30 Tips for Hitchhiking to Resupply

(Photo: Liv hitching in Maine)
On a long enough hike, hitching into town to resupply is almost a necessity and often a major concern for aspiring thru-hikers. The first time I stretched out my arm and put out my thumb, I felt equally nervous and excited.

A couple hundred hitches later, the nervousness dwindled to nothing, but the excitement continues. It's not simply free transportation. Something about it evokes a feeling of uncomplicated freedom. Akin to minimizing possessions to only what you can carry.

My friends and I have gotten many hitches from people who said we were the first hitchhikers they have ever picked up, so it seems we’re doing something right. Not everything here is essential for getting a ride, but they are all of the things I consider. The tips are geared toward the short hitches between trails and towns for resupplying, but most of them apply no matter where you’re hitching.

1. Give room for cars to pull over safely
Look for a spot where someone can easily pull over without issues or in places where it would be illegal to stop. Wide shoulders and turnouts are prime real estate for hitching. This will be the most obvious thing you'll read on this list, but also be sure you're on the side of the road where the traffic is moving in the direction you want to be going.
2. Give time for drivers to see you and brake safely
Stand in a spot where a driver will have a few seconds to see that you’re hitching and have plenty of time to slow down. And of course, enough time to take pity on you. Few people will want to slam on their breaks or turn around to pick you up. It happens occasionally, but don’t make it a requirement.
Standing by a road sign or anything else that a driver might already be looking at, may give them an extra second to notice you.
3. Put your thumb out and pointed up, if in the United States
This might seem obvious, but I mention it because the tradition of putting out a thumb is what we do in America and Europe, but it's not the standard everywhere. If you’re in another country, you’ll want to learn their gesture. For example, in Israel, hitchhikers hold their fist out with their index finger pointing towards the road.
4. Hitch where traffic is slow or stopped
Such as near traffic lights or within eyesight of where people are pulling out of gas stations or parking lots. While waiting for a light or pumping gas they are more likely to notice you. Perhaps the best spot is right before a highway on-ramp.
(Photo: Me hitching by the Inn at Long Trail)
5. The Law
The law can seem a little complicated, so I’ll try to simplify it:
Although rarely enforced, hitching is illegal in Nevada, Utah, Idaho, and New Jersey.
It is illegal to hitch on Interstates except in Texas, Oregon, North Dakota, and Missouri. This doesn’t mean you can’t hitch on the road that leads to an Interstate on-ramp though.
Although, most states prohibit standing on the road itself, it is usually okay to hitch from the shoulder. If you're unsure, stand just off to the side of the shoulder. It's safer anyway.
California, Alaska, Hawaii, Washington, Kansas, Wisconsin, Florida, Maine, New York, Rhode Island, and Massachusetts have more complicated laws that you may want to read up on. I’m not going to go into them here, but I will just say if you’re outside city limits in these states it’s usually okay to hitch. Although, failure to read up on these laws could result in a citation. It's rare, but it happens. Just remember that I warned you.
The police may ask for your ID even if you’re not doing anything unlawful. Just let them, even if you don’t technically have to identify yourself when not breaking any laws. They are usually just trying to keep people safe.
Sometimes it’s illegal to hitch on other federally-owned roads other than Interstates, like National Park roads, National Scenic Byways, and National Recreation Areas, but I’ve never had any trouble. A park ranger in Yosemite even once suggested I hitch to a certain trailhead since their buses did not go out that far.
6. Minimize Turns and Simplify Your Route
The less complicated your route, the more likely a person driving by will be heading to your destination. If you’re a few blocks from the first turn, go ahead and walk that distance to eliminate it from the route. The more turns and on-ramps that you eliminate from your route, the better. By all means, stick your thumb out as you walk, but toward that better position.
7. Don’t get dropped off in a bad hitching spot
If you’re going to need multiple hitches to get to where you’re going, don’t get dropped off in the middle of nowhere even if it’s closer to your destination. If they will have to drop you off between towns where there is little to no traffic, thank them for stopping, but wait for the next hitch.
Also, it’s harder to get a hitch from downtown. Traffic will be going in every direction and people aren’t necessarily driving out of town. If someone has to drop you off in a town you’re not staying in, ask to be dropped off at the edge of town instead.
(Photo: Red in the back of a pickup
while hitching in Gorham, NH)
8. Hitch in pairs when possible
This may also mean separating a larger group into pairs. People aren’t just giving you a ride, but your packs as well, which take up a lot of space. Hitchhiking is a numbers game, and if you’re in a big group, you’re going to have fewer vehicles pass that could possibly carry you all.
Consider having all but two standing off to the side where they aren't seen from the road. If someone stops that has the room, ask if they can take you all. Otherwise, leave the rest behind and meet back up in town.
Also, when possible, have one female to each pair. Couples and women are a lot less threatening to motorists. When I was hitching with Sixgun and Liv, there were many times when we'd put our thumbs out and a car would stop almost immediately.
9. Be Happy
If you’re not happy, fake it. People don't want to pick up a stranger who looks angry or dangerous. If you’re with someone else, have a happy conversation while you’re holding out your thumb. Laugh, even if what is said isn’t that funny. Tell jokes if you have to force it. You’ll seem friendlier.
Although, don’t exaggerate your happiness or laughter. I was with another hiker on the AT trying to get a hitch and his over-sized smile and exaggerated attempts at physical humor were just creepy. Nobody stopped.
10. Don’t have a knife sheathed on your belt
If you want to have one in your pocket for safety, that’s fine, although 99.9999% of people are stopping to help a fellow human, not harm them. Anyway, they are usually more afraid of you than you are of them, so put the knife out of sight.
11. Make Eye Contact
