Signposts
“Think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world” ~ Miyamoto Musashi
I was up at 3:00 AM bright eyed and bushy tailed as the saying goes. I didn’t want to get up yet but decided to start moving slowly and quietly so as to not disturb the other tents next to me. Even the slightest stir in one’s sleeping bag can echo through the stillness and be heard by the entire camp. To turn on your side can be an affront to all that is silent. I felt especially bad for those near me on the nights where I was restless. Truth be told, you’re never really comfortable, you just manage to find the position that is the least uncomfortable.
I lied in my tent for an hour before deciding on what moves I should make next. I slowly started my morning routine of climbing out of my sleeping bag and then gently stuffing it into its sack. Getting dressed while sitting down and organizing my things as efficiently and as quietly as I could. I stepped out of my tent to a dew filled morning. Suddenly I heard the yelping of a large pack of coyotes coming from the direction of the trail I needed to go. I stood trying to assess the sounds and wondered if I should just get back into my tent and hunker down for an hour but it made no difference if I left now or later. If the pack of wild dogs wanted to come find me they would. I had not heard any stories on the trail due to coyotes so I figured they have been roaming these parts for years and were accustomed to people.
Besides, it was my second day of feeling good and I was excited to get 16 miles under my belt. “Trail legs” are when one finally develops the strength from hiking to continually do long days with heavy miles and mine were finally starting to come in.
My mind started to wander and with the freshness of the morning air, the same clarity emerged in my thoughts. Something I had been learning along the way was the idea around helping people. Helping others when they ask or even when they don't ask. It may sound obvious, but for some reason that morning the realization struck me like a lightning bolt. I’d learned that the trail really is a community. Each person is on their own journey but we are all walking the same path. Some of us not only literally but figuratively. Anyone doing a thru hike is required to live on very little and even still there tends to be more than one needs. At the beginning I had worried that I would not have enough and felt almost guilty at how much I was bringing compared to Ungerwear and his ultra light setup. He seemed so content with the basics and light on his feet.
I on the other hand was hauling a small moving trucks worth of gear and supplies for fear of needing something. This mindset had been challenged by the generosity of others. People seemed more than willing to share their supplies: first aid kits, snacks and even extra batteries. I thought about the words of Socrates, “he is richest who is content with the least, for content is the wealth of nature”.
I was already starting to gain real insights about the world only six days into my journey. This was why I came. I knew there would be struggles, challenges and ups and downs. The trail was a journey and no journey is worthwhile if there isn’t something deeper gained from the experience. I had fully embraced the idea of hardships and I had hoped that I would also garner a new mindset around discipline, build a stronger sense of grit and capture a broader sense of wisdom. Recognizing that I had more than I needed not only on the trail but back in my daily life provided a deep sense of satisfaction.
I had slowly sunk towards a mindset of scarcity and it had been almost 15 years since I had last been put in a position of limited resources. I had once learned these lessons but the experience had worn off over time.
After college I spent eleven months living in a village outside of the capital city of Rwanda in East Africa. I was part of a group of 18 other teachers from the United States and Canada sent to work in the middle schools throughout the country. My time there was full of stories, lessons and insights but the biggest takeaway was the same one that now was glowing like a lightbulb in my mind. How had I forgotten this lesson? The generosity of the people of Rwanda during my time there had been enlightening. A country with so little, full of people willing to give so much.
A decade plus of living in the United States had somehow caused me to forget this lesson. Here we are bombarded with an onslaught of advertising that pushes never being satisfied. More, more, more is the lesson; “Greed is good” as the famous Gordon Gecko line from Wall Street goes. I remembered the culture shock of returning from my time abroad to an overwhelming display of shampoos in the soap aisle at my local Target. I stood stricken with indecision, almost crippled by the idea of trying to figure out which one I should buy. That moment was now flashing back to me as I realized that I hadn’t washed my hair in a week and I would be grateful for literally any sort of soap.
I also felt a sense of guilt thinking back to all of the times I had not been more generous with others. Generous, with my time, my words, my money or thoughts. I have been blessed with a lot and it was requiring me to be stripped down to the bare minimum of existence where everything I needed was snugly tucked into a green Kelty backpack… and as it turned out it was pretty much all I needed.
