2: Sole Searching

“The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness” - John Muir

The day was winding down and it was close to sunset when we finally arrived at the end of the hill overlooking a stunning valley and the South Platte River. The sky was a soft orange and pink and the once dark green trees were slowly fading to a shade of grayish purple that blanketed the mountain in a velvety gloss. I looked down to see Andy and Brad sitting on a rock resting and waiting for me. I had been humbled pretty quickly earlier that day after we got off the six mile stretch of road that starts the trail in Waterton Canyon to the single track ascent into the woods. The two of them had disappeared ahead of me almost immediately with what seemed to be a cool pace for the pair while I was huffing and puffing like a bloated fish. 

My legs ached with a stiffness that resulted in me shuffling along the trail rather than hiking and my feet were so sore and tired that I couldn’t think about anything but finishing for the day. However, I didn't want to stop when I approached them because I knew how hard it was to get going again. I just wanted to be done and the pain of continuing on was less than stopping and restarting. 

I could see we were roughly a mile or so away from the camping areas below. As we came down the west side of the mountain the sun disappeared behind the peak across from us and we started to pass other hikers setting up their camps. I had not seen anyone for the last ten miles so it was a nice sight to realize that we had arrived at a point where everyone was settling in for the night. Almost as if we’d arrived in a small village. What I did not yet know was that I would end up sharing miles at some point with all of these people. For now they were mannequins to me. All I cared about was being done.   

We were clearly the last people that would be arriving for the day unless Ungerwear and company somehow got on trail quickly and made up for lost time. I was skeptical that they would catch up given the way the day had started. We made our way past the dirt road and the bridge to the banks of the Platte River and looked for flat areas to pop our tents. 

I found a spot in a cozy little area nested off the trail between some trees. I got mildly excited about the locale and looked around at all of the taken spots thinking I’d hit the jackpot. “How was this spot not already taken?” I thought to myself. The sky was threatening rain and this was under a canopy, on high ground, flat and directly at the bottom of a rock face that went straight up for a hundred feet. 

I couldn't wait to take off my shoes and climb into the water. It had been hot and dry and the dirt from the trail seemed to be baked into every inch of my skin. My feet and toes felt like they’d been through hell and the ice cold stream was calling my name. I didn't bother to take my socks off and walked into the river and sat down. The flow was powerful and as its force pushed against my back I realized I may have underestimated its strength and scooted closer to the banks. It felt amazing and then I dunked my entire body in the water, feeling the rapids wipe away the grime of the day. We had hiked a little over 16 miles and I was pretty impressed with myself. 

Andy and Brad had found spots as well and after I was done basically bathing in front of the rest of the camp I grabbed my food and joined them. Their conversation seemed to be lingering on what I hoped were the final pages of the topic of Christianity, the church and preaching the gospel. 

“What do you guys have for dinner?” I asked. 

“Dehydrated spaghetti sauce” Andy said with a drawl. “Where’d you get that?” I asked. “I made it,” he replied. “I have a dehydrator and so I got a few recipes and made a bunch of food for the trip.”

I had gone to Costco and bought two boxes of dehydrated backpacking meals. I basically packed one of the boxes as my food for the next seven days. Other than that, I had some pistachios, figs and a few peanut butter and jelly tortillas. The PB&J’s hadn’t made it past the first break and I was starting to wonder if I had packed enough food. I’d also notice that Andy had been eating almost all day. He had snacked while we were walking and had a different treat at each stopping point. He was a fairly experienced hiker so it caused me to again question the amount of food I brought. 

“Here, try a piece” he said, handing me a chunk of what looked like fruit leather. “You made this?” I asked impressed at both the taste and originality. 

“Yep, I dehydrate lots of food” he added casually. 

Brad was sitting with his stove and cooking up some sort of soup. He had made friends with the trio from Minnesota that were camped a few yards away and was about to disappear back to their huddle before heading to bed. I was exhausted and wanted to eat and climb into my tent. 

As we sat there listening to the rushing stream and watching the tail end of sunlight illuminate the sky, we started to feel a slight breeze and then the sprinkle of rain. Behind us the sky was black and the distant rumble of thunder was slowly growing closer. 

