Harpers Ferry & A Maryland Plague

We rolled out of bed in the Front Royal Super 8 slowly. We moseyed on down to Dunkin to write a few postcards and then walked to Martin’s to resupply. The pace of our morning turned out to be a bit too slow and I had to rush around town to be ready for the 2 pm public shuttle back to the trail. First I ate a pint of gelato, then ran to the post office to mail a few things home, I stopped to lose rock paper scissors with a boy yelling at me from a local schoolyard, and then I would run to base camp to do a quick shave and mustache trim, and finally I would make it to the trolley in the nick of time. When I relayed all this to my partner via text, she teased me about being a 19th-century man on vacation in Italy rather than a thru-hiker. I couldn’t lie, she got me pretty good there.

Out of Front Royal

We made it back on trail mid-day and set out to reach Whiskey Hollow shelter 15 miles away. We were slow to get back into the rhythm of the trail and when we were 5 miles out the rain began to come down. We trudged along with our umbrellas raised, quiet in our little pain caves. We would reach the shelter in the dark. As much as I logically know everything is going to be alright, there is something about the mixture of night hiking and rain that sets off an anxious urgency in my reptilian brain. A glance with our red lamps showed a full shelter so we moved quickly to find a flat spot and raced to pitch our tents.

We woke up and found the rain continuing to pour down. Neither of us wanted to be the first to mention stepping out into the rain, so we laid in our tents, mostly dry, for most of the morning until it became abundantly clear that the rain wasn’t going to stop. We hopped out around 9 am, quickly packed up our things, and then got on our way.

The rain was light but persistent. Our main worry wasn’t so much rain getting us wet from the sky, but the damage it had already done on the trail overnight. Puddles of water to step through, wet rocks and boardwalks to slip on, and tall grass and overhanging foliage to soak through everything it comes in contact with. The rain stopped after a few hours into our day, but the aftermath remained a challenge.

The Virginia Roller Coaster

9 miles into our day we reached the southern end of the Virginia Roller Coaster, a 14-mile section of repeated steep and rocky climbs and descents. It was nothing we hadn’t seen before, but after the smooth, gradual coasting of Shenandoah, it was certainly a shock to the system. Virginia was kicking us in the butt on the way out of the state, but I would have preferred an Irish goodbye. We found an old restaurant called the Horseshoe Curve, aptly named for the road feature it was located on, to get a quick bite of classic bar food and fuel us up our last 3 miles of the day. “My Hometown” by Bruce Springsteen played as we ate mozzarella sticks and fries amongst old school photographs and military memorabilia.

We wake up early and hit the trail. My Achilles was sore from the steep climbs of the roller coaster yesterday, so I started by waddling like a penguin. Like an old car on a cold winter day, it takes me 20 minutes to slightly warm up, but after some time I feel relatively normal again. I experience some slight anxiety when I think about our plan to tackle the 4-state challenge, a 43-mile hike touching 4 different states, tomorrow, but this feeling transforms into excitement when I remember we are taking a day trip into Harpers Ferry first.

Misty Morning Reflections

As I hike in the morning, the forest transitions from a dark gloominess to a mystical aura when the sun illuminates the fog. Our hiking party grows larger with our shadows who once again accompany us to the west. Among the cheery bird chirps, I hear a solitary mourning dove sing its solemn song. I’m hit with the urge to hike alone, so I pause and let Hotdog get a lead on me.

When I ask most experienced thru-hikers what their favorite trail is, the answer I hear most is the PCT. They talk about the grand, awe-inspiring views and landscape you get to walk through every day. I’ve never hiked the PCT, but I have to imagine that the AT, while it does still have plenty of fantastic moments, doesn’t hold a candle to the grandiosity of the PCT’s epic landscapes. Being in the monotony of the green tunnel, I think the AT strips you bare and forces you to find joy and contentment in the small things: The small local diner with character underneath someone’s home that you would never otherwise find, the little county park with trash cans to empty days worth of food, and the campsite next to a stream offering easy drinking water and white noise to fall asleep to.

