The Trail – The Reluctant Grownup

The Pacific Crest Trail is a 2,650 mile continuous path stretching from Mexico, through California, Oregon, and Washington, terminating in Canada. Tracing it along a map of the western states, your finger follows the curve of the Sierra Nevadas through California, flirting with the Nevada state line before jutting an elbow west toward the Sacramento River. It meanders over the Oregon state line, hugging the Cascades through Oregon and Washington, and finally reaches just over the northern U.S. border into tiny Manning Park, British Columbia. For 40 years it has been challenging hikers with its elevation changes, varied eco zones, wild animals, and primitive backcountry camping. A friend of mine thru hiked the PCT with her fiance in 2007. She self-published her journal recently, and I am drinking it in. It’s been several years since I was able to be lost in the woods. On May 1, 2009, the day I gave my 3
month notice at my job, the day I inevitably began my own epic journey
into something new, I received her journal in the mail and set down to
read. Their first day on the trail was May 1, 2007. In my relief and
joy at having begun the work of releasing myself from the misery of my
wretched job, I found this to be a Meaningful Symbol of Adventures to
Come in the Epic Life Journey of Gillian. *Re: what comes after I
serve out the notice – we have 2 choices, at the moment, and have not
fully settled on either, but 3 months from now I guess we’ll have to
have picked one!

The first 700 miles of the trail are hot and dry. Sunburns and dehydration are the order of the day, and Sunflower and little g (my friend and her fiance) suffer from both. But there are 15, 18, 22 miles to walk every day, miles that have to be walked in order to leave the desert behind them, and they push through. They converse for hours, fight occasionally, lose their way and find it again. They depend on the kindness of strangers for water, laundry, and even coolers of beer parked out on the trail. There are people who live along this trail who refill several water coolers, miles apart, every day. There are homeowners who regularly pick up hikers and bring them to their own houses for showers, email, and rest. These people are called trail angels. They restore a little faith in humanity in all of the hikers out there. Thus far in my reading, Sunflower has only met kindness.

This morning a chubby hand tapped me on the shoulder, and when I opened my eyes my little boy sat up straight in the bed and said "Hi!" He smiled, I gathered him up in a bear hug, and we wrestled and giggled on the bed for a while. I won’t be hiking the PCT until he is old enough to be having babies, but that makes me no less eager. Patrick and I plan on taking Jack on many backpacking trips on the Appalachian Trail, for practice. Perhaps Jack will join us when we finally get to go. Or . . . maybe that would be a little too much family time.

It’s going to take just a bit of time to shake off the mantle of bad feelings that my job has driven into me. I have not been a happy or easygoing person of late. If I had 5 months to spare right now, I would love to hike that trail and reset. If I had a week to spare, even a smaller trip would shake out my cobwebs and help me start fresh. I’ll have to find other ways. And I will.

The baby is napping. The house is quiet. I put the clean dishes away, and fold laundry, and in my mind I am adventuring. Desert heat, pounding heart, searing beauty, pain and love and the trail.