We hastily packed up everything we had and scurried to our tents. I lied in bed listening to the patter of rain grow louder and stronger until it was a deafening roar. It was beautiful and meditative but for some reason wasn’t lulling me to sleep. Then the thunder grew so loud that I could barely hear myself think. It was alarmingly loud. 

This canyon we are in is essentially an ancient river bed. I realized. I started picturing a wall of water coming crashing around the bend like a tidal wave. What if there is a flash flood? If ever there was a storm that would cause one, this would be it? I thought to myself. 

Then the lightning started glowing through my tent's gray and orange rain fly and I could see the outline of the trees shadows with every flash. I started thinking what if lightning strikes the mountain right above me and there is a rock slide? I was at the base of the steepest part. A mammoth sized boulder could land on me any minute from a lightning strike and I’d be a goner. What started as a glorious feeling of lying on my sleeping pad after a long day of hiking quickly became a slew of paranoid and anxious thoughts. “This is not gonna work” I told myself out-loud. “I am going to have to do a better job of handling my thoughts because I’ve got a long way to go and more time than I’ve ever had to think”. I didn't know what that looked like but it was obvious that I had already identified something about myself that only something like this journey could illuminate. 

I had set my alarm for 6:00 AM and woke up three minutes before it went off. Everything was aching. My feet hurt the most. It was a deep pain. The muscles, the joints, the skin, everything. Each foot was a throbbing mess of soreness, from the deep blunt pain of bruises to the sharp pain of forming blisters to the dense aches of ligaments and tendons having been overworked. It was my toes that were in the worst shape. I had felt the early formations of blisters towards the end of the previous day but there hadn’t been much I could do about them.

Regardless, I was still excited about getting on the trail and inside the mind of Mother Nature. It was looking to be another beautiful day and I was eager to see the landscape and what the trail had in store. The South Platte River where we camped was ice cold and flowing crisply in the dawn. There was a mist that was trapped in the valley and gave the whole morning a beautiful shimmer as the sunrise hit the water droplets that lingered in the air. 

I packed up my gear and started walking uphill almost immediately. I thought I’d get a few minutes before the younger guys caught up but it didn’t take long for them to not only pass me but make their way out of sight. I was craving hiking by myself again and I wanted to spend time on this trip with my thoughts so I didn’t mind that they were so fast. I had work to do and so I might as well get started. Then again, when I was alone with my thoughts, I seemed to constantly be asking myself “why am I doing this?” It was a vicious cycle of confidence, clarity, confusion and cynicism. Life in a microcosm.  

I needed to take advantage of the opportunity of having time. Time after all is a commodity that we take for granted and now I was in a position where time was on my side. I had about a month of this ahead of me but I also realized that pacing was going to be key. I would need to stay on top of miles and long days. The last thing I wanted was to get 75% of the way done and be so far behind schedule that I would need to leave the trail.  

Segment two of the Colorado Trail starts at the South Platte River and goes to Little Scraggy Trailhead. It begins with a drastic incline that immediately had me looking at the map to see what kind of elevation I’d be gaining that morning. Luckily it was only about 1,000 feet over the course of four miles. The sudden grade was a double edged sword. There wasn’t much time to warm up the legs but I also would get the hardest part out of the way first. I stopped a handful of times within the first mile just to take pictures of the morning sun rising over the ledge and catch my breath. The landscape quickly emerged into a beautiful array of rock formations giving it an almost southwestern style feel rather than the alpine forests one traditionally pictures of the Rocky Mountains. 

It was hot. Hot at 7:00 in the morning with no indication that it would get any cooler. I could also see that the next few miles were exposed with waist high brush and giant white boulders scattered around. It reminded me of City of Rocks National Reserve, in southern Idaho where I would go camping in High School. 

After about three miles I heard the low crunch of thick branches breaking behind me. I turned around to see a black snout poking out from the foliage. “Is that a dog?” I thought as the creature stepped halfway out on the trail. I still couldn't make out what it was until the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I froze as I realized it was not a dog but a black bear. As the bear emerged a little more onto the trail I could see that it was not quite a cub but was still young and I didn’t want to find out if its mother was near by.

