I almost quit today. I made it into Daleville at 9:30am, and I was relieved to find that the coffee shop next to Kroger still existed. I spent a solid four hours loitering there in 2016, and this morning I had an important question to mull over.

Standard operating procedure took precedence of course, and before I could even sip my black house brew, there were more pressing matters. Whatever decision I was going to make, I’d still need clean hands and charged devices. I found the restroom, and a power strip in the corner.

As I connected my beloved NU25 Nitecore to the charger, I became suddenly self-conscious of how grimy the headband had become. A few minutes later a crowd came in, all wearing perfectly clean boots from Keen, Salomon, and Asolo. I consoled myself with the thought that, rough as I looked (and felt) I was at least the real fucking deal.

I priced bus tickets from Roanoke to home, and they were temptingly cheap. Then I perused the AWOL guide on my phone and redid the milage calculation to Pearisbug; 93.8 miles. I decided that at the very least, I’d quit there. One more resupply. Four days.

The best advice I’ve ever received for long distance hiking came from one of Seven’s “Hiker Trash Videos” on YouTube. He emphasized the need to compartmentalize the hike into smaller hikes. The only focus should be getting to your next resupply.

Wendy’s opened, and I moved my operation over there for a few hours. I ate twelve dollars worth of value menu items and drank five soda refills. Then I noticed a young biker come in, asking about outlets. I invited him over and moved my pack. We shared the only available outlet, and a round table in the corner for about an hour.

Andy is riding up to NY, then back towards AZ. He’s taking his time, living out of his motorcycle, and doing handyman jobs along the way. We talked about everything from Rubber Tramp Rendezvous, to Sawyer water filters, to the state of the US job market. A vagabond of a slightly different flavor, we were both a novelty, yet still familiar to each other. Soon he headed on.

I spent the next hour on the phone with my sister Katie, and then on FaceTime with my mother and my other sister Kelly. It was so nice to see their faces!

Ultimately, I decided to stay in town tonight, and prioritize rest. I’ve eaten a five ounce salad, a pint of ice cream, 12oz of steamed vegetables, a 32oz green smoothie, and half a pound of chicken tenders. It’s nearly 1am now, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that I could put away a large pizza too. Instead I’m going to eat any leftover food from my pack before going to sleep. I’ve lost six pounds in the last 250 miles.

Apparently there is a letter waiting for me in Damascus. Jelly informed me of this tonight, and it’s exactly the kind of mission I need right now. It gives me a much needed waypoint within this massive state. I’ve hiked over 280 miles, and I am just barely over Virginia’s halfway mark. To put that into perspective, I just hiked the distance of the Maryland, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New York sections combined. Yet it barely feels like a dent within this state, which comprises a full quarter of the Appalachian Trail.

My goal is to read that letter in two weeks. It’s all I have for long term morale right now, but it’s enough.

There is so much liberation and peace to be had in breaking goals into their smaller component parts. It’s the opposite of anxiety, which as my friend defines it, is “feeling a profound need to accomplish everything at once.”

Anything worth doing is impossibly large. Anything worth doing will bully you with its size and complication. Take smaller bites.

Recently, I’ve been re-listening to one of the most important audiobooks of my adult life, The Obstacle is the Way by Ryan Holiday. I originally came to this book desperate for something solid to hold on to. At the time I was a little over eight months sober, and in a rollercoaster of a relationship. I was in love for what felt like the first time, and a grenade had just been thrown on that paradise. Within stoicism I found the way through. This title is a manual of techniques taught by the ancients, ways of thinking that make a difference. It teaches you how to turn obstacles upside down.

On the AT, it’s easy to understand that the obstacle is the way. The trail is literally a series of obstacles. In solving them, one mile at a time, the path is driven a little harder into the dirt. This “way” now becomes a trail for the hikers to come. In relationships though, the path is more difficult to define. Even the obstacles themselves can be elusive.