An Afternoon in Harpers Ferry 

We rolled up to the Virginia/West Virginia border early in the day and set up our tents. We planned to head 2.5 miles down to Harpers Ferry to take in the town and resupply and then head back to our tent so we could start the 4-state challenge early the next morning and hit Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania in a single day. From our campsite, the trail descended straight to the huge and majestic Shenandoah River which we crossed by bridge. As we walked over the bridge one of the scariest instances of driving I had ever seen happened when a pickup truck, apparently too impatient to wait in traffic, swerved into oncoming traffic and drove 60mph on the oncoming lane’s wide shoulder whizzing past us and the barrier between us. Staring out at the river with his headphones in, Hotdog was completely oblivious to the whole situation.

Posing at the ATC 

We walked along brick roads until we came to the Appalachian Trail Conservancy Visitor Center where we were looking forward to getting our picture taken on the porch and put into the ATC database. We flipped through all the hikers who had come in before us and pointed out the few that we knew. We left the start of the trail over 1000 miles ago as hikers 1437 & 1438 and we came into Harpers Ferry as hikers 208 & 209. “Not too shabby”, we told ourselves.

We walked up and down the streets of the town, taking in the beautiful old homes. There also seemed to be a surplus of tuxedo cats accompanying these homes. With only a few miles of trail running through West Virginia, they seem like a shoo-win for the highest ratio of cats per mile. For dinner, we ate at a small local deli and would later see our waiter again while sitting outside 7-11 packing up our resupply. He graciously bought us some hot food on the way home from his shift. Afterwards, we headed back up the steep hill to our campsite and as my body trudged along in pain I tried to mentally prepare myself for the suffering that was sure to come in the day ahead.

4 State Fiasco 

I woke up just before my alarm went off at 3 am. I was not feeling particularly excited to get my things packed up and get on the move, but a caffeine packet got me juiced. My tune changed for the better as we descended into Harpers Ferry. As we crossed the Shenandoah River I was enchanted by the Big Dipper directly ahead amongst the clear night sky. One by one we followed the few steps ahead of us that were illuminated by our headlamps. At one point we took a wrong turn and wound up in a cemetery where a family of deer were sat down and staring at us like we had just invaded their privacy. We walked between the town’s historic buildings and then over the Potomac River to Maryland all while a rooster crowed to signal the morning.

Once in Maryland we had a long flat gravel stretch ahead of us for a few miles. I should have been psyched, but an Achilles issue had transformed into a foot issue that caused me pain with every step. The pain worked itself up into my brain with negative thoughts and injury worries. First came the anger and then an intense feeling of sadness and a desire for isolation too strong for me to hide. In addition to the foot pain came a draining of my strength and energy in my legs. My normal quick-footed pace turned into a slow stumbling shuffle. Only 13 miles into the day and everything felt like it was falling apart. Eventually, the sadness faded away and I couldn’t help but start laughing for no reason at all.

Hotdog was also starting to show signs of struggle and weariness. Our 160-mile period from the week before was starting to catch up with our bodies. A part of me is too stubborn to give up, afraid It’ll be an admittance of my weakness. This is a common aspect of my personality and one that comes in handy often. However, it too often prevents me from giving myself any grace. My value to myself becomes inseparable from my ability to achieve a desired outcome. I should be content with myself for simply being. So, against all of my natural impulses, I mutter the words, “I don’t think I’m going to walk to Pennsylvania tonight” to Hotdog, to which he replies, “I’m so happy you said that”. With that, our 4 State Challenge attempt was over.

Lose the Battle, Win the War 

We could have struggled onward in misery to hit our mark of 45 miles, but with 1150 miles left to walk in the coming days, the toll we would have placed on our bodies and minds would have only set us back in the long run. If one thing was obvious it was that we needed to rest and recover. I am personally proud of our decision to let the challenge go. It was the smartest move for our larger goal, and I’ve never been great at letting go, which has sometimes been to my detriment. The trail finds a way of teaching me the lessons I need to learn.

With a little added time on our hands, I enjoyed taking in some of the history of the area, from visiting Civil War general graves to the original Washington Monument. What Maryland lacks in views and difficult terrain, it makes up for with history and amenities. As we struggled our way into camp, we settled on a new agenda for the coming days: take it easy, rest, and find somewhere to zero. Despite abandoning our goal we still wound up finishing the day with a marathon.

