Into the arms of Love

This morning Syd gave me a booklet of quotes she had collected. In purple marker she titled the booklet, "Words of Wisdom For You while catalogue shopping." One of the quotes reads, "She wasn't where she had been. She wasn't where she was going...but she was on her way."

Rather abruptly. I found myself in downtown Vancouver. Suddenly the only people who would make eye contact were the kind of folk with whom you don't necessarily want to be making eye contact. My familiar trail dirt was replaced by the skeezy scum of public places in a big city. A hooker leered at me from across the top of the cop car against which she was pressed while being cuffed. Men hooted at me in a variety of languages. China Town in Vancouver. Great. I quickly found an economy hotel with two locks on the door, no window and a small TV. I locked myself in and wondered. Where was I? Who was I? The identity which I had spent so many miles building; The confidence which I had earned. It felt like I was trading on a bunk currency.
The next day I jumped on the bus to Seattle. I was both frightened and in mourning. The palpable life of my PCT journey was over.

When I arrived at the Amtrack station in Seattle, Dan and Edward were waiting. As they wrapped their arms around me, the spaces of my self which had shrunk away, welled back up and I felt whole. I felt comforted. I felt loved. They had brought balloons and flowers and doted in a way which simultaneously made me blush and made my chest puff up.
Allow me to back track: through the end of the bad weather days, when my appetite was ravenous, and even through the final wonderful weather days on the trail when food fantasies were prevalent, I often ventured back to this All You Can Eat Mongolian restaurant where Dan and Edward had taken my family when we visited, some 5 years ago. I had eaten myself sick and when Anna came to check on me in the bathroom, she found me rejoicing at the realization that, having just emptied my stomach, I could eat all over again!
Flash forward, I was craving that restaurant again, but this time I had earned my merit and would hold my own. I had not yet worked myself up to asking the uncles to take me there. On our ride back to Renton, Uncle Dan glanced over at me and he casually suggested that they wanted to take me out to eat and there was this Mongolian place down the road from their house. It seems my stomach had been pulling some strings in the cosmic connections department!
The next day I found out that Rif-Raf and Shannon had just caught a bus down to Seattle as well. Now, here's the deal, we are used to coordinating rendezvous in tiny towns; places where crossing paths is all but inevitable. Our skill set was not gauged to Seattle caliber. However, with a great deal of patience and commitment from Uncle Dan, we met the boys at the bus station. From there he dropped us all off at Pike Street Market where we randomly encountered Princess and Lip and her parents. We chatted on the corner; a small huddle of familiarity in the midst of bustling indifference and sound pollution. The girls headed off, we bid our final set of goodbyes.
Then, as coordinated by cell phone contact, Frog and Nancy found us. It was so wonderful to see their faces again. Well, Nancy's face at least. I really only saw about half of Frog's, as he was sporting a beard which would put a Russian to shame (but I was very happy to see the half which I did=P). Seriously; the thing was epic. We ate and shared stories, as we had been separated from Frog for the final leg of the trail. I watched each of their faces, trying to memorize them. For a while I was incredibly aware as our time together grew shorter. Then I thought, "Fidgit, get off your little 3rd person observer could and BE with your people." As soon as I committed to that, time became irrelevant, but flew by anyway. Suddenly, our time was up and the uncles were there to take me home. Rif-Raf had a plane to catch. The others had hotels to find. It happened just like that. The family disbanded, already on our ways to being stories and cherished memories. Each moving into unrealized futures.
While the uncles were open to my spending more time in their home, I ran. The conclusion of a long trail was a new experience for me. I have arrived at and subsequently left many places, both physical and mental, many times but I don't know that I will ever become accustomed to it. I have, however, become familiar with the process and know that abrupt periods of sedation are open pockets for depression to ooze in and fester. Terrified, I scuttled on to a plane to Duluth, Minnesota.
Again, the voyage cast me adrift anonymous, but I moved with less trepidation this time. Well, actually I was just really distracted. See, I had taken an orange for the airport and decided to eat it while waiting for my flight. Now, Rif-Raf can attest that even when armed with my pocket knife all I end up with is a gore of pulp and juice running over my hands. Factor in airport security and my trying to peel this thing by hand and, well...having been so fixated on peeling the darn thing it wasn't until I was trying to tilt my head to approach the massacred corpse of orange at such an angle as to minimize the dribble on my chin that I noticed several other passengers watching, aghast. I hustled off the the restroom to wipe juice off my arms, elbows, chin, neck, etc. and just barely made last call onto the plane for which I had been "waiting" for over an hour.
So, yeah, if you're ever trying to escape from fear, a messy job of an orange is a good place to hide.