In that relationship I was determined to use that upset as a means to grow closer to my Love, and build an even stronger foundation with her. It was hell, and it took a lot of effort, but we got through it. We processed things more thoroughly than I could have possibly imagined. A wound not only mended, it calloused. What impeded the path became a path of its own, just as Marcus Aurelius said it would.

I’ve been thinking a lot on past teachers, and where I’ve failed them. Where they demanded growth, and I failed to meet that challenge.

A bizarre thing happened on Katahdin. I felt with overwhelming certainty that I hadn’t earned it. I didn’t have 2192 miles on my legs, so I had no business standing on that sign. It was curious thing. This is exactly how I felt when I made black belt. I didn’t feel conversant enough to deserve it. If anything, my skill had atrophied. In both of these cases I failed to reach my own standards, which I do not need to justify or defend to anyone. It’s a “me” problem.

Where I’ve failed my teachers most though, have been the times when instead of listening, I was telling them what I know.  Ego is the Enemy is another Ryan Holiday book, perhaps it’s time I read it?

You cannot fake sincerity, nor can you “act” mature. Both of these things are exterior facets of far deeper intentions. Your teacher, any good teacher, can see those intentions years before you do. When the years do pass, and you are forced to reorient to reality, the truth is humbling. You think you’ve made progress, and yet you’ve just barely nudged past the starting line.

That is exactly the reality I had to face when I got sober. A decade’s worth of perceived progress was rendered null.

There are other areas of my life where this tension still exists. It’s the reason why I never sold my swords, why I am still walking south, and why I can’t shake the idea of going back to college.

The completion of this trail required a higher version of myself. Someone I couldn’t have even imagined myself to be three years ago. To accomplish the other nagging mountains ever calling, I’ll have to continue to grow into another impossible person. New obstacle, new way.

Stanimal’s 328 Hostel in Glasgow, VA is the first place I’ve stopped in 238 miles. I wanted do push hard through this section, and I’m pretty satisfied. I cleared the 101 mile Shenandoah section in five days. I’ve had a marathon and one twenty-five so far.

190 miles without a shower is a new record, one I’ll not likely repeat soon. I’ve enjoyed the calm and solitude of this section. Four times now I’ve slept in empty shelters, an odd thing on the AT.

The quiet time alone has lead to very deep states of calm. Having done the remaining miles before, I feel utterly confident about the way ahead. I’m going to continue pushing myself and refining my skills, becoming faster and more efficient as I go.

I might not have the chance to push a five hundred mile stretch south like this again for some time. The experience deserves everything I can throw at it.

It’s 11pm, and I am wide awake in my bivy. Yesterday I realized Pinefield and Calf Mountain Shelters are exactly 26.2 miles apart, and so I hiked my first marathon day of this trip. I rolled into the shelter around 8:45pm, to a group of Spanish speaking men. Two were already busy snoring when I arrived, and the third sat awake at a table.

It took some time to convince him, with slowly articulated words, that I was okay. He seemed to think that I was a lost hiker, or somehow in duress. His inquiries continued, even as I inflated my Neo Air and and fluffed my down quilt. Finally I reassured him that all I needed was sleep, then I smiled and crawled into my bag.

Today I left that shelter before sunup. I waited just long enough for the others to wake, and then I was packed and gone within ten minutes. I found it both curious and wonderful that the men chose to sleep all three to the right side of the shelter. It was handy for me, I took the far left spot and had plenty of space. What is curious is that I have never seen another group of hikers do this before. Usually, even among friends, the sides of the shelter are filled first and then the middle. My past trail families have always spread out and taken over the shelters.

I just finished my second reading of Sebastian Younger’s book, Tribe. He delivers a very convincing narrative that we in Europe and North America do a splendid job of undermining our ancient tribal tendencies. This leads to a more disconnected way of life, unknown to humans until comparatively recently in history. We tend to sleep alone, or coupled in a separate room from others; for example. Historically, humans have always slept in groups. Soldiers always sleep in groups. Maybe this is why I took so much interest in the arrangement of men in the shelter last night?

