If history repeats itself, well that would suck.
I mentioned briefly on my campaign page that this trip is following the same route that I once tried to hike alone:
"14 years ago, in an effort to "find myself" as a 19 year-old, I attempted to hike this very trail. I only made it 35 miles, and the only thing I "found" was infected blisters on my feet. Needless to say, it left me with a chip on my shoulder ever since, so I am determined this time to be better prepared and accomplish this goal."
It's been my plan to write a blog post about that trip, and this is it. I'll admit, I've been procrastinating. I knew I had the photos somewhere, but looking at old pictures has never been a pleasant experience for me. When I was finally able to force myself to dig them out, the task was akin to fetching a stray ball or frisbee out of the woods; you can see a path to your goal, but you know you'll take some scrapes from thorns and sticker bushes along the way.
I found what I was looking for, and made it out with only a few small scratches. The pictures of the trip itself aren't so painful, though there was one that I took at the end, a "selfie" before there was such a thing (if I can remember, I think I took a disposable camera, possibly a very old Canon). I remember taking that picture, while waiting for my pickup, to remember what failure felt like. It's a funny thing; if you look closely, there's still a bit of a smirk on my face, and it reminds me of another likeness of myself after a difficult experience. Maybe it's a cocky 19 year old's "even at my worst, I'm better than most" attitude, like "at least I had the balls to try." Or maybe it's just a bit of relief that I was still alive.
I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's talk about the trip.
It was the summer of 2001. I was only 19, living in an apartment with 2 friends, and going to college on a full scholarship. I also had a full time tech job that paid what some adults make now. Seems great, I know. And it was. But the tech bubble was bursting, I had a challenging relationship with my high school girlfriend, and my brother was on heroin. I also suffered from severe depression with a side of hypersomnia that caused me to sleep up to 16 hours a day.
I still remember the Monday morning when I decided to go for it. The previous Friday (I think), I had a severe panic attack at my apartment that caused me to collapse at the top of the stairs. I was home alone, and called my mother to come for help. She came immediately and just held me on the floor. (Ugh this is hard to write about!)
So that Monday, with my face in my hands at my desk at work, I heard "Zach, your mother on line 1." I picked it up and she said "go talk to [your boss]." I did. I told him I needed a break. He was completely understanding, and asked if I could afford to take off the rest of the summer. I said yes and he said "go ahead. Call me when you're ready to come back." (I never did go back of course, as a few months later the bubble had finished bursting).
"I've got an idea: I'm gonna walk across the state."
I'm not sure where the idea to do the hike came from. I'd ridden some of the trail in Boy Scouts, and had also backpacked the Appalachian Trail a great deal. I do remember talking to my therapist at the time, and mentioning often that I liked the fact that the trail ran parallel to train tracks, in case I got the notion / balls to hop a train (I desperately wanted away from the life I knew).
So I (over) packed a bag, bought a new pair of hiking shoes (more in this in a second) and got dropped off in D.C. I remember getting a very late start as we couldn't find the trail head. No GPS back then. That first day required something like 17 miles to get to the first campsite. Thanks to the new, unbroken-in pair of shoes, my trip was halfway over by the first night.
I managed 2 more days of hiking, as I simply didn't want to give up, though I knew it was inevitable. Those days included hitching a ride on a canoe, and a failed attempt at hitching a ride on a horse. I'd walk in mud at any opportunity to relieve the pain that would shoot through my spine with each step. Somewhere around mile 30 I made the call to my Dad for a pickup, on an emergency cell phone I'd borrowed from my mother. Even then, I had another 5.5 miles to go to reach an access point.
Worse for the wear.
I returned to my apartment, both mentally and physically worse off than I'd left it. Both of my feet were covered in massive blisters that had gotten infected on the trail, presumably from continuing to hike after that first day. I literally couldn't walk for two weeks, having instead to crawl up the steps, past that spot where I'd collapsed just weeks before.
I can't remember exactly how I recovered from the ordeal, though I do know that things got worse before they got better. In just a few short months, 9/11 would happen, I'd find myself living in a storage closet downtown, and we'd finally ship my brother off to a year-long rehab. But that's not for this post.
Staving off history repeating.
For 14 years I've wanted my rematch with this trail. I'm ready this time. Instead of hiking, I'm biking, and everything I've got is broken in. I've planned my meals and approximate distances for each day. I won't be alone (I'll have 2 riding partners; neither for the entire length, but overlapping, which is even better). I'm already packed, with plenty of time to edit and go even lighter. I have a pickup scheduled in Cumberland, with 2 backups.
And if all that isn't enough, at the time of this writing, each mile that I bike is worth $133.27 towards the costs of building my startup company (thanks so much to all who have sponsored me!!!)
So both the intrinsic and extrinsic motivation is there. Now, there's nothing to it but to do it.
