At what point do I give up.
Do I resign myself to the fact that I’m I’m just another nobody.

I wanted to be great. To do something great. To be different. To be true to myself.

Of course everyone wants that. That’s why teenagers are so endearing, they really believe that they will be different. That the rules won’t apply to them.

But the rules do apply. And life happens. And one day you wake up and you are over 30 with kids and a mortgage and a minivan. And you aren’t cool. You aren’t changing the world. You aren’t special.

And you scream inside your skull,”This is NOT what I wanted.” While you pass the time at your nice, but meaningless job.
I haven’t given up yet. Not quite.

But you begin to wonder if you are not just whining.

Maybe it’s time to join the sheep.
To line up with the lemmings and head for the cliff.
Shut the fuck up and keep walking.

Did I mention that I hate people.
Why yes I did.

It’s not their fault however, I’m just incompatible with most of them.
I know the problem lies with me. I see the shit that is popular on TV and the Internet, and I hate it too.
Most of the time it doesn’t matter. But sometimes I can’t avoid it.

I hate the Internet, too.

I know. I know. You’re shocked and appalled.

How could you hate the Internet? You spend so much time on the Internet. You love it, you know you do.

Nope. I hate it. It’s not as confusing as it seems.

I hate the Internet because it falls so short of its potential. The Internet could great. Hell, it should be great. But is is not.

Take, for example, political blogs. You just cringed, didn’t you. (Hold that thought it’s going to help me prove my point.) Political Blogs should be awesome. Blogging on the Internet is something that is unregulated, uncensored, and unpressured by the influences of large corporations, lobbies or the government. You can say what ever you want on your blog. If you want to talk about politics, you can tell us what you really think about this issue or that one.

You could, but you don’t.

The political blogs I’ve read, with only a few exceptions, don’t offer up any unique insights or thoughtful discourse. They simply parrot whatever talking points are being distributed that week. Thousands of blogs, all saying the same thing.

I could rail about this for hours but the point is this.

I hate the Internet because it doesn’t even come close to living up to its promise.

I love this heat.

I hear everyone else complaining, but not me. Bring it on baby.

I’ve been waiting all year for this. I’m convinced that a mild spring contibuted to my funk. But now, it seems, summer has arrived. And not a moment too soon.

The way the air is thicker, the plants seem greener. It makes me feel alive. I should move to Florida. All I need is a job down there. If anyone is looking for a Network Engineer/part-time writer/part-time photographer/half ass web designer just let me know.

I can’t wait to walk back out the door and feel the sun beat down on me. To feel the beads of sweat form at my hairline, to remind me that I’m alive!

I should go down to the city. There is nothing like the city in summertime. At night, long after the sun has gone down, heat still radiates from the asphalt and the bricks.

But even if I don’t make downtown, which a probably won’t, I should make a point of sitting out on my deck tonight, after sunset. Just sit there and soak it in. Hell, I might even pick up some near-beer for the occasion.

This is what I live for.

There was no battle.

I know what I put up there for a title. But let’s face it. There are no battles for me. I’m 34 years old. I work for a living in a secure job. I have a wife and kids. I drive a minivan. (You can’t imagine how much it hurts to admit that.) I have disturbingly yuppy-like tendencies. There will be no battles, no adventures, no quests for me. Which sucks.

I grew up with heroes like Spiderman and Luke Skywalker. Normal guys who suddenly found themselves having big adventures. But it looks like it isn’t going to happen for me. So I amuse myself by picturing the drudgery of my daily life as a series of battles with evil opponents who must be vanquished. Pathetic. I know.

Today, I went in to my backyard. I guess I hadn’t been out there for a while. The grass was up to my knees and going to seed. I used to have such a nice lawn. I mowed it, but all that did was make all the weeds in garden seem that much worse. I decided that this was it. I had no choice but to take on the evil weeds. And rescue my poor overwhelmed perennials.