As the bear stepped the rest of the way onto the trail it looked over at me and jumped backward like a startled child and then took off in the other direction. It was kind of funny but then my mind flashed to a video I once saw of a black bear walking through the forest and catching a glimpse of itself in a mirror that was fixed to a tree. In the video the bear jumps backward startled at its own reflection and then goes nuts thinking the reflection is another bear. If you want to see what kind of violence and power a black bear is capable of, look up the video. I quickened my pace and was thankful the bear had run off in the other direction. 

I walked about six miles in the morning sun and was now really starting to feel my feet. It was hot and I could feel blisters forming more rapidly on my toes and heel. The rocky, dry ground was hard. There was no give and each step became increasingly more painful. I was now 20 miles or so into the journey and really starting to regret my decision. I could tell something was wrong inside my boots. I knew there were blisters but these seemed to hurt more than any blister I’d had before. You just haven't had a good old fashioned blister in a while Paul I thought, trying to play devil's advocate with myself. This is part of the trail. Did you really think you were going to hike the whole thing without any blisters? In truth I had not thought much about the blister aspect. I had been worried about my feet but it was the plantar fasciitis that had me concerned, which surprisingly hadn’t been much of an issue after a day and a half. Any adventure that is worthwhile comes with its share of pain and possibility of danger. I just hadn’t thought that on my second day I’d have the shit scared out of me by a wild animal and that I’d have excruciating foot pain. I figured the trail was saving all of that for later. 

I continued on and tried not to think about the stinging that surrounded my toes every few minutes. I was startled by a sound from behind me once again but this time to one of the guys I'd met briefly the night before. As much as I needed my alone time that morning, I was ready for some conversation. If anything to take the focus off of my feet. 

We started chatting about the obvious things. The trail and the morning sun. I told him that I had just seen a black bear an hour before. 

“It was Charlie right?” I said. I had made it a point before leaving the trail to remember every name that I came across. I had a feeling that I’d be leapfrogging back and forth with people and wanted to make an effort to get to know each person I spent time with. Not having to ask people their name over and over again was a good way to initiate this intention. 

“Ya, what was your name again?” He asked. 

“I’m Paul.” I responded. 

“What's the deal with water?” I asked him. “I heard something about a fire station?” 

“Ya, today is a 10 mile stretch without water. The fire station is just off the trail when you get to an access road. The next one after that is another 3-4 miles”. 

Ten miles in the heat had felt like a million. We were a little over halfway but I was starting to feel like I couldn't get there soon enough. We introduced ourselves with the typical life resumes as we walked. Where are you from? What do you do? Family? Etc. Charlie had two young kids and so we talked about fatherhood for a bit. We both admitted how much we missed our kids and it had not been 48 hours. 

Normally, I had my kids every other week with a day or two splattered in here or there on my off weeks. I hadn’t been away from them for longer than about a week since they were born. There was something about the knowledge of being away so long that pulled on my heart. I felt like I was abandoning them in some way. That I was the very dad that I judged when I heard stories of fathers who up and leave their kids. I knew I was coming back and they knew I was coming back but then what if something happened to me? I was certain that I wasn’t going to die. It’s not like I was heading off to war or outer space but the reality of absence still lingered and gave me a small but recurring sense of dread.  As we got to know each other a bit more, it turned out that Charlie and I were practically neighbors and that we lived about a mile away from each other in Denver.

I was starting to slow my pace a bit even though I was anxious to get to this fire station. The blister on my left toe had popped and I could feel the liquid ooze into my sock. I’d heard that blisters are better maintained if you can keep them from popping as long as possible. Something about the liquid in the sack of skin that helps heal but whatever it was, it was too late. My left toe was now screaming at me. The friction from my shoes and socks had a whole new sensation of pain. The rubbing that had formed the blister was now rubbing along the open tissue exposed from the dead skin. I hadn’t taken my shoe off since that morning so I couldn't exactly see what was going on in there but I didn’t need to. I could see vividly from the pain through my mind's eye exactly how my toe looked and it wasn’t good. Why did I buy these fucking hemp socks? I was angry with myself for impulsively buying a pair of socks a week before because I thought it seemed cool that they were made out of a different material. I’d never worn hemp socks and had no idea how they would perform. I just assumed they’d be fine. Kind of like the idea of eating organic - half the time it doesn’t mean anything but we feel better about ourselves by buying it.