I pulled up to a steep ledge with an outcrop and stunning view of the eastern ridge I had hiked and the corner of the valley floor. It sparkled and shone like a scene from a fairy tale. The morning dew still lingered and from the angle I was at gave the whole scene a magical morning glow. I half expected to see a castle appear in the distance. I felt it was a good time for a cup of coffee. I sat with my Jetboil and listened to the wind as I made my morning brew.
I continued down this thought process around ideas of contentment and how by having spent a limited time wandering in the wilderness, I was seeing things in life more clearly. I landed on a word that continued my one track mind… wanderlust. To wander is to stroll aimlessly. One definition of the word from the Oxford dictionary is to “move slowly away from a fixed point or place”. I realized that I wasn’t really wandering at all. I was actually doing the opposite. I may be walking through the forest and at times at a slow or casual pace but I was in no way aimlessly walking. I was on a mission to complete this trail. I was moving towards a fixed place not away from one.
After some time of quiet reflection coupled with the warm comfort of my favorite drug. I packed up my bag and stumbled back onto the trail. The last hour of hiking had been a grind. It had been a steep climb and I had started to make my way toward the treeline. The elevation was obvious both in the lack of oxygen and the views. I was coming up towards Georgia Pass. I pulled out my digital map and looked over the water sources, the elevation gain and some marked spots that I remembered a few other groups talking about as potential stopping points. One of them was a site a few miles outside of Breckenridge. I knew I’d be spending a night in town to resupply, do some laundry, rest up and eat as much food as I possibly could but I wasn’t planning on reaching the town until the next day. I found a few potential stopping points and then quickly calculated the total distance to the spot I had heard others mention. It was exactly 26.2 miles from where I had started that morning. Hmmm? I thought to myself. I’ve never done a marathon. I once ran/walked a half marathon and I did not enjoy the experience. In fact, when I finished, I specifically remembered thinking I had no interest in doing a full marathon and was relieved that I’d only committed to half. Famous last words I guess because the second they echoed into my head I knew that I would indeed be completing a marathon that day.
“Alright. I guess that's my destination” I said out loud trying to convince myself that I was going to walk that far with 40 pounds on my back.
A few minutes later I caught up with a solo hiker that I recognized and felt excited to see. “Charlie! What's going on man? Great to see you!”. The last time I’d seen Charlie was with his head resting against the tin siding of the fire station a few days before.
“Ya you too. Looks like your feet are doing much better?” he said, glancing down with a nod.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how much better they are.” I gave him a quick recap of how a rest day of only 5 miles along with the intense care and constant cleaning of the wounds had somehow made the pain manageable and now I was at a point where I was starting to build up strength.
“Maybe like Clarence who finally gets his wings… I’ll get my trail legs today?” I said.
As we walked our conversation moved towards his day prior in the town of Jefferson. He’d met up with his wife and kids and it was difficult to get back on the trail and say goodbye to them. I started thinking about my girls and how much I missed them. I was also beginning to feel disconnected from them. I hadn’t seen or talked to them or gotten any updates about them in six days and it put a knot in my stomach.
With my mind so focused on the trail and my experience it was almost like I had forgotten about them which was something I had never experienced before and I felt incredibly guilty about. Like “oh shit, I have kids and I’m out here in the woods and not with them” The trail had consumed so much of me I was beginning to lose the forest among the trees, figuratively speaking. I was digging through the debris of my own life and current situation in an effort to make sense of the world and all the while the most important piece was out of sight and out of mind. Water, food, rest and where to camp had become my preoccupation. Knowing my kids were safe and taken care of helped give me peace of mind but the guilt remained as I listened to Charlie talk about getting to spend the day with his children.