Syd and grandpa were waiting for me at the nearest point possible. Again I was ensconced in love. Again I was treated to all you can eat; Olive Garden soup, bread sticks, and salad. Heavenly. Grandpa insisted on informing everyone who came within 10 feet of us that I was his granddaughter who had just hiked 2500 miles. Again and again I blushed. I have never been one to shy from credit for my own accomplishments but I just don't know how to fill this one.
I have spent a week up at Syd's beautiful home on the lake. I sleep a lot; I meander out onto their many trails to walk, run, or bike. Sometimes Ruff and Ready (their two, tiny dogs) escort me, sometimes I go alone. Each day we are blessed with marvelous temperatures and blue skies. I have purchased a car, gotten my hair cut, and glasses; tools I will need to move into this next place/phase. At night I dream that I am still on the trail and wake up surprised to find myself in a bed contained within solid walls. Using a toilet has been an adjustment. Each evening I have to empty my pockets as I am still in the habit of keeping trash there. I am embarrassed at what a challenge it is to pedal a bike. I have to keep track of how much I eat. I have plenty of time for yoga and a beautiful stretch of flat, green grass looking out over a lake on which to practice. I get and give hugs and kisses several times every day. Syd and I sit up talking into the wee hours of the morning. Grandpa explains more about my car than I can hope to process in a single spell. He warns me of serial killing truck drivers and reminds me to wear my seat belt on the drive home. I head for Kansas City tomorrow.

I have been congratulated on my accomplishment. Certainly I am proud and fulfilled. I feel better connected to the source of my own strength and while moments can certainly still overwhelm and make me feel far from it, I am certain that strength come from within. Not defined by others' opinions or assessment, I recognize the infinite source of my own worth. Infinite, and in constant need of being fed and nurtured, allowed to breathe; open to helping and being helped, as that exchange is integral to healthy growth.
Yet, as I prepare to return to my home, to my family and friends, I am faced with overwhelming Reality. Those same people who effusively congratulate me on hiking the trail are wrestling with challenges a thousand times more difficult. Matters out here are complicated by so many factors. On the trail, my direction was always clear. The path was not necessarily always evident, but I could make an educated guess based on the lay of the land. Out here, in 'the real world', it seems like struggles are more akin to my experience on the 'knife's edge', being lost in fog. Some situations seem to stand with no real path, no resolution in sight, all we can do is fortify ourselves to push on through. Words of comfort fall, hollow and asinine before being spoken. I can only promise to stand close at hand and offer support, even as I have been given so much love and support throughout my life. If nothing else, together we can sustain ourselves and know that time will continue to do as it always has; we just have to survive long enough to be there for it.

...and then...

The weather gods smiled on us and beamed generous blessings on our endeavour. We awoke each morning to blue jay skies and hiked through crisp, autumnal air. The days would warm as we contoured along the valley walls. Climbing through the turning leaves of huckleberry and blueberry shrubs. Beneath the yellow pine needles of the larch against the evergreens.
It has been an incredible gift to move through such a wide variety of ecosystems through three seasons. The words for the colors in desert spring: red, orange, yellow; are the same colors present in a Washington fall. Yet, creating such a very different atmosphere. For weeks now the awareness of changing season has been upon us. Fortunately the weather remained moderate but days grew noticeably shorter at a quick pace. It remained dark and chilly later into the morning and the sun left us earlier and earlier each evening. As we propelled ourselves toward wintering quarters, so too did the animals prepare themselves. The mice had a growing desperation to seek and gather food; so strong an inclination that it outweighed their fear of being swatted. They became more aggressive in their advances on our food. Of Rif-Raf, Shannon, and I, all three of us ended up with holes in our tents. My visitor fortunately just came in to make a few laps and as too courteous to gnaw into my food. However, he was also too prim to use his entrance door as an exit and so chewed a second doorway less than an inch away.
Shannon seemed to be engaged in battle the most. One night he awoke to hear a visitor taking a tour of his tent and so, as an act of defense, he ate his entire 'crack bag' (a ziplock bag filled with an assortment of hand picked candies) because, well, better him than the mouse. In the morning we all approved of this as very sound logic.
Rif-Raf was our most aggressive warrior; even going so far as taking the life of a rodent nemesis. Again, while the rest of us certainly cold sympathize with his justification, Shannon and I were more likely to attempt to lure them away or buy them off, offering up peanuts, dirty pots and other tidbits to try to distract them rather than to engage in direct combat.
The bears also have been preparing for winter. On one particular, drizzly difficult day Shannon and Rif-Raf and I were stopped for a break, trying to figure out how we could catch up with Frog who was some 12-20 miles ahead of us. As the prospect of the mileage we would have to push weighed upon our weary minds and bodies, I felt drained. Maxed out. But my boys were there and spoke gently and encouraged me with their own sense of determination, so onward and upward we trudged. Up into the hanging meadow bowls above the trees. Into fields of ripe and overripe berries. There we quickly came upon a momma black bear and her cub. They were a safe distance up the hill so we moved slowly and deliberately, speaking to them and snapping pictures. Not but five minutes later, just as we began to regain speed, there appeared another berry field patchworked in the brightest shades of fall and dotted by three large, black, moving spots. As we came closer, the features on the bears stood out. Judging by their sizes and behavior it was a large momma and cub, while the third figure seemed to be a single male. When they became aware of our presence and made an initial pretense of running away, their heavy coats shambled around their bodies, the black catching in the sun, giving off tints of red and brown. Quickly exhausted by the effort to run, we could hear them huffing heavily. Quizzical, long faces watched us warily; even as we did the same to them.
The next morning we continued through the high bowls (which were actually only at 5000-6000 feet but feeling much the same as 10,000 feet would in the Sierras). We passed through an area densely populated by unafraid, silver backed marmots. As we began to traverse down, we passed a young single female, not more than 3 years old, foraging on her own. Within 12 hours we had each more than doubled our bear sighting counts. It was spectacular.