I armed my self with gloves and and my weed pulling tool. In just over 2 hours I filled 3 garbage bags with weeds. It was very hot out, and I loved it. I don’t know why, but being out there working and sweating like that makes me feel more alive somehow. So it wasn’t exactly a pitched battle between good and evil. But those weeds were out of control. Dandelions, those prickly one that will get you even with gloves on, clover, and a bunch of stragglers from my neighbor’s garden. I don’t know why some one would want to plant ground cover that spreads in a garden that small. And not just one kind of ground cover, but several. They have spread all over her garden, into her yard, into my garden.

I did mange to rescue my lily of the valley, liberate my lavender, and free my hostas. I still need to mulch and plant some annuals. The yard needs some weed and feed. I’ll try to get this done and then I can feel free to ignore it for a few more months.

After the 15 mile day on Sunday, I slept deeply. When I woke up it was after 7. One of the other hikers in the shelter was already gone. The other was making himself breakfast.

The rain had stopped but the air was still heavy with humidity. The Kiteman and Short Term were still burrowed in their bags. I crawled out of my bag and was assaulted by the cool, wet air. I slipped some pants on over my shorts and put on my shell jacket, which was mostly dry now.

I cooked my breakfast, (easy, hot and yummy) of instant grits and I drank some coffee. I was in no rush. I all day to get to the next shelter. It was nine miles away over fairly level terrain. As usual, Short Term and the Kiteman hit the trail. I sat around and drank my coffee.

I like these longer trips. This was the third morning waking up in the woods. You probably wouldn’t believe how quickly a person can forget their normal routine. In just three days, it seemed as normal as can be that I was sitting at a picnic table, putting my boots on. Just another day at the office. Get up. Cook breakfast. Pack up gear. Put on Boots. Walk. Walk. Walk. Eat some lunch. Walk some more. Arrive. Unpack sleeping bag and change clothes. Make dinner and eat it. Relax a bit. Maybe read or write something. Go to sleep. It is a lifestyle, I could get used to. Or, more accurately, it is a lifestyle that I very quickly do get used to.

The walking on this day wasn’t bad. I followed the trail down a hollow with a picturesque stream running next to it. Across the stream from me, I could see ruins. Foundations of buildings long gone. It was long ago, in fact, a village formed by newly freed slaves. They lived there successfully for decades until the federal government reclaimed the land to create a National Forest on.

The trail led me around the Lynchburg Reservoir and to a bridge across the Pedlar River There sitting at the bridge were Short Term and the Kiteman. I announced that I was going to cook myself lunch. As I prepared my ramen noodles, Short Term gathered his stuff and headed off towards the climb that was ahead of us. I ate my lunch and the Kiteman stomped around looking grumpy. He was tired. The walk the day before had done him in. I assured him that toady we were only walking 9 miles and he would feel better tomorrow.

Walking all day is hard. It is even harder when you do it with a 40 pound pack on your back. Then add in a rocky trail that goes over mountains and down in to hollows. It is hard work and it can wear you out. The exhaustion is cumulative. One long day wears you down for the next. If you are used to weekend trips, these longer trips can come as a quite a shock. During a weekend you can push yourself and then crawl in to work on Monday and try not to move much. But it was Monday and we still had miles to go.

The Kiteman headed out as I finished cleaning up my cooking kit. I packed my gear up and hit the trail. The climb was pretty steep, but I pushed on at a pretty good pace. In time, I passed the Kiteman. And then Short Term. Finally I arrived at the Blue Ridge Parkway. There I found Short Terms car waiting for me. Short Term and the Kiteman caught up after a few minutes. For Short Term, this was the end of the trail. We grabbed supplies out of his car and said our good byes. Short Term got in his car and drove away. The Kiteman and I were left in the woods. So we did the only thing that we could. We started walking.

A short, but steep climb brought us to Punch Bowl Mountain Shelter. Each Shelter has a unique feel to it, and this one was no exception. There was a pond there, which seemed odd up here on top of mountain. We unpacked and got ready to cook. We needed water. Most shelters have some sort of source of water. At this shelter, it seemed to mostly just be this pond. We pumped the water through the filter, but it just didn’t seem like enough.

The pond was shallow and murky. The water was relatively warm. And if that wasn’t enough; there in the water, there were salamanders and polliwogs. Yes polliwogs, you know those critters who were once tadpoles but haven’t yet become frogs. And as I took a closer look, I realized that the polliwogs were attacking and killing the salamanders. Somehow no amount of filtering seemed like enough.