“I think I’m going to pick up the pace a bit here and squeeze past you” Charlie said from behind me. He was clearly feeling good and I knew how slow I was moving. “No problem, it was good chatting. I’ll see you down the trail I’m sure” I said trying not to let on to how much pain I was in. With that, I moved to the side so he could go past and within a few minutes he was out of sight along the winding trail. 

I trudged along checking my app every few minutes. I was checking my phone in the kind of anxious sort of way one does when waiting for an important text or email or to see if you somehow missed a call knowing full well you hadn’t. Every few minutes my heart was broken as I checked for any sense of progress towards the tiny blue icon representing the fire station. I was still getting used to the app I had downloaded for the trail. It was called Far Out. Its previous version had been called Gut Hook which would have made for a great fishing app and why I suspect the name change. 

For $20 I had been able to download the entire Colorado Trail and each time I opened it I could see myself - a little white circle with a green arrow - indicating where along the trail I was. Initially, I had picked up the National Geographic trail map at an outfitting store. When I realized that it came in two sections and that I would need to carry two booklets each with about 20 pages in them I decided to go with the option that weighed nothing. I had also been mildly annoyed that the booklets were from Durango to Monarch and Monarch to Denver. So I would have had to read the booklets backwards since I was hiking the opposite direction. A minor inconvenience but an inconvenience nonetheless. I was already trying to limit my weight and find supplies that made living in the wilderness for a month easier, the app would do just fine. 

I crested up the small hill to find an Australian couple sitting in the only shade I’d seen in a while. As badly as I wanted to push through I had to rest for a few minutes. They were Andy and Caroline and had done a number of thru hikes around the world. They appeared to be in their mid sixties and a friendly duo. We only talked for about five minutes before I had to call it and get moving again. I was too anxious to figure out what was happening with my feet even if that meant painfully continuing on. 

It wasn’t long before I checked my app to see the yellow line of the highway only half an inch from my coordinates. I looked up and could see the faint ledge of the road and then the tip of a white car briefly driving by in the distance. The fire station was roughly a hundred yards down South Deckers Road. As I walked the stretch from the dusty trail towards the station, sight of water and shade was a heavenly sight. The cars rushing past every few minutes were the first sight of civilization I’d seen in a few days and the back country road felt more like an interstate. I could call someone right now to come pick me up I thought to myself. My toes were reminding me that I had 70 miles to go before Breckenridge and that they may forge a mutiny if I didn’t get the pain and wounds under control. 

The building was a large plain warehouse-like construction. There were a handful of utility vehicles, a police SUV and a sign that said North Fork Volunteer Fire Dept. Station 1. A sense of relief rushed over me and for a moment I felt safe. Why safety was the feeling that I noticed felt perplexing. I hadn’t felt that I was in danger at any point so why should I feel safe? I fantasized about a big air conditioned lounge with vending machines and couches welcoming thru hikers as I got closer. Instead I found the backside of the tin building providing a thin sliver of shade and a row of hikers sitting on the dirt leaning up against the siding. All of their gear was spread out across the open area drying out in the sun from the previous night's rain storm. 

I was greeted with friendly hellos and familiar faces. Andy and Brad were munching on snacks, Charlie had his head back against the wall with his eyes closed. Nat, Ned and Evan were the trio from Minnesota and were sitting comfortably chatting. A handful of other hikers I hadn’t met were using the hose to fill up water bottles and cool off. 

I threw my backpack to the ground and sat down with a dramatic collapsing fall. It was time to get a look at my toes and see what horrors awaited. I pulled off my left shoe and then my sock to uncover a bloody mess and open wound that completely covered my big toe. The blister wrapped almost all the way around to the other side. There were wool fibers from my sock stuck deep into the coagulated mixture of blood and puss that layered the top of exposed flesh. The once massive blister was now a dead mass of white skin. My heart sank as I realized how bad the situation was. 

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” I heard from my right as Evan stared at my toe with wide eyes and a look of concern on his face. 