As we came within days of the border, our motivation changed. Every day we gave thanks for the blessing of the weather; how could such a gift not be construed as heavenly approval of our efforts? A reward. A goodbye kiss. With all the same passion and melancholy. I paused often, looking backward and forward. Rotating slowly, attempting to infuse myself in that place and moment thereby allowing it to emblazon on my soul. I do this often throughout my life, in special moments. It never sticks as thickly as I would like but it does leave an imprint.
Then, at 8:07 pm on October 1st, there we were. Just as night fell we began down a small group of switchbacks. While our eyes had adjusted to the dim and we were not wearing our headlamps yet, a bright light shone around from below us. We wondered whether it might be a border patrol of some sort. But no, it was just little Miss Pony, our friendly local pyro. She had just accidentally thrown her pen into her campfire and returned to the monument to dig another out of the receptacle there. The marker which stands at the northern terminus is identical to that at the southern. The only difference being that rather than standing in an open desert near barbed wire and a 15 foot tall corrugated fence, this one is placed in the middle of a road wide strip cut out of the thick trees, running up and across the hills; the only demarcation of a border at all.
For just a fraction of an instant was I able to taste the reality. Tears welled up and I laughed. So this is what I had been working so hard for all of these months. For this, I had risked my life. It was just exactly right. Just that tiny hint of comprehension and then it was gone and I was standing in the forest at night with my friends celebrating an accomplishment which we had all admitted was beyond our comprehension.
That night, as we sat around the campfire I looked at those around me and gave such a deep thanks. I was incredibly honored to be finishing the trail with three individuals who now had two thru-hikes under their boots. To be one of them and to share this with each and all.
The next day was another 8 miles to the nearest civilized establishment, Manning Park Canada. It, as with the following couple of days, was anticlimactic at best. In Manning Park we encountered other hikers and sort of moved around, purposeless. Who were we now? Why bother to tell our story to the tourists passing through? They didn't seem to believe and even when they did, their congratulations felt almost innocuous.
Shannon explained it best when he spoke of each hike as being a life in and of its own. The idea is born and, with time, gives way to action. The experience of investing in its life. The blessings and tribulations. Gaining from each. We grow and learn within it and are defined by it. It matures and we gain confidence, it becomes routine and we are good at it. Then we recognize that it is not infinite, that soon this too shall pass and so we seek to hold on to the moments. Then. It's over. And we mourn. And we celebrate. And we gather ourselves together and each of us asks, "where to from here?"

In the same way that dismal weather can make the distance between yourself and hope seem like an eternal expanse, a single day of sun obliterates the drear. To elucidate this difference, I must go back a bit and re-itterate some matter which I have covered in a previous post.