Eye contact can really increase your chances of getting a ride. If someone makes that simple connection with you, I think it adds a little bit of guilt or pity to their quick decision making. In this scenario, guilt and pity are your friends.
Of course don’t stare at them in a creepy way, but give them a friendly smile. If walking, turn around and walk backwards with your thumb out when a car is coming, so you can still make that eye contact.
12. Take off your sunglasses
Let them see your non-threatening face. If your face is just naturally threatening, I don’t know what to tell you.
13. Don't Smoke
A lot of people don't want cigarette smoke in their cars. Smoking can definitely reduce the percentage of cars that will pick you up. And they will already have your hiker odor to deal with. If you need to smoke, ask after you're on the move if they mind.
14. People Sometimes Come Back
If the speed of the car makes it obvious they are not going to stop, smile and wave anyway like you’re thanking them for the consideration. Show them this common courtesy and sometimes they will turn around and come back for you. Guilt and pity sometimes takes a second to brew.
15. Look as clean as possible.
If someone thinks they’re going to have to get their car’s interior detailed after driving you three miles, they’re probably not going to stop. And if they do pick you up, actually being clean may make them tolerate taking you further. In other words, do whatever you can to freshen up.
(Photo: Red and Cocoa Toe hitching from Asheville, NC
back to the Appalachian Trail.)
16. Wear something bright
When you’re buying a shirt or bandana for your hike, consider the brightest ones possible. They could help you get noticed when hitching.
17. Talk to people near trailheads
If you know you’re going to try to hitch at the next trailhead, parking area, or road, start talking to day-hikers that you meet on the trail. You don’t need to ask them for a ride, but later, when they see you standing by the road with your thumb out, they will often pick you up. Even just asking them for the time or commenting on what a beautiful day it is can be enough.
18. Talk to people in town
The same thing applies in town. While you’re in grocery stores, convenience stores, or restaurants, talk to people. Some business owners frown on you soliciting a ride from their customers, but you don’t necessarily have to. If you’re being friendly and talking to people, they’ll often pick you up when they see you hitching later. Just make sure they see you, hitch in eyesight of the people pulling out of the parking lot. If you see someone that you had a conversation with, wave to them so they know it's you.
19. Don’t bother hitching on the side of the road at night
Instead, go to bars, restaurants, or well-lit gas stations and meet people. Again, business owners don’t want you walking up to customers to ask for a ride and most people don’t like it either. Start conversations first and mention where you’re headed. They'll see your packs, they know you're travelling. Often they will offer the ride and think it was their idea the whole time. 
Besides, standing on the side of the road in the dark could be dangerous. 
20. Ask people about public transit
Sometimes I feel weird asking people for a ride, especially on a business's property, so I resort to a more passive indirect way of doing it. Sometimes I’ll ask the employees of the business or the locals if they know of any public transit services in the area and tell them where I’m headed. Often they’ll just offer you a ride. Remember, it’s always good to find ways to make the ride seem like their idea.
21. Stand and Pace to get noticed
But don't walk away from a prime hitching spot. Only walk while hitching if you're moving to a better place. I've walked toward town while hitching while other hikers stayed back to hitch and they ended up passing me. Something you realize after walking in the woods for hundreds of miles is that cars are incredibly efficient at moving people around.
22. Keep your backpack on or in plain sight
If people can see your pack or trekking poles, and you’re near a trail, they will often know your just a hiker needing to resupply in town. This means you probably aren’t going far and probably aren't there to murder anyone.
23. Make Signs
I'm still not sure if signs really help, but it's something to consider. One time on the Long Trail, Red and I made one. I asked the guy, “So did the sign help out at all?”
“Actually,” he said. “I didn’t even notice the sign. The first thing I noticed was the kilt.” Red hikes in a kilt. When he bought it, I was certain we’d never get another ride again, but I was proven wrong many times.
If you’re already carrying a colorful bandana, use that instead of cardboard. It doesn’t add weight to your pack, it will stand out, and if you use cardboard people may just assume you’re "willing to work for food" instead of looking for a ride.
When making a sign, make it as simple as possible. This ensures it's easier for a driver to read and it will be reusable. It can be as simple as the letter of the direction you’re going, for example on a north/south running trail, you’ll probably only need an E on one side and a W on the other. You could also write something even more generic and reusable like, “Hiker to Town,” on one side of a bandana and “Hiker to Trailhead” on the other.
If you get too specific and write your actual destination on a sign, not only is it not reusable, but if the destination is further away or in a direction the driver isn't going, they may not bother to stop at all. And you really want them to stop. If they have already made the effort to stop, they are more likely to take you where you’re going or at least get you part of the way there.
24. Consider the time of day when you’ll get to the road
Obviously, you don’t want to get to the road after dark, but get there at least an hour before dark in case you don’t get a ride right away. Think about how many miles you have to the road and how much time you’ll need in town. If you want to get back to the trail before dark, leave enough time to shop and get two hitches. Usually two or three hours is plenty unless you're in the middle of nowhere.
Also, remember that a lot more people go on day-hikes on weekends, so you are more likely to see cars parked at trailheads and so more likely to get a ride.
25. Sometimes going in the wrong direction will get you to your destination quicker
If you’re in a bad spot and you can’t get a ride in the right direction. Try to also get a ride to a better hitching spot in the other direction.
(Photo: Sixgun and Liv hitching in the rain)
26. When all else fails, just look as pathetic as possible
Being rained on helps. So does taking off your coat and looking cold. Sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.