It was a beautiful setting. The pond has mist rising off it and the air was remarkably still. It was easy to relax there. There was a young guy, whose name escapes me, there when had arrived. Several hikers showed up while we were preparing dinner. Micheal the Austrian, Swanson and Kurly, Sourdough and his dog Action Jackson, Rocky and Bullwinkle. We talked about where we had hiked and what was ahead for us. We exchanged stories, we laughed, and we listened. As the sun went down, the peeper (they’re frogs,) joined in. It was a great night. I went to sleep feeling relaxed and looking forward to several more days of hiking.

I’ll see about getting some pictures up for this one on Monday or Tuesday.

It’s been one week since you looked at me, cocked your head to the side and said “I’m angry”…

One week ago…
I hurt a friend.
What a stupid way to start a week.

Six days ago…
I took 300 photograghs.
I refused to give up… and made a friend smile.

Five days ago…
I had a productive day at work.
Waited in the doctor’s office with my son for 2 hours, only to see the doctor for 5 minutes.
I had a restless night with vivid nightmares… again.

Four days ago…
Had a long day at work.
Set up a wireless for network for my brother.
Had another restless night.

Three days ago…
I woke up late…
and said fuck it.
Took a mental health day from work.
Went to the coffee house with my wife.
Wrote a letter to a soldier.
Made a friend laugh in front of everyone, without anyone else knowing why.

Two days ago…
Meeting in the morning.
Chinese for lunch.
Easy afternoon.
Went out to eat.
Did my stupid radio show.
Ended my show feeling like I should puke… again.
Yet another restless night with vivid nightmares.

Yesterday…
Spent the day setting up my new work laptop.
Had lunch with my best friend and my wife.
Drove to the ‘Lake House’ for a visit with family and what I hope will be a relaxing three day weekend.

Today…
Big Breakfast.
Helped my Mom get Airline tickets for emergency trip to Florida.
Took a ride in the boat.
And the day is still young…

Just another week.

But you knew that.

Yesterday I pontificated about the lost art of letter writing. But I didn’t think about what I was saying.

Too bad nobody writes letters any more, I said. I pictured days long gone, I pictured Civil War soldiers writing letters and hoping to get some from their loved ones.

Thank you Rose.

Thank you for pulling my head out of the sand and pointing out that there are still soldiers sitting out there hoping for mail.

I am going to write a letter to a soldier. You should too.

Tell them you are proud of them. Tell you care that they are out there and you are thinking of them. Tell them what you’ve been up to. Tell them anything.

You can go to AnySoldier.com to get the address of a soldier who will give your letter to some soldier who has not received any mail. Go ahead and make some ones day.

Once again, thank you Rose for reminding me that these thoughts I have are best backed up by action.

If you’ll excuse me. I have a letter to write.

that I hate people?

I took the day off work.

I feel a little… cough, cough … ill.

And besides, my employer gives me 12 sick days a year. And I ‘m a fairly healthy guy. So why not take mental health day, here or there?

I decided that what I needed to cure what ails me was a nice relaxing morning at my favorite coffee house.

So here I am sipping on some sort of fair trade Guatemalan coffee, writing Part 4 to the backpacking story, listening to my iPod and generally enjoying myself. And poof the wireless connection disappears. I look over to where the access point is… and I see this hammerhead unplugging it. I look around there are 4 or 5 other people on laptops.

I watch this egghead fucking around with the wireless access point, and I realize that he must be a consultant that the coffee house had hired to do something with their network. By consultant, I mean some asshole who thinks he knows everything about computers and went in to business for himself, in order to take money from those who nothing about business. He sees me watching him and comes over.

“Your connection might go down. Actually, you probably not connected right now.”

No shit Sherlock, you disconnected the access point from the network.
“I see that.” Somehow he missed the sarcasm.

“Well, yea it will be down for a few minutes.”

Great. I hope I didn’t lose everything i just typed you assclown. Did you ever think to mention this shit before you rudely disconnect me and all the other customers from our work?
“Great!”