I had pushed through weeks of rain and loneliness, my first respite came in catching up to the boys. It had been a day of constant overcast and drizzling misery. I did not want to stop to fill my water bottles because, well, who wants to drink cold water when being drenched in it. Furthermore, my Aquamira solution needs five minutes to mix and sitting in the rain, waiting for that did not appal to me either. Against my better judgement, I just pushed on. Trudging through the pools of mud on the trail. It was really a crap-shoot whether to just walk right through the puddles on the trail or to tiptoe through the sopping grass and shrub on either side. I climbed, I dropped; I climbed, I dropped.
Going on five hours of hiking without a break, without drinking, trying to convince myself that the power bars I was eating were enough. I began ranting out loud; airing frustrations I had with middle school nemesis's, re-creating mighty feuds in which I was the only contender. These were not amoung my proudest moments on the trail, but they were very real and present and powerful. I learned that there are moments when you have to take the joy and power of your spirit and hug her small and tight into the deepest spot in your bosom and allow the storm to rage around it, so long as the winds of that storm are blowing you forward, maintaining momentum. Knowing that soon they will pass and your true self will take the helm again. I was absolutely focused on forward momentum because I knew I needed my family if I was going to make it these last couple hundred miles. Because I know I am not crazy but sometimes it feels better just to let yourself act that way, I did. I laughed defiantly at the skies, I got the joke and was not amused.
Yet another climb and I was looking down at the trail in front of me. Suddenly between my feet was a note in a plastic bag, it said "Fidget camped here." I was livid, there was another Fidget on the trail? What was she doing camped here. I looked over and the offending character even had the exact same tent as me. Wait, Shannon had the same tent as well. Wouldn't that make more sense? Reason began to seep back in to my thoughts. I hurried over and sure enough, Shannon's head popped out and smiled up at me. I grinned back and informed him that I had gone mad temporarily but as soon as I drank a liter of water I would be much better. He allowed me that space and quickly I brought myself back to a level of lucidity wherein I could rejoice at having caught up.
There is a reason these people are called trail family. It is something which goes beyond what words could ever hope to explain. They are your sanity when you just can't hold on. They are your motivation when you have lost sight. They are your sense of humor when you've gone flat. Because of them you are not alone. Because of them you know it is okay to struggle, because we all struggle and we all band together to pull ourselves through. Over these final weeks we have often discussed a truth which has become abundantly evident to us; that humans are social creatures. We band together and generate a strength greater than that which any individual could.
In fact, the weather gods smiled on Shannon and I's rejoining and we awoke the next morning to clear blue skies. By early that afternoon, we caught up to Frog and Rif-Raf along a beautiful ridge, looking across at the mighty Northern Cascades, mountains which struck a chord in each of us. A chord which ran as deep as the valleys themselves. From the forested gutter where the trees grew and the rivers ran, up the talused bowls carved out so many years ago (yet quite young in a geological sense) to the peaks which comprised the horizon. The range across the valley ran like the graph of a heart monitor.
We dropped down into the bottom of the valley and followed along the river down to a connecting road where we were able to get into Skykomish. There we rested at the Dinsmore's. I got to see LaDeana and the girls. We ate at the welcoming little cafe in the minuscule, once upon a time logging town, and hid from more dreary weather.
On the morning we had planned to set out, the boys were all packed and went to the cafe for breakfast; I felt uneasy and stayed at the Dinsmore's. All the other hikers were out and about so I had the garage space which was our turf to myself. I began to clean and it made me feel better. I also felt the tired weighing down. When Rif-Raf came back to see if I was ready to go, I informed him that I was not, that I would try to make it out that afternoon and catch them but I just couldn't bring myself to move. He left and then returned with Shannon. They had decided to stay with me. Frog pushed on, aiming to make his set finishing date and meet up with Nancy.
Shannon, Rif-Raf and I made it out the next day. We sat under a tree in a mountain meadow peering morosely out at drab skies. The will to push on was waning. The weary was heavy on us all but forward we pushed. As we never seemed able to make it out of camp before 7:03 am (no matter how early we awoke), we pushed late, often hiking into darkness.
It was difficult but there was such strength in being together.
The terrain continued to be challenging, especially as we came into a valley which had been washed out by a mud slide recently. While Yogi's guide waned us of hundreds of massive blow downs and no bridges, it seemed the forest service folk had been hard at work and the trail was mostly cleared and rebuilt, the only challenge was the Suiattle River, as there was still no bridge. I crossed quickly on a large log which swayed underfoot, Rif-Raf and Shannon thought more carefully and chose a log further upstream. I watched from the far bank as they meandered up along the water; I came to appreciate how minuscule we truly are as they passed behind massive trees which had been uprooted and thrown downriver like matchsticks in the flood which had passed.
During one of these days we sat high up along the mountain ridges, in the wind and again under threatening skies. We all felt beat up and tired. We took a miserable break in a little wind tunnel area of the trail and then moved on again, coming around into mountain bowls, patchworked with fall colors and berry bushes. As we came into the first, I looked uphill and saw a momma black bear and her cub. Five minutes later we passed above another field where three bears grazed lazily. It was such an affirmation of our efforts. A gift, encouraging us forward in our efforts.