Tips for after someone has taken the bait

 27. Tell them the shortest distance you’re willing to go on the hitch
For example, when someone asks where you’re headed, say something like, “Well ultimately, I need to get to _______, but if you can take me to _______ that would be great!” That way they won’t feel like they’re stuck with a smelly hiker for a long time, but if they like you, they’ll usually take you further. Actually, I think everybody except two people took me the full distance even if it wasn't on their way, but in their defense both of them were expected to appear in court.
28. Be leery of putting your pack in someone’s trunk
They might just pull away with all your gear when you get out. Either on accident or on purpose. Just imagine being dropped off by a trailhead and helplessly watching all your gear roll away. Instead, put your pack on your lap, or if you're in the backseat set it right next to you. If you’re hiking with someone else, have a rule that one person stays in the car until the other has pulled the packs out of the trunk.

Tips for when you’re in the car

29. Have a good conversation
Don’t just sit there quietly the whole time. That’s weird and they will be less likely to take you that extra distance. Ask them where they are from. Be happy. Tell them about your travels. If they enjoy your company, they are more willing to take you the extra mile or pick you up again if they see you hitching back to the trail.
Tell them interesting stories, but try to get them to talk about themselves. Not only are some of these people really interesting, but people like talking about their lives. If they are enjoying the conversation, they will usually drive you further.
I’ve had many people go out of their way to take me where I needed to go. After finishing the John Muir Trail, a driver drove me two hours out of his way to take me back to my car in the Yosemite Valley (four hours round trip). We had a great conversation. Not only that, but I’ve had people drive around to look for me later to take me back to the trailhead.
Never talk about anything even remotely controversial. This should be a given, but if the driver brings up the topic, just smile and nod or try to change the subject. I know some people can’t help but argue, but you have to fight the impulse if you want them to take you further or pick you up again later. Or just agree with them, if doing so doesn't kill something dear inside of you.
30. Be courteous
Apologize for the hiker smell and thank them for the ride. These people are doing you a huge favor and all you’re offering is your stench. Make sure they know how grateful you are for their kindness. When people think you like them or appreciate them in anyway, they will like you almost 100% of the time. I’ve had people wait for me to finish shopping and drive me back to the trail. People are just amazing sometimes. Make sure they know that.
In Conclusion 

There will be exceptions to all these tips. They are simply things that may help increase your chances of getting to where you need to go.

Hitching isn’t without risk, of course, but it’s not as dangerous as most people believe. As with everything, firsthand experience reduces your fear by making you more aware of reality.

People often say, “I wouldn’t hitch in this day and age.” Those people need to stop watching TV. The news is to reality what reality shows are to reality. Get out and see the world as it really is. Believe it or not there are fewer acts of violence today than ever before. The number of people willing to injure or murder a stranger with his thumb out on the side of the road has not gone up, in fact, it has gone down.

Actually, come to think of it, people have picked us up because they were afraid if they didn't a crazy person might. So maybe a little bit of fear in the population is good for hitchhikers.

Take precautions, but don't let a fear of hitchhiking keep you from attempting a thru-hike  Besides, you may find that many of your best stories of the long hike are your hitchhiking stories.

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A Backpacker's Life List by Ryan Grayson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.   

Thoughts About Death and Fun-size Candy Bars

(Photo: McAfee Knob, Virginia)
“Five people have died on the Appalachian Trail this year, did you know that?” a day-hiker asked me. He was hiking with his daughter to McAfee Knob in Virginia. I popped one of the fun-size Snickers bars that he gave me into my mouth and said, “hmm-umm.” 

“Yeah, I believe one had a heart attack. Another died in his sleep. I think it might have been one of those, what do you call it?" He looked down for a moment to think then said, "A brain aneurysm or something. Then there was a guy that slipped and fell in Maine. He died. Another guy had a stroke just twenty miles from finishing his thru-hike. The one everyone is talking about right now, though, is the hiker from Indiana that was beaten to death.” 

It's strange to imagine me as the Hoosier in that last headline, but this didn't make me feel any less safe. The Appalachian Trail is 2,181 miles long. It covers more square miles than most cities and millions walk on it every year. It would be amazing if nobody ever died on it. Besides, I know the stories that spread the fastest are about the rarest of incidents. Nobody bothers to say, "hey did I ever tell you about that hiker I never met that nothing out of the ordinary ever happened to?" And nobody ever clamored to get the movie rights from that hiker that didn't have to cut off his own arm.


Actually, a lot of day-hikers carried on about things that scared them about a thru-hike, like murderers and murdering. The thru-hikers, however, rarely talked about it. They spent far more time talking about how “fun-size” Snickers are actually less fun. Maybe this is what makes thru-hikers unique. I mean, to suggest that the fun in a Snickers bar is, somehow, not relative to its net weight... sorry, before I get all worked up I'll get back on topic...

“Have you ever heard of Randall Lee Smith?” he said. 

“Well, given our topic, and since you used his middle name, I suspect that he killed some people?”