He did whatever it is he was doing, and now I’m back up.

If you’ll excuse me… I have to talk the owner about his wireless network, and educate him about “consultants.”

Once upon a time…

Before the Internet. Before phones and faxes. Before airplanes and automobiles.

Back when the world was a bigger place, people used to write letters. Not just a note scratched on to a peice of paper and thrust in to an envelope. No.

Letters were serious business. A person might spend days composing a letter. Making sure their thoughts were in order. Updating the recipient, not only what was happening, but on the writers frame of mind. His joy and sorrows. His frustrations and insecurities. His hopes.

Why, you might ask, would some one do all that?

The world was bigger back then. If you grew up and moved to the west coast, leaving your family back east. It was likely, that they would never see you again. Even people who lived closer, a different town perhaps, might only see each other on rare occasions. The idea of travel simply to see some one was unheard of.

If you were to keep in touch, writing a letter was your option. And getting it delivered wasn’t an easy matter either. You had to wait until someone had reason to travel to wherever you wanted your letter to go, and then arrange to have it delivered.

So you wrote. And updated. Added and amended. There was no rush, so you thought about what you wanted to say. And you said it. You used as many words as it took.

People wrote wonderful letters. Soldiers who missed their families. Politicians attempting to forge alliances. Old friends looking for and giving advice.

It’s a shame that no one has time to write a letter anymore. I am certain the world would be a place for it.

Who’s got the funk? I’ve got the funk.

It’s been hanging over me for over a week now.
Sometimes I think I’ve shook it. But it just comes back.
I don’t know what is wrong with me. I really don’t. I could say that this thing or the other just ruined my mood, but that would be bullshit. The truth is that this thing or the other probably wouldn’t have happenned (or at least not have been an issue) if I had not been so buried in this shit mood.

Am I feeling sorry for myself? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m trying. I really am. I’m trying to smile, be positive, to decide to be OK. Not happy. Just OK. That what I’m shooting for here. An even keel. But then when I’m not paying attention, I realize that I have slipped. That everything looks and feels like shit.

Things are not going the way I want.

I want to write. Write on this blog. Write on another. Write a book.
I barely write n this one, less on the other. Book? Don’t make me laugh.
I want to be in shape and be healthy. But my fucking knee is still swollen to twice its normal size. I can’t run with it like that. Of course, my knee didn’t make me pig out on Kentucky Fried Chicken last night. And I do not care it the Corporation changed its name to KFC. It’s still Kentucky Fried Chicken, Dammit!
I could do something besides run. And KFC? What about the pizza, ice cream, and other junk I’ve been shoving down my throat for the last 2 weeks?
I want to design and implement this pet project of mine. And then I have another to work on.
But I don’t. I stall and stall. It won’t get done unless I just sit dwn and do it!
I want to organize my pictures and see if I can make some money selling them.
What could be easier? But more stalling.
I want to mow my lawn. I want to mulch and weed my garden.
My yard looks like shit. I used to have the nicest yard on the block.

Things are not going he way I want, and its all my fault.

Fucking funk.

There are a couple of factors that one has to be aware of on the Trail. One of the Biggest is hydration. Walking miles at a time with a 30-40 pound pack on your back is hard work. You lose a lot water as you walk. And since you are in the middle of a forest, you can’t just expect to be able to drop in to a Bistro and grab a Dasani. Water is available along the trail in springs and little mountain streams. Most shelters have a natural water source nearby. The problem is that water is heavy. You don’t want to wander off into the woods carrying gallons of water. The way to address this is simple. If you encounter a water source, drink as much water as you can. Then you can carry a reasonable amount on you, 32 ounces or so.

Before I started of that morning I went to the spring and filled up all three of my 32 ounces Nalgene bottles. I treated them and then proceeded to drink two of them. Amongst hikers this is known as Cameling Up. I headed down the trail, sloshing slightly as I walked.

In my personal Backpacking experiences there have been few constants. You never know what is going to happen. But you know that the sun will rise in the East, going downhill will lead to going uphill, and that Short Term is a slow and steady hiker. So, I knew that before long I would catch up with him. I wandered along; the trail was nice and relatively level. I was making relatively good time, although I did have to stop twice to take a whiz. Maybe I Cameled Up a bit too much.