“Honestly, I don't know.” I responded downtrodden. “It hurts like hell. I’m just worried about it getting infected at this point.”

I decided to see what was in store for me on my other foot. Like the second act of a Shakespearean tragedy I pulled off my boot and sock to see a massive golf ball sized bulge protruding out from the side of my large toe. The clear sack of skin was full of liquid and I could tell that my other foot was the foreshadowing of things to come. I had to decide if I wanted to pop it and try to maintain two wounded toes or let it figure things out on its own. The fresh air on my feet felt good and I decided that the first thing I needed to do was go wash my feet off. I hobbled barefoot across the rocky ground to the hose and doused my feet with cold water. It burned, stung and felt amazing all at the same time. I limped back to my spot in a wobble trying to keep my toes elevated and walk exclusively on my heels. I sat down and got out my first aid kit. 

I looked up to see Andy standing high above me munching on more snacks and assessing my situation. “Man, that looks bad.” he said, tossing a peanut butter pretzel into his mouth. “If that were me, I probably wouldn’t keep going. That could get a lot worse.” 

I could tell he was trying to be helpful but instead reinforced my cause for concern. Do I need to tap out? I thought to myself. This would be a spot to call someone to come pick me up. The idea of leaving the trail hurt more than my toes. “No way,” I told myself. “I’ll figure something out.” 

I went back to inspecting my first aid kit hoping to find some sort of miracle cure… or another pair of feet. The first thing I decided to do was cut the dead skin from my left toe. I grabbed a pair of small scissors and slowly trimmed the meaty white excess. I used the tweezers to carefully pull the black fibers out, every so often feeling a rush of pain as I hit a nerve digging deeply into the ooze that had surrounded the wool. After the area felt cleaned I knew I needed to disinfect it. “This is going to hurt,” I said quietly to myself. I took my small bottle of lavender hand sanitizing spray, took a few deep breaths and gave three shots covering my whole toe. My eyes went white with pain for a handful of seconds while I gritted my teeth and waited for it to pass. 

Next I applied some Neosporin and a gauze, followed by a thick layer of double wrapped silver duct tape. I repeated the process for the blister on my heel that I had completely forgotten about. The blister on the backside of my foot was a force in itself but had been overshadowed by the chaos up front. 

Now I had to figure out what to do with my right foot. I decided to leave the goiter of skin and let it work its way out but would wrap it with a loose piece of cloth and then place a layer of tape over it in case it popped before I reached the campsite that night. A sense of trepidation came over me as I thought about hiking another 10 miles that afternoon. I threw up a brief prayer that my toes would at least stay clean. I could tell that the pain was at its worst and that I’d be able to tolerate it moving forward as long as I tended to the wounds regularly. 

I ate my lunch which was the rest of my figs and nuts and drank as much water as I could before filling up my bottles. One by one the collective of hikers faded until there were only a few of us left. I mustered all of my strength and set out for the afternoon. My feet felt surprisingly good. They still hurt but gave the impression that they were grateful for the treatment I’d given them. At least it was enough to help get me through the next phase of the trail. 

About six hours later I hobbled around a corner to see the faint outlines of a few tents set up in a cluster. I rejoiced at the sight of the tall frame of Andy shirtless and grinning. His shaggy blonde hair was damp and from a distance he looked like he was holding a surfboard. Wtf? Am I delirious? I could hear the rushing sounds of Buffalo Creek and I started thinking “maybe he has some sort of backpacking surfboard designed for backcountry rivers” ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

As I got closer I realized it was his sleeping pad and he greeted me with a cheerful welcome. Brad was in the background arranging the finishing touches on his campsite. I barely uttered any words before assessing the area for the best available spot. I chose a flat plot of land near a log and closer to the river. Nat, Ned and Evan, were sitting comfortably chatting in the middle of the site and making their dinner as if it were just another day on the trail. How are they not destroyed right now? I thought to myself. 