“Yeah, in the early eighties," he said. "He shot two AT hikers near Pearisburg."

“Hmm, I’m two days away from Pearisburg,” I thought. 

“He went up to an AT shelter just outside of town with a shotgun. He shot one, then the other,” he said. “He went to prison for a few years, but got out on parole. Then in 2006, two fishermen were shot near the same spot near Pearisburg. A few days later, the police took Smith back into custody after he crashed a pickup truck that belonged to one of the two fishermen.” 

I don't know why he decided to tell this to someone who was thru-hiking. It almost seemed like he wanted to try to scare me or get me to question hiking the trail in the first place. I reached back to grab another one of those Snickers from the side pocket of my backpack. I suppose he was probably just looking out for me, to keep me on guard. I just refuse to believe that a man passing out free candy could have an ounce of menace in his heart. It’s surprising I made it into adulthood.

“Well, he went back to prison,” he continued. “And this time, he never got out. He died in there. If you ask me, he was murdered, but nobody really knows what happened to him.” 

When we were on the trail in Maine, Thumper asked me what my number one fear was. 

“Speaking in public probably, or dying,” I said. “Probably more the dying one than the speaking in public one.” 

I know I’m not the only one to have some anxiety about the inevitability of death. Unlike many people, however, I’ve never professed to know with any certainty that our consciousness continues after our brains die. Rarely, but on occasion, a thought would enter my mind that what I experience after death will be exactly like what I experienced before I was born. A lot of nothing. That idea could be almost paralyzing if I let it float around my mind for too long. 

I hadn’t thought about it much while hiking, but somewhere along the trail, the thought of death crept back into my brain. Actually, I remember the exact moment. I was in a shelter near Pearisburg, Virginia.

- - -

As the year progressed, the days became shorter. This meant more hiking at night to get the needed miles. I decided to stop for the night at one of the many three-walled shelters along the trail. I shined my headlamp inside. It was empty. I did what I normally did when I finished my day at a shelter. Before anything else, I sat down and made dinner. Actually, I typically shoved a honey bun into my mouth and then made dinner. 

I sat with my feet hanging over the side of the shelter and ate as I stared out at the dark moonlit woods. A flowing stream prevented a total silence. When I finished eating, I hung my food bag above the shelter floor away from rodents. Soon, I was wrapped snug in my sleeping bag and ready for bed.

Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, I saw a yellow glow bob out of the shadowy trees. It was a man wearing a headlamp. There was a rifle in his hands. He walked across the front of the shelter. I tensed up. It happened too quickly to do anything, even if I wasn't constrained in my sleeping bag. Neither fight nor flight were options on the table. 

He turned and looked at me as he passed. His headlamp shined in my eyes. I said, “Hello,” because, you know, there’s no reason to be uncivilized. 

“How you doin’?” he replied and kept walking.

“I’m doing great, thanks, how about you?” I said, trailing off toward the end of my question as he walked out of earshot. 

It takes slightly longer to rationalize that a man walking down a trail at night with a gun is probably a hunter getting out of the woods late, than it takes to deem him a shotgun brandishing lunatic. I suppose there is some evolutionary survival value in that, so even though it only took a second to assume I wasn’t in danger, a part of me prepared for the worst. 

What would I have done if he was some kind of Randall Lee Smith copycat heading into the woods near Pearisburg with a shotgun over his shoulder? In that short amount of time, the only thing I could have done is roll back and forth in my sleeping bag like some carnival game duck with a target on its belly. Even if this was a cartoon, there wasn’t even enough time to plug the hole of the shotgun's barrel with my index finger. 

When he was gone, and I felt safe enough to consider falling asleep, I reflected about death again. I've heard people say there are no atheists in foxholes, but I think you'll find an equal number of completely confident believers in there with them. In the face of death, it wouldn't surprise me if most of the people in foxholes, regardless of their prior beliefs, are suddenly agnostic. I couldn't help but think, what if that man's sudden presence would have been followed by a bang and then dreamless sleep for eternity? Why should it be any different from the unconscious eons before I was born? Perhaps the more interesting question was, why didn't these thoughts freak me out like they have before? 

Of course, it should go without saying that I don't want to die, but there is a difference between not wanting to die and actually fearing death.While living the free and simple life on the trail, I came to accept this particular inevitability. At least to a point where I don't dwell on it anymore. I thought more about the misnomer "fun-size" than I did about murderers, falls, aneurysms, or bears. And it seemed, the other thru-hikers did as well. I think it's because my fear of death was largely a fear of never living the life I always dreamed of living. I was doing what I loved, I would continue to do what I loved for as long as I can, and que sera sera.

So, I've never been able to alleviate the fear of death by convincing myself that there is an afterlife, but does anyone really? I learned, however, that I didn’t need to. I just needed to live this life.

And as for my fear of public speaking... yeah, I don't see ever getting over that one.

  
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A Backpacker's Life List by Ryan Grayson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.   

Florida Trail Update

If you've been following my blog, you may be wondering why I’m not back on the trail yet. I can assure you I’m desperate to get back. I have all my Florida Trail maps and I’m officially a card-carrying member of the Florida Trail Association, but I have to let my sore left leg heal before I can think about hiking again.

Many people have asked me how I injured it. It’s not due to a single accident, so I usually just say, “Well, I’m thirty-three and I just hiked 2,200 miles.” I’m hoping it’s just a torn muscle that will heal soon, since hiking 15-25 miles a day is the only plan I had for the next couple years. Meanwhile, I’m a bit of a hypochondriac and it’s not improving, so I worry it may be something worse than a torn muscle.

