the first two or three days, I ate food that I had failed to consume before I left for the AT. I salvaged half a bag of spinach, nearly a full container of Greek yogurt, and some frozen berries. Millet, yerba mate, and several bags of frozen vegetables too, made for a stark contrast to my trail diet. A diet filled with sugar, which I am now always craving.

Those few days making do with what I had, made me appreciate my first trip to the grocery store in a way I haven’t in years. In the same way, I’ve never appreciated my ability to walk or run before now. There is the conceptual “I should be grateful” and then there is the visceral reality of “I am grateful” when threatened with loss. Much in the way that you’re told to finish your plate as a child, after being presented with the idea of “those less fortunate.” Fast-forward fifteen years, and a few sketchy months in your 20’s… I’ll never waste a bite again.

I’ve heard of the Stoics performing similar exercises. Men like Cicero, and Seneca dressing themselves in rags, and sleeping on the streets a few nights a month, just to truly appreciate their status. Also, to realize the fanciful absurdity, and transience of the notion of “status” itself. The exercises also extended to the physical body in the form of various meditations. Imagining the difficulties of navigating the world as a blind man, for example.

Sure, I’m in a lofty place. It’s 1am, I’m drinking freshly brewed tea, and I’m typing away on a laptop in a climate controlled space. The point is, I am grateful, and I appreciate all of these things.

It is exactly the cultivation of this kind of awareness, and the appreciation for simplicity, which lured me towards backpacking in the first place. At first you come to understand that indoor plumbing, and HVAC are magical things. Spend enough time in the woods however, immerse for a few months or more, and soon you’ll realize deeper truths. The truth that it takes so very, very much food to keep one human alive. That those calories are so rare and precious in nature.

Then you learn, quite literally in your core, that your entire existence is really just a little spark of warmth. That you’re only here, because hundreds of generations before you didn’t let that little internal fire go out. Little fires came together to warm themselves as a tribe. We may as well call that little spark “love.” Spend enough time cold and wet, and you’ll see how delicate it really is. You’ll see what a miracle it is that you’re even breathing right now.

The truth is, I’m blessed to be home, and have a home. I’m quite lucky to be learning these lessons in such a gentle way. Best of all, I’ll be back on trail in about a month. Being able to hike the trail at all is a very, very lucky thing. I’ll appreciate that even more now.

I woke early, as hikers do, in our Fontana Lodge hotel room. Remarkably, none of us snored during the night. Compton gave us the “curtain warning” and threw back the heavy canvas blackout shade. We were met with bright Appalachian sunlight, and vibrant green mountains in the distance. The rain had cleared at last.

I had actually awoken about an hour before this. Being the first one up, I stayed quiet, and decided to do some research on my phone.

“Localized, swelling, easily replicates with the same activity, often in a very predictable manner. Recovery time is six to eight weeks, failure to cease activity will result in a complete fracture. Medical intervention is required when the pain no longer ceases, even in the absence of the activity.”

I felt as though I had read all of this before, but on that morning I really comprehended the words. The edema on my left leg had shrunk considerably over the past week, but it still guarded a two inch ring just above my ankle. For the past two nights, the ache extended overnight and into the morning. Previously I could time the pain with my guide book, it always occurred at the ten mile mark.

I had had the best evening. My previous post failed to capture the feeling of that night. There was a warmth in my chest I hadn’t felt in a while. The five of us laughed and talked, played and bonded. The hike thus far had been pretty quiet, but this felt like my first real trail family. Having had such great time the night before, the decision to leave trail was much easier. At the risk of being renamed “Buzz Kill,” I explained this to everyone.

I was ready to roll out into the Smokies that morning. I knew my leg was not healing, but I made all of the preparations anyway. The food, the permit, I had poured over my guidebook and formed a plan. Even at ten miles per day, I figured I could cross the park within a week. 

When I woke and felt the pain and swelling however, my gut told me firmly that it was a bad idea. Fourteen pounds of food and the climb up Shuckstack seemed stupid. Even with a resupply in Gatlinburg to lighten the load, ten mile days would invariably cause a fracture anyway. Going home was the mature decision, and the one that would ultimately save my hike.

The person I was in 2016 would have pushed, and would have broken himself. Thankfully, I’ve grown a bit since then.