Fatherhood is an adventure. And like any journey it comes with its struggles, danger, fears and challenges. But the adventure of fatherhood comes with meaning and purpose unlike any other. Children are the compass for that journey. They are the magnetic poles guiding the explorer towards something bigger and mysterious beyond the horizon. Without the magnetism of my daughters I wouldn’t have any idea where to go and without my kids life would be more of an aimless wander instead of an intentional lifestyle beckoned by the joy of being a dad. There’s that thought again - aimless wander. The more I thought the more my mind seemed to be aimlessly wandering and my thoughts went in every direction.
We came up to two women resting on the side of the trail taking in another amazing view and stopped to join them for a break. They were from New York and had come out to Colorado in an effort to hike as much of the trail as they could. One of them had hiked the Pacific Crest Trail the previous summer and experience of thru-hiking had been once again calling her name. A theme I’d hear often from others along the trail. One of the many aspects of the thru-hiking culture. And it is a culture. As I’d learned from Ungerwear thru-hiking became a profession for some, a obsession for others and a calling by pretty much everyone. Myself included.
We picked up our gear and the women decided to join us for a bit. I led the pack with one of them behind me and we made small talk. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“Ratatouille,” she said. Her trail name had been given to her on the PCT last summer. “I’m Paul” I replied with a chuckle.
“You don't have a trail name?” she asked.
“Not yet, I don't know how I feel about the trail name thing. I’ve never been a big nickname kind of guy but we will see”.
Part of me thought a trail name would be cool but what if I got one that sucked? I also wondered if I would feel left out or less than if I hiked the entire Colorado Trail and never got a trail name. The other side of me loved the idea of hiking the whole trail and not having a trail name. I certainly didn’t want one just for the sake of it.
The trail started to veer into a more narrow path. To the right the mountain went up in a steep slope and to our left was an equally sharp down. A trip off of the trail could turn into a very bad fall. We heard a voice call down to us from above and we saw a man standing there looking down in our direction.
“Have you guys seen a white Range Rover?” he shouted down. We all kind of stood confused. A Range Rover in the middle of the forest would have been something you couldn't miss. Also, with the angle of the mountain we were on there would be virtually no way any car would be able to be in our near vicinity.
Charlie tried to inquire a bit more and asked a few questions but the whole ordeal seemed off. Something about how he got lost and left his car somewhere up here and went to look for help but now couldn’t find where he left it. We told him sorry and that we’d keep an eye out for it but kept moving forward.
“That was weird?” someone said. I could tell we were all trying to make sense of the situation. Something didn't feel right about the guy and his story but we’d moved on and it didn’t matter.
It started to get me thinking about how dangerous the outdoors can actually be. Maybe this guy really was looking for a lost car. Or perhaps he was a psychopath and he didn’t eat us because of our strength in numbers.
I’m going to need to be really careful out here when I’m on my own I thought. I couldn’t get too comfortable that I forgot the reality of the world, that nature can be dangerous. People can be dangerous. An adventure isn’t an adventure without some sense of danger but I didn’t want to recklessly crave adventure that I would somehow find myself in a situation I’d regret.
We hiked for an hour or so and came to the point where the Colorado Trail and the Continental Divide Trail fuse. A few summers prior I had hiked 30 or so miles on the CDT in Rocky Mountain National Park and there was a sense of familiarity even though I’d never been in this exact spot. I stood at the intersection where the CDT continued and looked out imagining the thousands of miles one could trek along it all the way to Canada. The thought was not very appealing. Much like the idea of never wanting to run a marathon, the idea of hiking thousands of miles felt miserable. I was perfectly content with the 500 I was already embarking on and as I stood there thinking about how little I wanted to hike a thousand miles - It occurred to me that I was engaged in the thing I had once never wanted to do - a marathon.
We began a slight descent from the top of Georgia Pass and its magnificent views down into the treeline and found a large area that seemed to be a watering hole of sorts. Our quartet sat down to eat some lunch and before long hikers from both directions emerged and began to feel like a rest stop along a highway.
A hiker I’d met the day prior named Campfire sat down next to us and pulled out some snacks. His name was Tim and he was from Michigan. He wore a blue sun shirt, black shorts and was considered an ultralight hiker. His style and gear mimicked that of Ungerwear, as if they’d picked out the same everything at the thru-hiking store just in separate colors. He had a thick brown beard and always wore a hat or a hood.