I’ve been a bit lazy lately, sitting on a couch with ice on my leg and popping anti-inflammatories, but since my mind is still very much occupied by my AT hike, and since I still can’t have a conversation with someone for more than two minutes without talking about it, I decided I’ll use this downtime to post more photos, thoughts, and stories about the trail. 

Like I said, I’m desperate to get back. My sister can attest to this by our recent trip to a Dollar General store. While she was shopping, I walked over to the food section. Not to buy food, but to be reminded of the Appalachian Trail. These stores were common in the south and I did a lot of my resupply there. I did so many resupplies in Dollar General Stores that I got tired of eating the same foods. Now I see those familiar packages with a feeling not unlike homesickness.

“Hello, apple pies with real fruit filling,” I thought. “How do you do, generic peanut butter and jelly in the same jar? And you, I could never forget you,” I picked up an oversized honey bun buried in a thick layer of chocolate icing, seven-hundred glorious calories for a mere fifty cents. “Greetings, old friend. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

Not that it has been proven clinically or anything, but I can assure you, I’m not crazy. I just miss the trail. How sad is it that I stared sentimentally at a god damn honey bun. I actually stopped to imagine I was just in some small unfamiliar Virginia town doing another resupply. I’d walk through those doors and rather than see the town I was so eager to leave months ago, there would be mountains forming the horizon. I’d walk down the road toward an AT trailhead with a backpack full of junk food and my thumb out, hoping for a hitch.

I’m writing this from our local McDonald’s. Sadly, my appetite is as ferocious as it was on the trail, but sitting on a couch with ice on my leg burns far fewer calories than hiking up mountains all day. I can already tell I’m gaining back some weight. 

I just stopped typing for a minute and caught myself daydreaming while staring through a little paper cup of ketchup. My mind inhabited by a fond McDonald’s memory. 

It’s August and I’m in Lincoln, New Hampshire. Thumper and Sixgun took a few days off to visit their parents. I waited for them to catch up in Lincoln. When they got to town, I was in a McDonald’s chatting with a woman who was traveling around the country in an RV. They burst through the doors. 

“Cam!” they yelled. Cam being the trail name given to me by Red on the second day of the hike, the day I met the girls. We crashed into a group hug in the crowded restaurant. Those few seconds, and the two days we spent in Lincoln afterwards, are some of my happiest trail memories.

It seems I can't go anywhere without something reminding me of the trail. I’m having another Dollar General moment and imagining this is a McDonald’s in a random Appalachian Mountain town. The girls would walk over with their tray of food anytime now. Soon they would have playing cards fanned out in front of them to continue our two-month-long game of Rummy. Unfortunately, the reality is that I’m sitting by myself in a McDonald’s. I have a sore leg I can’t hike on. I’m just staring blankly through a little paper cup of ketchup while rain distorts the view of an all too familiar town out the window.

While I’ve been back, inactive and waiting, the blues continue to accumulate as quickly as the pounds. I'm not a fan of sitting around and doing nothing. I'm not a fan of carbon-copy days. I need this leg to heal. I need to get to Florida.

Thoughts from Civilization

I loitered all alone on the summit of Springer well after Footwork left. The fog subdued the sunlight and concealed the view. Sounds were reduced to only the patter of rain. The combination of these things gave me a greater and much appreciated feeling of isolation. With the strong emotion I felt, I needed the alone time.

I sat on the southern terminus marker and flipped through the log books. It made me smile whenever I saw the name of a friend I met along the way who also made it to Springer. Most notably, Deckeye, Witticism, JTT, Right-Click, Lightfoot, Sponge, and Splake.

Amicalola Falls, the tallest waterfall
east of the Mississippi
It took a while to get myself to leave the summit. The realization that there would be no more white blazes to lead the way depressed me a little. When I finally left, I began to feel the post-hike blues. I'll be getting back on a trail before too long, but the AT is a unique experience. I was looking forward to seeing everyone back home, though, and spending a couple idle weeks out of the cold and rain. Not to mention eating massive amounts of holiday food.

 Pennsylvania
I hiked the nine miles down Springer to Amicalola Falls State Park. My cousin, aunt, and nephew drove the ten hours from Indiana to meet me there. Before getting into their clean vehicle, I asked a park ranger to direct me to a camp shower where I could wash away my hobo aroma. My sister sent along some of my old clothes for me to change into. After lathering, rinsing, and repeating, I slipped on my old jeans without needing to unbutton them first. I walked out of the showers and showed my nephew how baggy they had become.

Virginia
“Hey, check this out,” I said as I pulled my loose-fitting waistband away from my waist with my thumb. “I could fit Jared from Subway in these pants with me! Or, you know, something less weird of equal or lesser size.” 

Tennessee
During the ride home and the following weeks, I found it difficult to talk about anything but the trail. I decided to take advantage of this time when everyone wants to hear trail stories, because I’m sure people will get tired of hearing them long before I’m tired of telling them. Whenever there was a break in conversation, I often jumped in with a sentence that contained the words, “when I was on the trail.” 

New Hampshire
After ten hours on the road, I was back to where I left six long months ago. It’s incredible how efficient cars are at moving you around. For a measly three bucks in gas and half of an hour, I can cross a day’s hiking distance, even with hundreds of pounds of extra gear. Gas prices could double and it would still be an extraordinary deal. That's just one of the many things I see differently now.