Fontana is not an easy extraction point. The closest attraction is Tail of the Dragon, a scenic stretch of mountain roadway boasting 318 curves over eleven miles. Motorcycle and car clubs come from around the world come to race it.

The kind folks at the Fontana Lodge gave me a list of shuttle drivers, and Fred Laney seemed the best option. Based seven miles away from where I was standing, he assured me we could make the trip at any time. His price, $110 was pretty fair given the distance and time he needed to travel. The fact that the bus ticket itself was only $22 was a little annoying, and I decided to cover all my bases before agreeing to the shuttle. I could either head to Knoxville, or Asheville. Both had bus stations. Fred told me Knoxville was the better of the two cities, as the bus would be a straight shot down I-75.

Phone service was extremely difficult to come by, even with Verizon. This ultimately led me towards shuttling out. Hitching off the Dragon seemed both unlikely and dangerous. Years ago, my buddy Armin had to hike a large extent of it due to this. Getting stuck in the middle of nowhere without service also seemed possible. Knoxville was far, and the farther you hitch off the AT, the weirder things get. My last hitch into Murphy the week before was proof of this.

Fred was a nice man, but quite the chain smoker. I really wish that was explained before hand. Ten minutes after hopping into his truck, my meditation teacher in Woodstock sent me a message via Facebook. He was offering to come get me. I should have waited just a little bit longer. Hindsight.

My brother-in-law was kind enough to pick me up from the bus station in Marietta, GA around 11pm. I found my room much as I had left it.

Still in trail-mode, priority one was unpacking and drying my wet tent, something I had intended to do during my first afternoon in the Smokies. I completely emptied my pack, and opened every dry bag, pouch, and my cook kit. My body was oddly weary from sitting all day. Having spent the past many hours diverting negative thoughts, my mind was fatigued as well. Finally, I curled up on my small Japanese futon bed, and fell asleep.

Birds woke me around seven in the morning. My tent was pretty damp, so I opened both doors to take advantage of the cool breeze coming in off the lake. The canopy seemed to be perfectly aligned, and soon I had a nice wind tunnel blowing through, drying the interior condensation. 

I walked to the bathrooms at the Hilton, which were surprisingly nice. On the men’s side are two bathroom stalls, a large single shower stall (with hot water) and two sinks. The most critical feature though, was the plug strip zip-tied in the upper corner of the bathroom. A spiders nest of charge cables, batteries, and phones were suspended there, blue and red lights blinking with life.

I packed and threw a Cliff bar in my mouth, and gathered with a few other hikers, who were waiting for the 8:30am shuttle into Fontana Village. I spoke with Rain Dancer, a class of ‘99 Thru-hiker out for her second hike of the AT. She’s always super upbeat, and even when her shoes were giving her trouble the other day, her expletives were said with a smile. A hiker from New York decided to quit that morning, and Rain Dancer and I talked to him, and made sure he had what he needed.

I had just enough service for him to call a shuttle, but it wouldn’t arrive for a few hours, so we went to Fontana Lodge for breakfast. The three of us sat and discussed a myriad of topics, from putting hiking on your resume, to building tiny houses. The coffee flowed, the eggs were fluffy, and soon our plates were spotless. 

While we ate, more rain rolled in, so I took my time and sat in the hotel lobby for a while. I had time to kill, because the Post Office wouldn’t open until 11:45am, I struck up a conversation with Special Brew, and Compton. Jolly Green Giant happened to be there, and soon we hatched a plan to split a room and zero for the night. Grubber joined in, and we split the $80 hiker rate five ways.

The Fontana Lodge is awesome. Not only were they cool with five of us in one room, they even gave Grubber an air mattress to sleep on. They let me use their computer, and print my Smokies permit for free.

We settled into the room, and Jolly asked for gear advice. Special Brew, Compton, and I gave her pack a good shakedown, probably eliminating six pounds overall. Jolly was carrying three sets of clothing, all of which were high quality, high performance brands. We convinced her that she only really needed one set, but made concessions where needed. Shakedowns are such an individual thing, so compromise is inevitable. My louffa for instance, is one piece of gear I’ll never part with on a long hike.

After picking up my resupply box, and padding it with an extra three days of food, I stopped at the grill for lunch. I had just placed my order when I saw Librarian, Pippy, and Salamander roll in, trail worn and hungry. I went over and sat with them, because they’re the kind of people who fill the air around them with positive energy. I had intended to say at the Cable Gap Shelter with them the night before, but I got annoyed with one of the guys there, which is saying something. They had a similar experience with the same hiker.