I came to the first climb of the day, a series of switch backs that worked their up the broad side of a ridge. As I climbed I was confident that I would overtake Short Term and the Kite Man. I expected to come around the next bend and see those guys standing there catching their breath. But it never happened. I got to the top, and there was the Kite Man.

“Hey Man.”
“Hey.”
“Your dad just left.”

Now I was worried. I mean maybe I was going too slowly. I’ve always walked faster than Short Term. But here he was barreling ahead of me. Things were not as they should have been. After five miles or so, I came down to an old fire road, and there was Short Term sitting and waiting for me. And if that wasn’t strange enough what he said next completely blew my mind.

“I’m feeling pretty good.”
“I guess so, I’ve been chasing you all morning.”
“So I was thinking, how far is it to the next shelter?”
“Like five more miles.”
“No, no the one we were planning on stopping at, the next one.”
“I’m not sure, a few miles.”
“Since we’re making such good time, I was thinking that maybe we should push on.”

Push on? Who was this hiker, and what did he do with Short Term?

We climbed another ridge a 600 foot ascent in a mile or so. As we sat at the top, the temperature dropped, and then it started to rain. We walked in the rain. Down the mountain and up the next. And down again. We arrived at Cow Camp Gap Shelter, wet cold and tired. The Kiteman had no interest in pushing on to the next the shelter anymore.

The Kiteman and I got there first. The shelter was empty except for a ratty old sleeping bag that some one had left there. As we were taking off our packs we surprised when a voice spoke to us from under the ratty sleeping bag.

“Hey guys.”
“Hi.”
“Where’d you get on the trail?”
“Crabtree Meadows.”
Blank Stare.
“Just south of the Priest.”
Blank Stare.
“North of here…”
“Oh… Yea. Priest Mountain? Okay.”
“How about you.”
“Well I was kinking the trail, but now I’m kind of just camping here.”

I took a look at these guy. He was wearing a hoodie, not exactly hiker clothing, but you never know. I didn’t see a pack or any equipment. My ‘creepy-meter’ was pegged. The Priest is one of the steepest mountains in Central Virginia. Every hiker we had talked to had not only heard of it, but was anticipating it. I wanted to get out there bad. But we had to wait for Short Term and we needed to take advantage of the dry shelter to cook a hot lunch if we were going to push on.

When Short Term arrived our friend had retreated under his bag again. I jerked my thumb at the bag to let him know someone was there. Before long he popped back out.

“Hi there”
“Hi.”
“Are you hiking alone sir?”
“No, I’m with these guys.”
“Do you get separated often?”
“Not really”

We unpacked our stoves and boiled water for Ramen Noodles. Our Friend rambled on about how he was trying to survive in the wilderness by eating wild edibles, but he had been fasting for three days. To purify his body and soul. He tried cook by heating a rock and cooking on that, he said. He said a lot of things. Most of it didn’t really make sense.

It was clear to me that this guy was insane. People talk and joke about people being insane all the time, He’s so crazy, that guy went nuts, so on and so forth. We’re very casual about it. So it comes as a shock when we are confronted with the real thing. I cooked my food and ate quickly. I paced as Short Term and Kiteman finished up. I was impatient to put some distance between us and him. I was sure he would happily steal our gear, if given the chance. I was concerned that he might do worse.

I thought of another shelter 350 miles north of here (near the town of Dunncanon Pennsylvania,) the Thelma Marks Shelter, where a decade ago two thru hikers were murdered by a deranged homeless person. I knew this, and I knew that there had been a few other murders on the trail in last 20 years. I felt that the trail was mostly safe, but now I was standing not 10 feet away from someone who could easily be described as a deranged homeless person.

When Kiteman and Short Term had the gear stowed and were ready to leave, we set off to climb one more mountain in the rain. I have never been more happy to set off in to the cold rain as I was right then. After a mile or so, I stopped check over my shoulder.