Big Hump Mountain
The first night back in my hometown, my brother-in-law and I went to his bar. He let me have all the free celebratory drinks I wanted. I sipped on whiskey and drank shots of whatever the bartender brought over. A guy with a full beard walked in and sat at the table next to me. My instinct was to ask, “You thru-hiking? North or southbound?" but sadly, those words would have had no meaning here. I tried starting a conversation with a couple people, but I seemed to have lost my ability to talk to non-hiking strangers, unless I’m talking about the trail. My mind is still consumed with the AT. What else is there to talk about? 

The view from a hot tub
 in Rangeley, ME
The hangover the following morning made me regret drinking over a half bottle of whiskey. It reminds me of the hangover I had “when I was on the trail...”

It was five months ago, a woman in Rangeley, Maine invited us to stay in her beautiful lake house. We weren't the only people she's had over. She had photos on her walls of some others who have stayed in her home: Bill Clinton, Shaquille O'Neal, Jimmy Carter, and Al Gore, to name a few. She had a wonderful photo of Barack Obama playing peak-a-boo with her granddaughter. She has lead quite an amazing life. Bambi and I got to hear all about it while relaxing with her in her outdoor hot tub under a bright full moon. When I got too warm, I jumped into the clear cool lake.

North Carolina
Red made a huge dinner that night on her outdoor brick grill. She opened up six bottles of wine, two of which I drank myself. The next morning I woke up early and walked back out to the lake. I couldn't see to the shore on the other side because the fog condensed my visibility to a few dozen feet around me. That also meant nobody could see me. I walked to the end of the pier. It was a little chilly, so I didn't plan on swimming. I didn't even put on shorts to swim in. I stripped down and dropped into the water. While I acclimated to the cold, two loons swam out of the fog toward me. They were so close that I could see their necks palpitate when they sang their infamous undulating song. I've never seen loons get that close to someone. 

McAfee Knob
The Last White Blaze
All that wine the night before gave me a bad hangover like the one I got from the free whiskey I drank in my brother-in-law's bar. The point in telling you this story right now is so you can see how all my thoughts lead to a trail story. Everything reminds me of the trail, and I reflect sentimentally about all of it, even a splitting headache with nausea.

The First White Blaze
After leaving the bar, I slept on the floor of my sister’s house. There was a perfectly good couch a few feet away, but I couldn’t fall asleep until I grabbed my sleeping bag and moved to the floor. I guess I’ve gotten used to the ground. I woke up the next morning and took my third consecutive daily shower. I haven’t had a streak like that in months. I understand the need for it in civilized life, but it almost seemed excessive. By trail standards, I’m already satisfactorily clean if I can step into a shower and not see a trail of dirty water circling the drain at my feet. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very fond of cleanliness, but I kind of miss not caring about getting dirty. I smell like soap for god’s sake. Clean, fragrant, soap, like a common day-hiker! 

If I didn’t already have plans to get back on a trail, I think I would feel completely lost right now. I got used to letting white blazes tell me where to go next. I miss having my course so clearly laid out before me, with no decision-making, stress, or anxiety about what I should be doing next.

I also miss the simplicity of living outdoors with my possessions limited to what will fit in a twenty-five pound backpack. I would love to sleep in a lean-to tonight, fully enveloped by natural sounds and cerulean moonlight, even if it had mice scuttling around. Actually, especially if it had mice scuttling around for reasons I don't think I could explain. I want to go back to when each day meant new mountains to climb, new towns to explore, and new people to meet. I want to see all my trail friends again. I want to wake up every morning with purpose and that unquestionable confidence that I’m doing exactly what I should be doing. 

The only thing that seems to diminish the post-hike blues is planning and thinking about my hike to Florida. I wonder if I should or could ever go back to life as it was.

I know it has only been a few days, but I believe the trail has changed me forever, and for the better. It seems living so simply for so long has ruined me for the traditional modern life, but I'm fine with that. I see people getting stressed so easily, and needlessly. I've been reminded of that dread of having to get out of bed to start another day of unsatisfying labor, to buy things that I've learned I don't really need. I don’t want to go back to that life. I have to believe there is a better way. 

Maine
I know living how I have for the past six months is ultimately unsustainable, both financially and physically, but I have to keep it going for as long as I can. I have to because since getting back home, I've begun to feel like I'm losing the thing I love most about the Appalachian Trail.
The feeling of knowing, beyond any doubt, that I’m living my life in a way that is worthy of life itself.

- - -

One last thing before I end this post. I've been thinking about a poem Footwork read to me one morning in the Smokies. Good or bad, depending on your interpretation, I feel that in some ways I'm becoming one of the men it describes. It is called, The Men Who Don't Fit In, by Robert W. Service:

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance; 
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha!  He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone; 
He's a man who won't fit in.



Creative Commons License
A Backpacker's Life List by Ryan Grayson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.   

The Southern Terminus

A quarter-mile from the summit, I stopped to wait for Footwork and the sunrise. After his exhausting 42-mile day, I was finally able to hike faster than him for a change. He moved on passed me and got to the summit first.

He was standing still next to the Southern Terminus sign with his hand pressed flat against it. The sight put a lump in my throat. Later, I unexpectedly collapsed onto the sign and my eyes filled with tears. I honestly didn't expect to feel this way.