I threw up my tent and then looked at the river. I desperately needed to put my feet in the water and let them soak. Should I wear my shoes over to the river or take them off here and walk over? This might seem like a trivial dilemma but I was so exhausted that decision making felt too difficult and I wavered on the options for much longer than necessary. I went back and forth on all of the possible scenarios. On the one hand if I took my shoes off here I would have to walk 30 feet to the river barefoot through thistles, pine needles and dirt. If I took them off at the river there was a chance they’d get wet on the banks. In addition I was subconsciously concerned about what reality was awaiting me inside my sock. After having seen the war zone that were my feet at the fire station I was terrified of what another 10 miles had done.

With each step my feet screamed at me louder and louder. My big toes stung with intensity as the salt from my sweat seeped into the open tissue. My right toe had definitely popped and felt like a gnarly situation. I didn't know if the liquid surrounding it was sweat, blood, or blister puss. I stood there unable to make a decision like a stunned fainting goat. 

I finally decided to take my shoes off by the water and found damp fleshy white feet that looked like some version of death. My skin was soft and pale and each one of my toe nails looked as if it would slide off with the slightest tug. I plopped my feet into the freezing water, took off my shirt and sat down in the middle of the rapids. The sensation was terrific and terrible. I spent the next 15 minutes working up the courage to dunk myself into the water and feel the icy shock.

I finally pulled myself to the shore and looked at my shoes in dismay. Do I put them back on or attempt to walk back to my tent barefoot? The thought of putting my boots back on left a pit in my stomach. The idea of walking across the forest floor with my wounded and aching feet felt equally dismal. My feet were slightly numb from the frozen stream so I decided on the latter.

I tried tiptoeing back with a painful dance-like walk and nearly fell into my tent. I spent the next 30 minutes or so contemplating my existence and wondering how in the world I was going to average 20 miles a day for the next four weeks. There was no way it was possible with my current state. My blisters were now cleaned out but they were essentially large gaping wounds at this point. Ten to twelve hours a day of pounding along trails with sweat pouring into my socks and no access to air was only going to make things worse. My mind went wild with thoughts of me having to be airlifted out of the forest or stuck on the trail for days waiting to heal or my toes getting infected and being amputated at the first city I reached. 

I laid there with my thoughts running wild when Andy appeared outside my tent. 

“Hey Paul, how's it going man? You okay?” he asked with a sympathetic tone. 

“Not really” I said with defeat. “I am not sure how much farther I can go tomorrow.” I admitted.

“Well that's why I wanted to talk to you. I had a pretty challenging day myself. I think I chipped a tooth and my legs are completely gone. I wanted to get your thoughts on hanging back tomorrow until noon and see if we can wait for Ungerwear and the rest of the group to catch up.” He said. 

I thought for a second and while I wasn’t officially hiking with the whole group, I felt that I needed to slow down the next day. Both for my physical and mental health. “Ya I think that is a wise decision” I said. 

“Cool, I think Brad really wants to keep hiking but I’m guessing everyone is at least 10 miles behind so I imagine they’ll catch up late morning or early afternoon and then we can do a sort of half day hike.” He added. I felt a sense of relief with the plan and told him I appreciated him checking in on me.

I slowly pulled myself up and changed into some more comfortable clothes. I got my first aid kit out again and debated on how I was going to redress the wounds. I needed to clean them out but that was such a painful process I wasn’t sure I had the energy. However, I had a sense that pain was going to be my new normal when it came to my feet so I figured I should just start getting used to it. I heard the words of Ungerwear echo in my head. “Thru hiking any trail is really just a lesson in pain management. You’re in pain the whole time, you just have to figure out how to control it” he had told me. Pain management and mind management I thought. That’s the goal and the lesson for the foreseeable future. 

I pulled out the small bottle of hand sanitizer spray and looked it over as if I were gazing at a magic lamp; nervous of its contents but hopeful of its results. I gritted my teeth and shot three more sprays all over my left toe. I jerked as the mist hit my foot and relaxed when I didn't feel anything. Then the seizing burn set in. I might as well have lit my toe on fire. I could feel the sting on every millimeter of opened skin and then it slowly faded away. I pulled out a new piece of gauze and the roll of duct tape and dressed my wound. I again repeated the process with my other toe and heels. By the end of the affair my feet were covered in silver strips like I were some robot-droid being patched up. I put on a fresh pair of socks distainfully looked at the blood stained hemp ones and climbed out of my tent. 