We pushed on. Up another 600 some odd foot ascent and then down the other side. A 2700 foot descent. The rain started to pour on us. And we walked down the mountain. As I descended, I walked through areas where some white wild flower carpeted the forest floor. The rain and humidity held the aroma of the flowers in the air. Despite the weather and my weary legs, I could not help but be amazed at the simple beauty of the experience of walking down this mountain.

At long last we reached the shelter, it was almost eight. We had been walking for nearly 12 hours. We changed out of our wet clothes and crawled in to our sleeping bags to warm up. We were all to tired to cook, so we had a dinner of trail mix, jerky and whatever other snacks we had on hand.

We were all asleep by nine.

I hate people.

I don’t want to. I want to be a people person. I can imagine me talking and having fun with all of these people, but they aren’t real people. They are interesting people who want to talk about things not just pratter on about TV or the weather. People who have opinions and are willing to defed them, but who also are looking to expand their horizons and therefore are willing to listen to different points of view. Me and my imaginary people would have such a great time.

Too bad they are not real.

Take tonight for example. My wife is having some sort of stupid candle party. Whatever. I know it wasn’t designed for me, I just planned to lay low and stay out of the way.

Of course I didn’t get out of work until after 6. Then my wife asked me to stop by the grocery store to pick a few last minute items for the party. I didn’t get home till just before 7, which is when the part started. All I wanted to do was change, grab something to eat and retreat to the geek cave.

Well that’s not going to happen. The party ladies are already showing up. To hell with it, I think, who needs to change. I’ll just grab some food and take the kids and retreat. Too late.

Lady I barely know: This is Jeckles.
Lady I’ve never fucking seen before: You’re Jeckles! I though you were Mrs Jeckles’ brother you two look alike!
Lady I barely know: Well Married people start to like a like!
Lady I’ve never fucking seen before: he he he
Lady I barely know:Jeckles look at hard I’ve slaving to prepare for your wife’s party.

I guess anyone who reads this will think it is no big deal…

Who fucking cares right? I do. What gives you the right to walk into my house and start babbling at me. If you have nothing to say, Shut Up! Why do you feel the need to flap your jaws and joke with me like we’ve been friends for ages.

At some point I had the Audacity to try to leave the Geek Cave. I just wanted some coffee. The door to the Geek Cave was barricaded with Candles. Once they got those clear, some person I don’t know yells out, Jeckles, you can’t just barge in to a room of women with out knocking.

Oh yea, you stupid cow, it’s my house. I own it. An why the fuck are you talking to me.

I really wish I could have some coffee.

I’ve posted more words on this site in the last few days, than I have in the last couple of months…

I’ll have more on my Backpacking trip (and more pictures) soon.

I am so dreading work. I peeked at email on Friday, and there are a few issues stewing that I’m going to have deal with when I get back. As a matter of fact, there are several things that will need to be addressed first thing on Monday, more than I’ll be able to get to. Something will have to wait. I’m sure some one will get pissed. I can feel myself getting stressed about it already.

I have to just take a deep breath and remind myself, that I’ll do what I need to do and in a couple of days it will all be straight again. I just need to get there and get it over with.

But it was so nice to not work. Some people say they would be so bored if they didn’t work. Not me. I have plenty to do.

This past weekend, I had a chance to go to the Paw Paw Tunnel on the C&O Canal. I shot off 120 pictures . Some of them very good.

There is no way around it. Tomorrow will suck. Luckily, after Eight hours or so… I’ll be able to walk out the door. I don’t know when I became Johnny Punchclock, but there is more to life than work.

Wish me luck…

We headed South along the Appalachian Trail under sunny skies, our spirits high and our legs still fresh. We walked at a good pace through the woods.

Backpacking is strange business. Just ask anyone. Go up to your average person on the street and tell them that your are planning to walk off into the woods. Not only that, but that you are going to carry everything you need while you are out there on your back. And just to keep it interesting you are going to walks miles at a stretch over rocky trails over tall mountains. Go tell them that and you’ll look at you as though you had two heads.

It is an odd thing to do, the body and mind know it also. They react in odd way to this trips at times too. And that’s what happened that first day on the trail. As we walking through the woods, I caught a whiff of Hash Browns. Fast Food Hash Browns. I could smell it as clearly as if I walking in Burger Kings parking lot. I called back to Capt. Shutter, “Do you smell that?”