My emotions were mixed, but intense. My journey from Maine to Georgia was the greatest adventure of my life, but actually getting to Springer Mountain in Georgia is bittersweet. I will write more about how I'm feeling at the finish line when I've had some time to collect my thoughts. I also have hundreds of photos left to post and many stories to tell that, due to limited cell coverage, never got around to telling. One thing I will say now is that, I'm not ready for the adventure to end, and I can't think of a good reason to let it. I'm going home to spend the holidays with family and friends, then I'm coming back to Springer Mountain to continue hiking until I reach my new destination, Key West.

The Last Night

It's day two of constant rain. I hiked twenty three miles to the shelter Footwork and I planned to meet at. It was empty. Since we got separated the day before, I figured he decided to move on ahead. I went to bed thinking I'd hike the last eight miles and summit Springer alone. I woke up at three o'clock in the morning and saw a headlamp moving toward the shelter.

"Is that Footwork?" I asked.

"Yes it is," he replied. I guess he was behind me all along, and hiked thirty four miles to get here. "I'm going to keep going. My friend couldn't pick me up, so I had to change plans. I have to be on Springer by eight."

I'd still summit alone. We said our congrats and goodbyes. I've made many friends on this trip. Making friends out here is as easy as when you're 6 and the only thing you need in common is your height. Out here nearly all you need in common is the desire to be out here. I'll miss the friendships the most.

"What do you think? Feel like hiking eight more miles tonight?" he asked.

Still groggy from sleep and Tylenol PM, I packed and headed up Springer.

Neels Gap

After 179 days on the trail, I had never been more ready for one of those days to end. It never stopped raining, not for one step of the 26 miles I had to hike. By nightfall, I still had eight miles to go. The trail was all wet leaves and slick rocks. Footwork was probably a couple miles ahead of me by now.

My headlamp reflected off the fog, putting a white veil over my eyes. All I could see was the ground around my soaked feet. Then, with five miles to go, the batteries in my headlamp began to die. I was on my only spare set. I underestimated how much night hiking we'd be doing, and how quickly my headlamp would burn through them. The light at my feet dimmed to the brightness of moonlight, at best. Sometimes I felt the ground soften and I knew I was off the hard-packed trail and had to turn around. The white blazes were frustratingly sparse, as well. At one point, I passed a blue blaze, a sobering sign that you may not be on the AT, you may be lost.

Getting lost in the woods on a moonless foggy night feels like treading water in the middle of an immense dark lake without a clue where the shore is. Thorny branches, that I couldn't see, reached out to grab my wrists. Tree roots seemed to be trying to knock me off my feet.

This is a good time to point out that we all sent our tents home, since we had only been sleeping in shelters and wanted to reduce our pack weight. I had no choice but to keep going.

Finally, a few hours later, I saw a security light glowing in the fog. It was the hostel at Neel's Gap. I called them earlier in the afternoon to see if I could arrive after hours and still get a bed for the night. I knocked on the partially open door of the historic stone building and poked my head in. "Is this the hiker hostel?" I asked.

"You're 14 minutes late!" said the hostel operator named Pirate who was waiting up for me. At last, a warm dry place.

"I just put your plate of food in the fridge," he said.

"Food?" I thought. I didn't expect food to be waiting for me. Pirate walked to the fridge, pulled out a plate covered in pink plastic wrap, and put it in the microwave. His long scraggly beard was dabbled in gray. His t-shirt had the words, "Pirate for life" sitting above his large round belly.

The other thru-hiker in the room walked over to me. "Are you Sundowner?" I asked. I knew I was getting closer to him from his entries in the trail registries.

"Yeah, that's me," he said and gave me a hug. "Congratulations on your thru-hike!"

"Thanks, you too!" I said, even though we still had 30 miles left.

My food finished warming up. "Wow, I wasn't expecting hot food to be waiting for me. I can't thank you enough," I said. "It was a rough night."

"It's Hanukkah! This is your Hanukkah dinner," Pirate said. He put the plate in front of me with a huge pork chop on it surrounded by potatoes, gravy, and green beans. "I put on some Hanukkah music, too. I even have a menorah on the table under the Christmas Tree."

Pirate went back to the fridge, "So, Ryan, do you want beer or wine?"

Never in my life have I gone from being so miserable to being so completely happy so quickly.

12-21-11: Pirate at Neels Gap Shelter12-21-11: Neels Gap12-21-11: Neels Gap Hostel12-21-11: Neels Gap Hostel

Chunky Gal Trail Intersection

Very clever Appalachian Trail, but I'm not falling for your ruse. With I, a battered but determined thru-hiker, a mere 80 miles from Springer, you are clearly worried that you will soon be conquered. For shame, Appalachian Trail, that you have the audacity to try and sway a wouldbe thru-hiker off trail with such an obvious nonveridical temptation! You'll have to try harder than that to stop me Appalachian Trail! I am getting to Springer! And further more, your failed attempt to throw up this roadblock has only served to embolden my resolve!

A Day of Fog and Rain

Yesterday, I hiked in the fog and rain to US 64, then hitched into Franklin, NC. This will be my last overnight town visit before Springer Mountain.

It was a hard day, one of the hardest in weeks. Not because of the terrain or elevation gain, but a cold rain poured relentlessly until I was soaked to the bone. It didn't stop until I was finished for the day and under a roof.

