John Rambo Lives!
I hiked Tray Mountain on a hot and humid day. Sweat accumulated on my scalp and trickled down my face, burning my eyes. It was hard to tell if they were biting flies or mosquitoes that were buzzing around my head through the sweaty reflection, the blaring yellow sun, but I knew they wanted flesh. My hike turned into a hurry which became a hustle and then a scurry. My skin beat red as blood filled each capillary. It was hot. Hotter than Hell.
Clumsily and out of breath I caught up to two young bloods. They asked me my name and I told them my story. “Tee,” I said. “I hiked in 2011 and did the PCT in 2014. Yeah, I used to go by other names, but – they’re irrelevant now.” “Naw,” belched the male, pompous and loud. “That shit sticks with you,” he said, and he breezed off down the white blazes.
I needed a break. I needed water, food, shelter. The skeleton of life. I hit the blue blazes to Tray Mountain Shelter, threw down my rucksack, and slammed my back against the wooden floor. The bugs were thick as ever, swirling around my head like thoughts, poking and prodding repetitvely. Who have I become?
Quickly again I lit out of the place, back to the white blazes to crush some more miles before nightfall. I had thought this time around, maybe during this hike, I’d get some cute name related to my research like Footnote or History Grrl. But who wants to be a footnote? Hell, who wants to be cute?
Not out here, dear reader. Not on the Appalachian Trail. I don’t need my knife to be John Rambo. The Appalachian Trail made me John Rambo.
Katahdin – John Rambo’s comin’ for ya. You drew first blood.
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take the hill, John Rambo! love it! thanks for my dose of trail this chilly morning = )
Conquer, John Rambo!!! I believe in you! 🙂