Sheer Stupidity or How My Arms and Back Came To Be So Sore From a Hike

The week-end began with a hike at one of the parks along the Potomac River.  The day was expected to be relatively warm, but it was overcast and felt cooler than it was. The trail ran through tall, decidous trees that are bare now for winter. In many places, particularly at the beginning, the width of the trail was covered in ice, but we found good footing trudging through the vegetation alongside the trail. It was easy walking and a good day to be outdoors. After an hour or so, we wound our way down to the Potomac and paused at this scenic spot.

Then we moved on, following the trail along the river gorge. From my mountain-bike-racing days, I tend to hyper-focus on the trail in front of me. All I pay attention to is the condition and terrain of the trail in front of my, gauging my physical abilities. I'll cycle through studying the path right in front of me, to a view about 5 feet in front, and then further ahead. But any irrelevant information, such as what's going on outside the periphery of the trail itself -- I don't even notice. Which was perfectly appropriate for mountain-bike-racing, since we were always on pre-planned courses. But it's not appropriate for hiking, particularly on new trails.

The trail, alongside the rocky edge, became more narrow and evolved into single-track. We were ever so slightly gaining elevation. We came to an area of small boulders to clamber over. I love rock scrambling! I was focused on finding the right spot for my foot  on the increasingly narrow, yet ice-covered path, often using my hands to somewhat crawl up and along the trail.

Glancing ahead to see how far we still needed to go, I stopped and looked around. That's when I noticed we had crawled/hiked our way onto a rocky, icy ledge no more than three-feet wide. On one side was the hillside. On the other side .... nothing. Off the edge was just a plunge down into the Potomac about 50-75 feet below us.

The other hikers didn't seem to be bothered about it, but I thought it was a particularly stupid place to be. One wrong step and ... ...  While letting this all soak in to my brain, the hikers ahead had scouted out the trail ahead, came back, and said we couldn't continue further along as the trail up ahead was "treacherous". And this part of the trail wasn't???

The only option was to go back. I realized I couldn't physically turn around; I was going to have to crawl/slide down. Trying to move backward, I couldn't get secure footing on the trail. Even in spots that weren't icy, the earth was frozen, making moving downhill slippery.

That's when the fear kicked in. It wasn't my irrational, panic-attack-type fear of heights. This was totally rational, totally logical fear of death. I remembered the banner at one park along this river that states "Since such-and-such a date, X number of people have died from falling into the Potomac. Stay away from the edge." I remember reading articles in the Washington Post each year on people "playing on the rocks" who fell in and died. I remember thinking they were effin' idiots for being so stupid. Now, it could be me. And I thought: is this how people end up having to be rescued?

I made my way down. Slowly. With my fingers, I dug out a spot on the hillside to make a hand grip. Then I'd slide down on my butt a few inches. Make another handhold. Slide. And again. And again. All the time, holding on for dear life.

Once we all got off that ledge, we quit the trail and bushwhacked back to safer terrain. We took another side trail. When we saw it was heading to the edge again, we opted out. Found another trail that safely led down to a view at the river. The rest of the hike back was as pleasant as the beginning. Our 3.5 miles easy winter trek took us 3.5 hours.

"AWOL on the Appalachian Trail"

Pertinent topic + Kindle sale + "2 books a week" challenge and I ended up totally immersed in David Miller's book: AWOL on the Appalachian Trail - his account of thru-hiking the trail.

I could not put down the book. Finished in it an evening and the next morning. He has such an engaging, conversational style of writing and I liked the topics he focused on.

He writes about the reasons behind his decision to take on the journey; the relationship with his wife and how he missed his children; and the people that came in and out of his life along the trail - in particular, this gave me a good perspective on the type of people you meet long-distance hiking, the correct etiquette for interactions, and how safe one may feel.

He provides great color around the trail conditions and the type of terrain and forest cover you'd walk thru. For instance, I had no idea how steep, rocky, exposed sections of the trail are.

He describes, without being repetitive, daily life on the trail: planning for food, "heading into town" days, dealing with injuries, and why hikers take "zero" days. I almost felt as if I was trudging alongside him - getting hungry. Or wet. And being thrilled by "trail magic" - goodies left by other hikers.