Nevertheless I hiked on, and met a group of boyscouts a few miles from the Shenandoah park boundary. I thanked their adult leaders for getting those kids in the woods. Without my time in scouts, I probably wouldn’t be on this hike.

Somehow I still cleared the 101 mile Shenandoah section in five days, despite being sick. Rather than hitching into Waynesboro, I discovered a food truck with hotdogs, popcorn, and french fries. Rockfish Gap is a popular destination for weekenders, and I walked past them, smelling their recently shampooed heads from twenty feet away. I smelled that kettle corn a good .1 off though. They served up a massive plate of fries with my hotdog, and I ended up coming back for seconds about an hour later. In the meantime, I found a visitors center with outlets, so I charged my phone and spare battery.

Thru hikers are very rare in Virginia this time of year. Most people assume I’m homeless, but the ones who know what I am tend to seek me out. One lady announced to me, that when she decides to hike the trail, her trail name will be Zenobia. That became an interesting bookmark for further reading, as I love ancient history. The old lady running the visitor’s center assured me I was great company, despite my odor. I helped her direct hikers to the trail, and tried to remember notable spots in the SNP.

The questions continued, even after I got back on trail. A NoBo section hiker stopped to chat, and I let slip that as of that morning, I had hiked all 2192 miles of trail. This led to a twenty minute conversation about nearly every notorious or difficult section. Finally I looked at my watch, and realized it was two in the afternoon. I had gone eight miles.

“Isn’t hiking for six months basically a job?”

I’m asked this often. The answer is yes, absolutely. It’s the most amazing job you can possibly imagine. Hiking a long trail requires time management, budgeting, creative problem solving, logistics, inventory management, and excellent verbal communication. Afraid to talk with people? Hitchhiking is the ultimate crash course. Unless you use an Uber —real hikers do not use Uber. Uber is for lazy Millenials, most of whom need better social skills anyway. I encourage them to stick a thumb out, and start developing their prefrontal cortex!

Fact is, it is a job. I needed to do eighteen miles today, because I said so. Eighteen miles, followed by a pair of twenty two mile days, will make the best use of the food I have on hand. Pushing to Buena Vista, or even Glasgow for a shower and laundry is a budgetary decision. Opting for Glasgow is more time efficient, as both tasks are easier to complete there. Two meals at the food truck? Time Management. Hitching in and out of Waynesboro would have taken three hours, and I probably would have spent more money too. Avoiding the food truck would have meant eating out of my pack, leaving me too light on food to reach Buena Vista.

I spoke with Jelly today, and she seriously questioned my plan to go 150 miles without bathing. I see this as a benefit of hiking solo. I can push in all kinds of ways. Ways a hiking partner or a group would stifle. I sat at Humpback Rocks, and watched the sunset for an hour this evening. I sat and watched a massive storm blow in off the valley. I smiled as all of the college kids ran for cover. I sat there on the rocky outcrop and let it come, gusts and all. A free shower in the woods, while taking in a view? Time management. It’s also kind to the budget!

I night hiked to make my miles. Night hiking is another benefit to hiking solo. It’s also a really basic exercise for learning to control fear. When you can walk alone in the middle of the wilderness at night, and do it calmly, you’ve mastered a part of yourself very few people in society have addressed.

I walked a mile and let the storm fully pass. Then I found a nice clearing and set up in the dark. This spot avoids katabatic flows, and there will be zero condensation here in the morning. Have a mentioned that I love long distance backpacking? This is a typical day of it.

“Hey bear! Yes! You!” I said. Not shouting, but using a deep, firm voice. I was just about to pour the cous cous into my pot when I noticed movement in some nearby ferns. Initially, my eyes said turkey, so I kept watching to count them.