“How’s it going, Campfire?” I said as he sat down near our group. He responded but looked past me with an inquisitive look at Ratatouille with an expression of familiarity. “Whoa what's going on?” he said to her as the two realized they knew each other. We sat listening to their conversation as they caught up about last Summer where they hiked together along the PCT.
What are the chances of that? I thought to myself intrigued at the whole interaction. Small world. It again reinforced the reality of the whole thru-hiking culture. How the experience can be addicting. I was not yet hooked but I was beginning to understand it more.
A few minutes later Brad wandered up the trail through the thick canopy of evergreens. I was surprised that I had managed to stay ahead of him this far. From day one I had been impressed with his speed, strength and stamina along the trail despite being a rather wiry and not so athletic looking guy. I thought that I had been moving quickly today given how good my feet felt and the improved strength in my legs.
“Damn! Dude, how’d you catch up so quickly? It’s like you’ve got rockets on your feet”. I could tell he liked the compliment and he sat down next to us to eat.
The group lingered and I decided it was time for me to once again head down the trail on my own. I figured I’d be passed by many of them eventually or see the group at some point and so I didn’t feel bad about bailing. I also knew that I needed to get moving if I was going to hike another 15 miles that day.
Brad got his pack and started to walk with me. “How far are you going Paul?”
“My goal is to do 26 miles today so I’m thinking of the campsite just outside Breckenridge”.
“That’s where I’m going too. I think some of the others from the group who are ahead of us are doing the same thing?” He added as he sped off ahead of me.
“Sounds good Rocket!” I replied. He turned slightly towards me and smiled. I could tell the name would stick and that he loved the fact that he now had a trail name.
___________
The day wore on and mostly it wore on me. The goal line seemed to continually feel out of reach even as I chipped away mile by mile. As the sky grew dark a light sprinkle of rain began to fall. Rain was the one thing I hated and feared on the trail and my heart sunk… here we go again. A few days before I had gotten caught in my first rainstorm of the trip. I was in the Lost Creek Wilderness and this beautiful stretch of open valley turned out to be the worst place I could be when a torrential downpour came out of nowhere. I put on my yellow rain jacket and got out my umbrella and within minutes I was soaked. The rain seemed to be falling and simultaneously shooting up from the ground. The umbrella, as I had suspected, was useless. The rain jacket, while it kept the rain off of me, did not ventilate and so underneath the layer of waterproof plastic, I was sweating profusely. I hadn’t gone a quarter mile until I had enough and found a thick tree to wait out the rain. Now soaked from the top by sweat and the bottom by rain I stood shivering and wet and miserable and angry.
I did not want a repeat of that experience and so I wavered on what I should do. Charlie had caught up to me and wore a gigantic black poncho that he wore over his backpack and hung to his feet. He looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dam but I also thought he had made a brilliant decision. I wish I had one of those instead of this umbrella.
We hit the 20 mile mark and with the dissipating clouds I began to feel a second wind. Energy coursed through me and the milestone gave me a sense of confidence. I not only knew that I was going to hit the 26 miles but I knew at that moment that I was going to finish the trail.
We reached the top of the tree line and I looked out towards the mountains across from us and realized that we were adjacent to Keystone Ski Resort. I had spent many winters snowboarding the back bowls of Keystone and realized I had cell service. I couldn’t get my phone out fast enough to facetime my daughters but the call went unanswered. I was disappointed but then it dawned on me that I had completely forgotten to tell my parents what I was doing. Yikes, as a parent myself I’d really like to know if one of my girls were taking on something like this even if they were in their late 30’s. I called my mom and she answered.
“Hi sweetie!” she said with excitement to be getting a call from her oldest son. “Your dads on the line too”.... “Hey Paul!” came the echo of my dad from the other side of the room in his usual enthusiastic tone.
“Hey, I might lose you soon but I wanted to give you a heads up on what I’m doing and where I am. No need to worry but I realized I never told you my plans for the next month.”