The Hotdog That Fell Ill 

After falling asleep at 9 pm I woke up 12 hours later at 9 am the next morning. It was exactly what the body needed, and I walked out of Pine Knob Shelter feeling a lot better than when I had walked in. We eased up on ourselves and only planned to walk 12 miles to Raven’s Rock Shelter for the day, split by a ride into town for a short one-day resupply to last us to Zero Day Stay, a hostel we planned to take a 5-mile nero at the next day.

The morning miles went by quickly, and we found our shuttle driver Linda waiting for us early in her Honda Fit. Linda was a nice, soft-spoken retired woman who said she finally found a job she liked, shuttling hikers around, after she decided to retire. It’s funny how life works out. We went to the grocery store and Subway in Smithsburg, MD, and when she saw the deflated look on Hotdog’s face as he walked back to the car, she told him to remember to take time to breathe. I thought it was great advice, but in Hotdog’s case, he would need more than a moment to catch his breath. He had told me a few times throughout the day that his stomach was bothering him. I had hiked in front of him for a bit when he called me and let me know he couldn’t keep the calories down and had to get a shuttle to a motel. I was worried about him, but happy he was getting to a safe spot for the night. I set up camp on my own, and for the first night in nearly 60 days on the trail, Hotdog and I had been separated.

What Goes Around Comes Around 

The harsh sound of a drone radiated directly above my campsite at 11 pm and a bird chirped on in protest. As I hiked on the next morning I found a diaper in a tree and graffiti covering rocks on the trail. It was clear we were moving through a more populated area. I started to feel a slight discomfort in my stomach but chalked it up to paranoia from Hotdog’s illness. Eventually, I made it to Pen-Mar Park and found my energy levels taking a dip. My anxiety about getting sick continued to grow, until I found the park playground’s zip line and proceeded to rip down the line at least 10 times. After I reached my limit, an 80-year-old parkkeeper rolled up on a golf cart and we chatted while I waited for my hostel check-in time to roll around.

When I got into my private room at the hostel, everything started to take a turn for the worse. The chills came on, the strength sapped out of my body, and I was glued stuck to my bed, unable to even reach for the TV remote. Waves of nausea came in and out, and I became extremely anxious about throwing up. I did, however, successfully manage to hold back any episodes. I suffered through a restless night and in the morning made the call to find a ride into the Days Inn in Waynesboro, PA to isolate myself and find time for some solid rest. Hotdog had recently left the hotel to get back on the trail and make up the miles he had missed.

Reunited with Hotdog 

I spent the next few days vegging it up in bed and watching TV. Futurama in the mornings, Seinfeld in the afternoon, and then whatever movie I could find in the evening to fall asleep to. I had started to feel better but still suffered from a lack of energy and trouble moving food through my digestive system. Hotdog was still facing similar issues also, and we found ourselves reunited once again when he decided to get back off trail and return to the Days Inn. 

I find it shocking how quickly previous bad habits can return. Stuck in my hotel room I trap myself in a vicious cycle of mindlessly scrolling through social media on my phone. Insecurities and feelings of overwhelm bubble up to the forefront of my mind, but even when I find it in myself to put the phone down, I find myself picking it back up moments later. The trail offers me space to be calm, quiet, and undistracted, but it is clear to me that this hike is not a magic fix-all. I need to consider how I can apply the lessons that I learn out here to my daily life at home as well. Being sick was a major bummer, but I was grateful that It gave me the foresight to see this.

Zipping Back to Trail

After several days in a real bed, we both woke up thinking it was time to return to the trail. We still had trouble processing our food and our muscles slightly ached, but for the most part, our energy was back. So, we found ourselves back at Pen-Mar Park in Maryland. We were supposed to be in and out of Maryland in a day, but here we were, back in Maryland 5 days after we took our first step in the state. The upside to all this is that we once again found ourselves directly in front of the park’s zip line. We looked at each other, put our feet on the small platform, grabbed the rope handle, and zipped off into the sky. A moment later we were hiking through the Mason-Dixon Line into Pennsylvania, ending our chapter in the South, and beginning our Northern saga.