It kept moving leftwards, and then I realized it was a fairly small bear, some thirty-five yards away. It wasn’t long before he was staring right at me.

I speak to pretty much every animal I meet on trail, often the daddy longleg spiders too. He just kept staring at me, so I stood up and again in a firm voice told him to “go on!”

He turned his head to the side, sniffed the air, and reluctantly walked away. Immediately I was thankful that I decided to cook so far from camp. Often I’ll cook miles from where I stop for the night, but in this case fifty yards seemed sufficient.

I packed away all of my smellies tonight, including the wet wipes and hand sanitizer. I’ll be sleeping with my contacts in. I did a PCT bear bag hang with a twenty-five foot limb. I felt pretty confident in my hang until ten minutes ago.

Before settling in, I heard more movement, and my headlamp caught two pairs of eyes. A mom and her cub. The mother was small, but I’m fairly certain it was not the same bear as earlier. Her cub was tiny and adorable, as they always are. The pair were headed for the exact spot where I cooked dinner. No doubt, they were looking for scraps.

That baby might have a shot at getting my food tonight. He’s impossibly small, and the limb my food is tied to might hold him. I also spoke to them in a firm voice, but they disappeared behind a low stand of boulders. I threw a few hefty rocks that direction, and they took off.

In the presence of predators, I need little reminder that like General Patton, I too am “the meanest motherfucker in the valley.” I have made every effort to explain to my woodland friends, that I will not be fucked with tonight. I peed around my shelter too, a tip I learned from Les Stroud. Neither of us are sure if it works, but I’ll sleep better tonight for it.

Hiking while sick has been surprisingly doable. I’ve leaned another Hiking 102 skill; blowing my nose without tissue. You get your face close to the ground, clear your shoes, etc from the path, then plug one nostril and let’er rip! Ugly green snot spots on trail? This guy. With all of the bear scat I’ve stepped over today, it’s not as gross. I promise.

Other than sudden sleepiness and my body’s ability to thermoregulate being delayed, I feel fine. I can tell I’ve been feverish at times, but mostly at night. Once I get moving in the mornings I am okay, though certainly not one hundred percent.

Tomorrow I am aiming to hit the Skyland Resort for breakfast. I’m about three miles north, and I’m out of water. It should be an ideal early morning pit stop. I keep meeting more and more cool hikers out here. I imagine breakfast will draw a few new faces too.

I’ll sleep easy tonight knowing that the peanut butter and granola in my food bag smell way better than I do. If a bear does manage to kill me tonight, I’m okay with that too. Best high school reunion gossip ever:

“Did you hear Ryan was eaten by a bear!”

If I die old in a bed somewhere, I am going to be VERY disappointed with myself. Sleep well friends!

In entering the Shenandoah National Park, I effectively entered fall. This is my favorite season, and time of year for hiking. Golden leaves are strewn about the place, and soon the deep reds will carpet the ground as well. Some deep, deep, part of me overflows with joy when this happens.

Traveling across twenty-eight hundred trail miles in one week, via car, has left my immune system confused. About a day after I left Harper’s Ferry, the scratchy throat and runny nose began. The change from 70F highs in both Maine and the Smoky’s, were a stark contrast to the 97 degree day on which I left Harper’s Ferry.

Thankfully, the air is beginning to cool, and I have DayQuil in tow. If I were well, I could certainly push twenty-two mile days through this section. Mid-day naps keep overtaking my ambitions though, and my body feels better for it. The affect of hiking just two less hours per day with Jelly, had profound affects on my day to day comfort.

Comparing daily mileages with other hikers is largely a happiness-sink. I’ve done marathons and longer in the past. These days I value naps and random trail conversations. It’s worth it to me to make space for them, especially on this last stretch. I’ve been out here long enough to know that the next 680 miles will go by in a flash.

Hiking 102 – Loitering: Procure McDonalds coffee, drink, refill with green smoothie from the grocery store. Consume produce. Mooch WiFi for hours.