“Hash browns?” He answered. We checked with Short Term and sure enough, he smelled them too. We caught the fragrance of Hash Brown several times over the next mile or so. Why or how, I’m not sure. The mind reacts oddly to being thrust out into the woods and being told to walk.

We climbed to the summit of a mountain called Main Top at just over 4000 feet. After a quick rest, we walked to rocky outcropping, not far from the summit, called Spy Rock. We scrambled up the rock face of this large rock that was once used as out post to monitor troop movements during the Civil War. Once on top, the view was breathtaking. It was 360-degree view showing us nothing as far as the eye could but more mountains. Not a house or road was visible. It gave some perspective in to how deep in the woods we really were. We could see the distinctive summits of the Priest and the Three Ridges to the north. To the West was Main Top, close to us and dominating the Horizon. Also visible were the Mountains known as the Little Priest and the Cardinal, plus many more whose names weren’t known to us.

I pulled out some food, since this seemed like a good place for a snack. Capt. Shutter looked at me and said, “I brought this along, just in case we came to a place like this.”

He reached into his pocked and pulled out something colorful. “It’s a small kite,” he explained. He proceeded to the center of this large rock and proceeded to fly his kite. This was the moment I had been waiting for. He had just earned a new Trail Name. From this point on, I will refer to him as Kite Man.

We descended for a while until we came a small road. There we met another thru-hiker. He was going to go into the small town of Montebello to stay at a Bed and Breakfast. We chatted for a moment and then were on our way again, passing a few more North Bound hikers as we went.

I arrived at the Seely Woodworth shelter ahead of Kite Man and Short Term. I took off my pack and relaxed. The stretch of trail that we walking on runs through the George Washington National Forest. The shelters built by National Forest Service are all the same (at least those that I have encountered,) modest three sided buildings. Big enough to hold six sleeping hikers comfortably, eight if you squeezed. Shelters come in different shapes and sizes. Some very nice, others leave a lot to be desired. This shelter fell in the middle. It was functional and clean, but not much more.

My concern was simple; I wanted to know if there were mice living in the shelter. I didn’t use to care too much whether or not there were mice, but after my experience last summer, I was much more concerned about spending the night with mice. As I was inspecting the shelter for mouse shit evidence of mice, Kite Man arrived, not long after that a young thru-hiker came down the trail.

His name was Grizzly and it was his Birthday. He was planning to go to the Bed and Breakfast in Montebello. Apparently, they were offering free food to thru-hikers. As we talking to him, Short Term arrived and then another thru-hiker named Stogie. We chatted for a bit and they headed of for hot showers and free food at the bed and breakfast.

I didn’t see any sign of mouse activity, but we set up tents anyhow. A little while later some Boy Scouts rolled in, followed later by two more thru-hikers. Every one got busy with the business of preparing dinner and then as the temperature dropped, people moved into the their sleeping bags. It was one of the nicest days I have ever had on the trail.

I slept soundly and woke up early. I got up and was surprised to see that neither Short Term nor the Kite Man were up yet. I fired up the stove and made myself some coffee. As I started to prepare my breakfast, the others joined me. We ate our breakfast and then broke camp.

Short Term left first, he likes to get an early start. After a bit, Kite Man got started. I finished sipping my coffee, took some pictures and added an entry to the Shelter Log. And then I put on pack and headed out on the trail.

Every year, I like to take a week or so and take a longer backpacking trip. This is part of my overall goal of hiking the entire length of the Appalachian Trail one section at a time. Four years ago we started out at the North End of Shenandoah National Park. This year I find my starting point about 130 miles further south, at Crabtree Meadows. In past years, I’ve walked with my dad and sometimes my brother. This year, dad would be going again and we would be joined by my buddy, Captain Shutter.

On the Appalachian Trail, many hikers user trail names, made up handles that they use to identify themselves, not unlike CB handles or internet Nicknames. I go by the name The Rain King and I call my dad Short Term, since he seems to forget the most strenuous parts of a hike not long after walking them. Or in other words, if it weren’t for his short term memory loss, he would probably quit hiking. Going into the hike I didn’t really have a name for Captain Shutter. On some of our earlier hikes, I had christened him Trail Donkey, but he had been hiking at a much better pace, so that name no longer seemed right. I was sure that a new name would present itself before the hike was over.