The rest of the evening involved food, and more food! I attempted to give Grubber’s pack a shakedown, but there wasn’t much to trim. Our room ended up back at the grill, wherein some patrons were already quite drunk. One of them made a point to cat call and heckle our server, who was all of sixteen, maybe seventeen years old? The ladies at our table, Special Brew in particular, assured her that she never has to put up with that. Eventually, the manager got him under control.

We headed back to the room for the night, and traded Instagram info. I was quite amazed by the quality of everyone’s photos. Far less personal (and political) than Facebook, Instagram is becoming my social media of choice. We called lights out around 10:30pm, and I slept quite satisfied at having all of my town errands complete.

Lightning has been dancing across the sky for about an hour now. I’m on the edge of Fontana Lake, pitched on one of the concrete tent pads. The shelter here is called the “Hilton” and in 2016 I bypassed it completely. Noro virus was rampant then, and a few friends and I split a room at the Lodge for a mere $20 per person. This time around, I started to setup inside the Hilton, until I saw the sign for tenting.

Putting a Tarptent Protrail up on a concrete pad is no easy task. It’s certainly more “tarp” than “tent,” so I had to get creative. Non-free standing tents like this rely heavily on stakes, and thus a concrete slab is a real obstacle. Thankfully I got the rear of the tent staked into the ground, and some previous hikers left some large rocks to anchor the front to. I butchered the remnants of my bear bag line, and made it work.

My intro to backpacking was with a 10’x10’ nylon tarp. It was the cheapest lightweight shelter I could find, and it forced me to brush up on my knots. My intro to cycling was similar, and my first two road bikes were literally pulled from the trash. Cheap entry to any activity comes with a learning curve, but the knowledge you gain that way is more valuable in the end.

Another factor with these concrete slabs, is that the rain just bounces off of them. I’ve had many drops come bouncing in, but it’s a warm night, thankfully.

Due to weather, many hikers in the shelter are taking a zero tomorrow. I’ve decided to head out though. Tomorrow I’ll head up to Fontana Village to purchase a thru-hiker permit for the Smokies, and grab my resupply box. My sister was kind enough to mail it out for me, and she included my winter mitts. It’s warm now, but tomorrow I’ll be two or three thousand feet higher, in one of the least predictable environments in the South East.

Two years ago I went into the Smokies for an overnight. I was packed in a fashion ultralight (UL) hikers call “stupid light.” It was mid-July and in the high 80’s when we left the car. Three hours later it was 57F, pouring down rain, with gusts up to 25mph. With food and water my overnight load was 11lbs. It was Summer, so I ditched my stove, my rain jacket, and my puffy. All things I had done for months on the AT the year previous. The months I wasn’t in the Smokies…

Within two hours I began to go hypothermic. I could tell, because touching my thumb and pinky together was nearly impossible. This is an early warning sign I learned from Cody Lundin in his book 98.6 The Art of Keeping Your Ass Alive. Thanks to that book, I ran the next seven miles to the shelter, and kept my ass alive. I ate four ounces of cheese, stripped and put on my base layers, then crawled into my 55 degree bag. I slept for twelve hours.

As my friend Myra taught me early on. When it comes cold, wet, and wind, you can survive any of the two, but never all three at once. As I teach people now, bring a rain jacket! Frogg Toggs is all you need, and it’s the lightest and cheapest there is. Also, respect the Smokies!

On this trip though, my main concern is my decreased mileage per day due to my legs. This means I’ll need to carry more food, probably close to a week’s worth. That’s around fourteen pounds total. Among my errands tomorrow is checking the total mileage of the section, and planning my food around ten miles per day. Worst case scenario, I’ll resupply in Gatlinburg.

The Smokies are somewhat unique in that they require a permit, have poor resupply access, and demand all hikers sleep in the shelters no matter what. Tenting is permitted only when shelters are full, and full means your neighbor hiker is breathing on you.

What do I really dread about the Smokies? It’s not the gigantic pack-stealing bears, the weather, or the big food carry. It’s the fucking shelters, and being turned into a sardine for a week. All AT NOBOs must go through this though.

So I’ll enjoy the privacy of my tent for one more evening. This beautiful nylon roof under which I can write, snore, and get up to pee without bothering my neighbors. Shits about to get cozy.