Because I enjoyed his writing style, I wished he had offered up more reflections on how the thru-hike changed his life. But maybe that's the takeaway. Many people do a thru-hike like this with the expectation of problems being solved, resolutions achieved, and life-changing outcomes. But that's not necessarily the case. It's just one event, in a lifetime of many. Maybe your life evolves in more subtle ways.

I was fascinated by his account. Prior to reading it, I had no interest in spending 5-7 months hiking alone on the AT. And after reading the book, I still have no desire! I'm perfectly happy just reading about it. I'll stick with my mini-adventures :)

Signed Up For a 330-Mile Bike Tour

I was researching some fun ideas for the summer and landed on some bike touring websites. I thought it might be fun to ride the C&O Canal and camp. Or, ride the Great Allegheny Passage trail from Cumberland, Maryland to Pittsburgh, PA. This particular night, I found out that the Adventure Cycling Association offers a supported tour that includes BOTH trails. One can start in D.C. and ride 330 miles in 7 days, camping each night along the way. Sounds ideal! So I wrote my essay/application, paid my deposit, and got accepted.

On the tour, we'll average 46 miles a day. Now, since I probably haven't even ridden 46 miles over the past 10 years, I think I better get on the bike ...

The "Psychological Index" of a Warm, Sunny Day

February 6, 2011

Sunday arrived sunny, dry, and warm - 40 degrees by 9:00am. We need a new weather term. We have the "wind chill" index to indicate how much colder it really feels than the actual temp. We need one to indicate how good you feel when a winter day is suddenly warmer and brighter than expected. Today's "psychological" index was at least 65 degrees! It was a get-out-and-play day.

I need to get some miles on the bike, which is a whole 'nother story. So I headed out to the North / Central rail/trail. In the parking lot at the trail, as I was getting my bike and gear together, other people looked at me like I was nuts. Ha! Let them stare. I knew what I was doing.

The joke was on me as I discovered that the freezing rain the day before left the trail as a path of ice, with ruts from a gazillion footprints frozen in time. There was no way I could get any traction and ended up putting my bike away.

Instead, I spent about an hour+ "hiking" the ice-path. Came across these awesome tracks! Couldn't wait to get home and research them. Concluded it was only a dog -- but a big dog!

Groundhog Day / Imbolc - Spring is on its Way!

February 2, 2011

The contemporary tradition of Groundhog Day is rooted in the ancient Celtic tradition of Imbolc - a time to celebrate the return of light and warmth: Spring.

When Christianity spread through Europe, the tradition evolved into Candlemas Day and became associated with St. Brigid.

It is believed that Imbolc gives an indication of the remaining length of winter:
If the day is cloudy and moist (indicating a warm air mass) - spring is nigh!
A sunny, bright, crisp, clear day (due to a cold front) - more days of winter.

Here, it was cloudy, drizzly, foggy - Spring is just around the corner!

More Snowshoe'g!

Energized by this new activity, I head to Susquehanna State Park. I plan to take the trail that runs along the river.

There's more snow here than at Gunpowder. But the river's edge trail is difficult with snowshoes. It follows a rail bed, but there are many ties missing -- just an open hole. Also, the trail is narrow - sticker bushes on one side, on other side, a drop off. I give up on the snowshoes.

Instead, I put on my hiking boots and explore the park.

For several minutes, I amuse myself watching this flock of birds chirping in the trees, then one-by-one fly to a particular spot on the ground, wait til they all are there, and then whoosh! fly off as a pack.

They repeat this endlessly. I imagine it's take-off practice.

The black specks (right-side center) are the birds.

By the time I left the park, mid-afternoon, the sun was out. Temps were in the high 30s. I seriously miss spending all week-end outdoors. My daily morning routine since Christmas includes checking the weather forecast for the upcoming week-end, hoping for mid 30s.

Snowshoe!

We have a fairly heavy snowfall mid-week. There seems to be enough snow on the ground to pull out my new toys: a set of MSR snowshoes.

I try them on, testing them walking on my deck. They're unwieldy, feeling clumsy. I'm not so sure about this but looking forward to giving them a try.

I head to a local park and strap them on. The learning curve is about: 10 steps !!! Snowshoeing is fun! Just like hiking, but you have to pick up your feet more. (Which is something I'll say to myself several times over the course of the week-end.) It's like walking on mermaid tails. If you don't pick up your feet enough, you'll trip yourself.

I end up spending two hours out on the trails. It's great exercise, quite exertional.

There were very few people out at the park; it was eerie.