Crabtree Meadows is over 200 miles from where I live. A friend from work kindly offered to drive us down to our starting point and to help us shuttle dad’s car to the point he would get of the trail. She had gone hiking with us in April and earned the trail name Uber-bot for her relentless and untiring stride. It took us about four hours to get to the tiny town of Montebello, Virginia. From there we just needed to drive four miles up a small road to Crabtree Meadows. We didn’t go far on this small road before our speed was reduced to a crawl. We climbed steeply up a mountain, only to go back down the other side. The mountain dropped away sharply from the road. And the road itself was rutted and filled with large potholes. As went farther down this road, I began to feel extremely guilty for making my friend drive her minivan over this over-glorified goat-trail to a destination that I’d never been to before. We pushed on, if for no other reason, because there was no where to turn around. After inching over large bumps, down sudden drops and around hairpin turns, we finally reached the gravel parking lot that marked our destination.

Short Term was there waiting for us. He showed us where he set up his tent, and then drove off, with the Uber-bot following in her minivan to deposit his car 30 some-odd miles down the trail. Capt. Shutter and I set up our tents and then looked at our surroundings. We were camped in a field at about 3000 feet of elevation. The horizon was ringed by the summits of mountains. You couldn’t help but have the feeling that you were on top of the world. You might think that after driving to such a remote location, that we would be very isolated from the rest of the world. But that wasn’t the case at all. Camped about 200 yards away from us was a group of giggling college girls, and not long after we finished setting up our tents a family of four showed up and sent up their tents. Some time later, a bunch of drunk rednecks drove by in their Jeep Wrangler, seemingly intent on finding a way to drive it stupidly enough to overcome the design of the vehicle and roll it any way.

With our tents pitched and food bags hanging from the limb of a nearby tree, we had nothing to really do but wait. We sat on a large rock and looked at the clearing sky and talked. The air was chilly, but not uncomfortable. We sat in the dark and talked, occasionally wondering around to see what we could see. At long last, we saw head lights headed up the road towards us. We walked down to the parking lot and retrieved Short Term and thanked our friend the Uber-bot again. She drove off and the three of us were left high in the mountains of central Virginia, with nothing but the contents of backpacks.

It was late so we climbed in to our tents for the night. I read a chapter from my book and then turned off my headlamp and went to sleep. Maybe it was the cool air and the warm sleeping bag, or maybe it was just that I had slept very little the night before, but I slept incredibly well. I woke up around 6:30 and got out of the tent set up my stove and started heating water for coffee. Capt Shutter and my Dad joined me before long. We cooked our respective breakfasts and enjoyed the meal under blue skies. Once breakfast was cleaned up and our tents were stowed, we put our packs together and set off for the trail. We followed the little gravel road for about a half mile to an elevation of about 3500 feet. There we came to the Appalachian Trail. And as if on cue, two hikes came towards us, heading North. We exchanged pleasantries and in the process realized that they were thru-hikers.

After chatting for a moment the hikers continued north up the trail. And we set off in the opposite direction, headed towards a shelter that located 7 or so miles to the south.

I’ve been on vacation. Have you noticed? No of course not. I never update this damn thing. For all you know, I’ve been on vacation since, like, March.

I’ve been busy. What can I say. Busy at work. Busy Camping. And Busy with all My Other Internet Distractions.

Anyhow, vacation…

I went out to the woods last Friday and emerged victorously on Tuesday. I walked 40-some miles and I’ll write about it shortly.

Yes, I just did that Shitty Blogger thing and made a post to tell you I will be posting soon. While I’m at it I should promise to post more regularly. Be Proud!

A story coming soon and maybe even some pictures.

If you need more Jeckles before that, read Dave McAwesome’s interview with yours truly over at Maximum Awesome. I know. It’s from a month ago. But honestly, you didn’t come here for breaking news did you?

More soon.

Probably.