Today marks my second week on trail. I’m sleeping near Brown Fork Gap Shelter, mile 152.7 per the 2018 guidebook. I’ve barely made mileage during the past week. Shortly before Franklin I began experiencing shin splints in my left leg. I took a “nero” day into Franklin, hiking only eight miles, and then a full zero day after. Mud Turkey quickly left me behind after the town shuttle dropped us off at Rock Gap.

In town I babied my leg. I iced it, elevated it, took ibuprofen, and ate really healthy foods. The pain leaving Rock Gap was really bad, and I almost caught the shuttle back into Franklin at Winding Stair Gap, just five miles away. I calculated my pace at 1.75 miles per hour, and decided it was good enough to continue. By seven in the evening, I hobbled out fifteen miles.

The next day I experienced a lot of swelling, which I noticed while eating lunch on top of Rocky Bald. The view here was epic, and being a quarter mile side trail, I had it to myself.

When I made it down to Tellico Gap later that day, my leg was still swollen and in a lot of pain. A physical trainer named Jeff just happened to be there (the trail provides) so he examined it. He thought it might be a stress fracture, MTSS (shin splints), or Compartment Syndrome. I called my sister, because she is a massage therapist, and I reached out to Some Shine, who has had a similar injury.

My sister and I went through various diagnostics, and everything pointed back to medial tibial stress syndrome (MTSS). Some Shine advised me to listen to my body, and use my intuition.

I decided to take another zero, and Some Shine was kind enough to spend it with me. The following day, I hitched out of the NOC some fifty miles into Murphy. She picked me up, and then her and I went back to Franklin for cheap lodging. She drove all the way up from Fayetteville!

We spent two days there, and it was so nice to hang out with her. I kept my

leg up most of the time, but we did get out and walk short distances. We ate great food, watched the new Spider-Man movie, and fell asleep in each other’s arms each night. It was wonderful.

Friday her and I got up and drove to the NOC. We did a quick gear shakedown in the parking lot. Then she donned her Exos 58, and we headed up the mountain. We found a pretty nice little campsite about seven miles in, and set up.

She was quite amused by my elaborate sleeping system, and simply spread out her torso-length foam pad onto the floor of the tent. We ate a simple Mac and cheese dinner. I managed to loose my bear bag line, and my rock sack in a 20ft tree branch after dinner. This of course, after I told her how awesome I was at throwing bear lines…

The next morning we took our time getting up and eating breakfast. We headed up to Sassafras Gap Shelter for water, and ran into Pippy and Salamander. Salamander taught us a few flowers, among them Spring Beauties and Trailing Arbutus.

She’s an ecologist who loves, you guessed it, salamanders! Pippy is named for the long-stocking hat she often wears. Librarian is the third member of their group, and those girls are by far the most fun people I’ve met on trail so far.

Some Shine and I walked from the shelter back to the trail and said our goodbyes. I held her for a long time, kissed her forehead, and the time came. She headed south, back to the NOC, and I headed north again. She’s been having a rough time in life lately, which made it more difficult to say goodbye. It also made her choice to come up that much more precious to me.

She is simultaneously the person I most want to leave trail to spend time with, and the only one I trusted to keep me on trail during this time. I had many insecurities during those three days, and she helped me navigate them. She’s one of the kindest and most giving people I know.

I ate lunch on Cheoah Bald, and found Librarian there with Pippy and Salamander. The view was amazing. That is when I decided to make for Brown Fork Gap Shelter, bringing the day to about ten miles.

I’m 152 miles in. Sleeping in front of Brown Fork Gap Shelter tonight. I should make Fontana Dam tomorrow. I’m completely exhausted, and will recount the past week soon. It’s been a pretty tough, but amazing week. Stay tuned.

I had a random dusting of snow yesterday. I shot a nice panoramic view from the tower at Wesser Bald. I’ll upload it when I find WiFi again.

I left camp early and warmed up slowly. My left leg is still swollen, but it’s not worse, and the swelling hasn’t moved at all.

Today has been a lot of fun ridge running and twisty winding staircase trail.

I’ve stowed my trekking poles in my back. Often I over exert my steps when I use them. I’m hoping that hiking a short day without them will help correct whatever is causing my leg issue.

Today is beautiful and warm!