In classic fashion my dad responded with excitement. My mom’s response was tempered as expected and a little concerned. In the end they both were supportive and just asked that I keep them updated and check in. With that the call dropped and I tried sending a quick text telling them I loved them.
With a little luck the rain subsided and I looked at my map. The weight seemed to be getting heavier, the strength in my legs was fading and my feet while no longer blistered were getting sore and achy. I got this. I had to tell myself over and over again.
At some point Charlie decided to take a break and I continued on. I needed to keep my momentum and felt that any stopping point could end in a debate with myself on this being a good enough place for the day. I was again battling my thoughts as much as I was battling my body. I was mentally exhausted and I needed a place in my mind that I could go to withstand the onslaught of doubt and negativity and at the same time get out of my head completely.
I put my effort into distracting myself. Singing, recalling funny stories, quoting Seinfeld and the Office, fantasizing about what food I’d eat in town and the feel of the dirt and grime falling off of me in the shower. At some point I noticed that along with the increase in strength in my legs, my mental stamina had grown as well. Why was that?
My theory is that our day to day lives have become full of input and data of every kind that we no longer process it. Like a faucet filling a cup that continually overflows. Despite always being in our heads, we don’t spend time thinking. On an average day, I wake up to my alarm. Grab my phone reply to any overnight text messages, take a look at emails and notifications. As I get ready for work, I put on music maybe read a bit and then hop in the car and find the next podcast. I spend the rest of the day staring at a computer screen, reading and responding to emails, Linkedin, building and editing reports, entering data into a CRM, engaging on video calls. I hop back into the car pick up on the podcast and head to the gym where I pour more data directly into my brain until I get home where I spend the night watching Netflix while scrolling social media. Very little of my day is spent in silence. Very little of my day is spent thinking through the information for more than a few seconds. Sure I have thoughts but they’re reactive and in the moment as I’m agreeing or disagreeing with someone elses thought. The cup is overflowing and the contents are useless as it spills onto the floor. I never turn off the stream of information.
Out here there is none of it. I have nothing but my thoughts. It requires me to think deeper instead of just reacting. To dig into the uncomfortable but also revel in the beautiful. To admire the subtleties of nature along with its dazzling sunsets and panoramas. To notice and consider. To scrutinize and percieve. To listen to nothing.
I started replaying the experience from a few weeks before and asking why me? Why did I have to lose my job and how could I rationalize it? I thought about the details and pieced together the business reasons which made no sense. I felt anger begin to rise up in me and then… I realized it didn’t matter anymore. It was done. I was in the forest. I had three weeks and I didn’t want to spend them thinking about this, using my mental energy on the “shoulda, coulda, woulda” and somehow, just like that I felt a weight fall from my shoulders. I felt a lightness as I walked that felt as if any minute I could lift off into the sky and fly.
The landscape around me began to look familiar and I realized that I had been here before. I was close. I knew the trail because two weeks before, I had decided to take a hike and found myself accidentally along the Colorado Trail. With the snap of a picture and text message to Ungerwear I was set out onto a path that lead me back to where I started. The timing felt providential and like there was something guiding me. Whether it be intuition, god or something else entirely, I felt chills over my body as I approached the post holding the signs of the Colorado Trail and Continental Divide Trail. Two paths that merge as one. I stood taking it in the silence half expecting something to happen. Thoughts can be so loud we forget to listen to the sound of silence. I paused the internal dialogue, dropping the weight of my past two weeks and payed attention to the world around me; the moment felt surreal.
I rounded the corner and saw the faint outline of a few tents. My heart lifted, my speed quickened and I felt a pride in myself that had been reserved for only a few moments in my life. I saw the silhouette of Rocket standing with a big smile as he came up and gave me a bear hug. It felt good to have someone be excited for me to complete a milestone distance but inside I was at peace and comforted by the feeling of everthing coming full circle.
That night I lied in my tent elated, exhausted. I felt confident in my body and in the future. I recapped the day in my journal and ended with a note to myself to capture the moment of standing in the spot where my journey began. “This was a sign post in life that said ‘keep going, keep trying, keep walking, the universe is in your favor’”.