Since most people don't want to pick up hitchhikers at night, I had to run many of the day's miles over slippery wet leaves in order to get to the highway before dark. A man in a white pick-up drove past and saw me pacing back and forth along the highway with my thumb out. As is customary in the south he was friendly enough to put on his brakes and come back for me.

"Hey, I can take you to Franklin," he said. "Let me just make some room for you." He had been hunting, so the cab was filled with camouflaged gear and guns. "I saw you standing in the rain with night coming and figured I should come back for you."  He pulled out a two-pack of brand new raccoon traps that had been sitting in the passenger seat and set them in the bed of the truck. "That's my son's Christmas present."

The locals along the trail have been incredibly friendly, but in the south I think they make it there duty to search out someone to help. My driver dropped me off near Mulligan's bar and I walked in for a sandwich and hot coffee. When I finished eating, a woman and her husband walked up to my table. "Are you hiking the trail?" she asked. We talked briefly then she asked, "Do you have a place to spend Christmas?" I've been invited into so many homes along this trail, but it still surprises me that people will so quickly put up a smelly stranger they have only known for five minutes. Don't listen to the local news; America is, by a wide margin, friendlier than it is dangerous. "You enjoy the rest of the trail. And, for sure, you do have a place to go for Christmas?" she asked again.

Footwork and I decided to split the cost of a hotel room, so after finishing a second cup of joe, I walked to the Franklin Motel to meet him there. I went right to my bed and crashed. Soon after, my feet swelled up, as they tend to do at the end of a long day. My toes resembled fat little sausages that have been soaking in dishwater all day. I've gotten used to this. When I'm hiking, I feel like I'm in the best shape of my life. I can climb three thousand feet of elevation, without stopping for a break, and never feel that lactic acid burn in my muscles. At night, however, after I've stopped hiking for a few minutes, my legs stiffen and are so sore that I waddle around like Redd Foxx trying to rush to answer his front door on Sanford and Son. My knees ache at the end of the day so much that whenever I waddle into a public restroom and see those handicap bars next to the toilet, I rejoice. It's just one of life's little pleasures, you understand.

They say it takes as long to recover from an AT thru-hike as it does to hike it. As long as I keep moving I feel great. I guess the trick is to just never stop moving, ever.

Fontana Dam

Just beyond the Great Smoky Mountain's southern border, the trail crossed Fontana Dam, the highest dam in the eastern United States at 480 feet tall. To late season southbounders it symbolizes getting through the frozen Smoky Mountains alive.

I only had one minor injury from the cold. I tucked a hand warmer in my sock, as I've done a few times before when I can't get my feet warm at night. It worked its way up my sock and I woke up with a second-degree burn underneath. What surprises me more than the nasty red blisters cooked onto my ankle, is that I was so exhausted from hiking up snow covered mountains all day that it didn't even wake me up.

And the worst part is, I just realized I'm now a part of that group of idiots that have made it necessary to put warning labels on everything.

The View From Clingmans Dome

It's chilly at 6,643 feet this time of year, to say the least. Strong freezing winds, and feeling symptoms of a cold coming on, kept me from staying long to enjoy the view. I was sure I caught what the others have, but I'm feeling much better now. We left the Smokies yesterday and soon after the weather became instantly better, like we passed back through the wardrobe from the land of Narnia.The snow and ice are gone and today was warm enough to hike in shorts again.

I'm going to miss waking up to these views. The six months I've spent out here have seemed like years. That's what happens when you don't stand still long enough for your sorroundings to become ordinary. I can barely remember what it's like to wake up in the same place every morning.

And Then There Were Two

Joe is the forth in the group to get too sick to continue. It's just Footwork and I now. We'll miss Joe. He was a great guy to hike with.

This is the first sufficient cell signal I've had in a few days. I have a lot of miles left to do today, so I'll post more later today when I get to my destination.

Coldest Night Yet

No bears, but that was the coldest night on the trail so far. I expected it since I couldn't get my shoes off last night until I thawed out the shoestrings by holding them in my fists for a couple minutes.

My water froze again, but I stayed warm enough. I worried my sleeping bag wouldn't cut it in the Smokies, but it was fine. The only problem is getting out of it. That takes a lot of motivation on a cold morning like this. I'm looking at my frozen boots, that are as hard as a rock, and my frozen socks that are laying next to me like stiff dead rats. Actually getting into these socks would be literally impossible.

I just have to think of the hot food and laundromat dryer in Gatlinburg. That is what will get me out of this sleeping bag. We are going to try to hitch into there today.


Ridgeline Hike

This is one of the few warm sunny spots on the trail today. I spent most of the day hiking along the ridgeline in the snow. Even with cold wet feet, it was a good day for a hike. Although that sort of changed over the last few miles after nightfall. All the snow that started to melt, quickly turned to ice. The slick trail edged some precarious dropoffs as well, making for a slow night hike. Eventually, I just wanted the day's hike to be over. I wanted to slip out of my cold wet socks and slip into my warm sleeping bag. When I thought the shelter would be coming up at any moment, I got to a sign that said I was still 1.5 miles away. The final mile took the longest, as it was totally coated in ice, but at last I arrived. It's such a great feeling to see your shelter at the end of a long day. There was a sign posted out front. "Shelter Closed Due To Aggressive Bear Activity." There are eight icy miles to the next shelter, so I'm going to just pretend I didn't see that.