The rest of the camp was now chatting in a semi circle and I decided to take my stove and food and join. I found a spot in the center and realized I had entered into a prosthelytizing session being facilitated by Brad. It was super uncomfortable. 

Nat was awkwardly trying to answer a loaded and deeply personal question posed about Jesus and religion while the other half of the group looked at the ground desperately wanting the inquisition to end. To be fair Brad hadn't framed the conversation in any sort of judgmental, hell and brimstone kind of way; rather, he had jumped into some discussion of “do you believe in Jesus and are you a christian?” completely out of the blue. I could tell he had a hard time reading social cues in the group and made me wonder if he would have had more success had he delicately segwayed into a meaningful discussion about spirituality and his own individual beliefs. Telling his own story as a testament to his beliefs rather than having an agenda to convert others. 

It was painfully awkward to listen to but walking away was more painful so I decided to sit there and literally watch the water for my macaroni and cheese boil. I looked over at Nat who was on the spot still trying to figure out how to answer Brad’s question without dismissing him and simultaneously not divulging deeply personal details about her view on life with a group of people she had just met.  

“I grew up in a fairly religious Christian home and it's just something that doesn’t really satisfy my views” she finally said. 

Brad acknowledged her and then gave an unconvincing pitch about the cross and heaven. I noticed the mystic symbols tattooed on Nat’s arms and the “Eye of Horus” above her knee. I thought back to a pastor I once heard preach about symbols like that as being demonic.

Brad was trying his best and I had to give him credit. Religion is one of the most difficult products to sell… or is it a service? It came from a place of truth for him and I admired his conviction even though I disagreed with his approach and beliefs. He wasn’t getting a paycheck from anyone who was converted so I believed that he was doing it out of the goodness of his heart. However, there is a sort of spiritual commission evangelicals believe in. Arriving at the gates of heaven to hear the words of Matthew 25 “well done good and faithful servant…” Saving souls from hell is a noble act, unfortunately it requires a need for hell. If heaven and hell didn't exist, how many people would still be Christians? I once heard it said that punishment is a cornerstone of evangelical philosophy. If there isn’t a place to avoid or aspire towards it is difficult to gain more customers. We are spiritual beings by nature and there are a lot of options and possibilities. Being certain of the afterlife is a universal trait among religions across the globe throughout the whole of history but the devil is in the details. 

There was a brief lull in the conversation so I used it as an opportunity to change the subject. “Ned, I love that tattoo on your leg. What inspired it?”  

He looked down at the blackish-green outline of a mountain range wrapping around his shin and then back at me and smiled. “Thanks!” He said. “Actually, Nat did it for me after we hiked the PCT”. I looked over at Nat and told her nice job as we all discussed tattoos until the topic of personal beliefs was deeply in the rearview mirror of the night. Eventually the mosquitos combined with exhaustion pushed us towards our tents as we called it a night. 

I crawled into my tent and laid on my back. The crushing weight of disappointment, anxiety, fear, pain and any other negative thought imaginable dropped down on me like a net as if they were all hanging from the roof of my tent waiting for me to lie down. I had this sinking feeling that I was going to have to quit. If my toes didn’t improve in the next 24 hours, I would have to find a ride to the nearest town and perhaps  make my way back to Denver. As I learned later, it was actually a fairly common occurrence for hikers to get off trail, rest or heal up and pick up where they left off after a few days or weeks. I knew myself though. I knew that this trip had emerged due to some cosmic alignment and that it was now or never. If I were to go home, I would not be picking up where I left off  later that summer. Perhaps I would try again next summer or decide to section hike the remainder of the trail over the next decade but I’d likely find something else to pique my interest or become overly comfortable and complacent with thoughts of blisters and foot pain as my highlight; I would have little interest in repeating the exercise. The thought of quitting however, gave me a nauseous feeling. I felt embarrassed and like I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror let alone the handful of friends and family I told about my journey. I thought about my daughters and how much I missed them, the shooting pain in both my feet, the knowledge that I still had 400+ miles ahead of me and the fact that I was unemployed and essentially living in a tent for the next month. It was awful and for the first time in a long time I cried myself to sleep.