There May be Ponies – The Trek

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Planning and logistics—deep sigh—are not my strengths. Rarely can I rally enough effort to craft a detailed plan. I would love to be the thru-hiker who knows the best resupply options, shelters, side quests, and challenges, who crawls into their quilt each night, eager to open FarOut and meticulously study the trail ahead. Let’s face it, that isn’t me. The last thing I want to do when I finally snuggle into bed is open FarOut again, and my planning is limited to macro information—I am headed north, there will be food every 100 miles or less, the trail ends in Maine, and we might see ponies. 

One reason not to micromanage my hikes is to avoid overexposure to the highlights that lead to unrealistic expectations. This happened to me on the John Muir Trail, when I binged videos and lapped up blogs. I had a screensaver on my work computer of Evolution Valley, specifically the stepping stones through Evolution Creek. I obsessed over that photo for a year, hoping for my permit, winning one, watching my plans evaporate because of COVID-19, wallowing in grief, and welcoming the permit back when restrictions were lifted. Evolution Valley, we’re coming! But the day Jeff and I hiked across those stones was a bit of a dud. It was not at all memorable, with cloudy weather that failed to make the creek sparkle and cold wind that hustled us through the valley. Our photos of Evolution Valley look as flat and dull as our experience, but many unexpected days glittered as brightly as that original photo.

Of course, avoiding overexposure might be an excuse to not dig in and plan a thru-hike well, but I don’t have the bandwidth. I gotta do me, and me runs out the door, stuffing breakfast in my mouth as I drive to that thing I planned three days ago but totally forgot about until just a minute ago. In many ways, my lack of planning is how I keep anxiety down. I don’t have to worry about that stretch with the Very Bad Things (blow downs, dry spells, steep climbs, hostile villagers) because I only found out about it when I stopped to eat a LaraBar and opened FarOut. There’s no time to fret because I will be there in another two miles. But the bad part of not planning is when I blow right past a highlight that everyone else saw because I didn’t do my research. 

So maybe I could crowd-source a few nuggets of informational trail magic? I would love tips for appreciating the AT, specifically as a Westerner accustomed to the vast views of the PCT and CDT and the culture of the West. I know nothing of small eastern towns along the trails, of the regional manners or polite customs. Will I seem obnoxious with my Northern accent and REI wardrobe? If I’m feeling homesick, will I find mixed baby greens, quesabirria tacos, and a hazy IPA? I’m anxious about the green tunnel, PUDs, rain, ticks, humidity, shelters teeming with snoring mice—and terrified of the norovirus. So, let’s distract me from worrying about Rocksylvania, Helene’s havoc, and shart-ageddon with all the wonders and feasts ahead. What is your favorite shelter, hostel, or restaurant? What sights shouldn’t I miss? Are there local characters to meet? Give me your suggestions as I go, and I will share them with the community. Nerdy or weird is okay; I love snippets of local history and quirky hostels. And food! I’m dreaming of regional Barbecue, soft-shell crabs, lobster rolls, craft beer, cheesesteaks, and genuine Southern food.

Thanks for the magic, you absolute angels.

Happy Trails, Golden

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