CT Days 5-6

Day 5 – 12.5mi

I hope that sleeping next to the creek will make the night a little cooler, but I still sweat in my sleeping bag. The thing is, it feels to weird to go bagless, like I need some weight over me, for security or something. So I resign to being sticky. Also, to the dank smell of my shoes wafting through my vestibule.

Pack up, get climbing. It’s short but very hard, I’m sweating and gasping to the top. Thankfully, it’s all (mostly) downhill to the highway, where I’ll get the free bus into Frisco. I have been getting increasingly more exhausted and less enthusiastic every day so far, and I hope that a town stay will help me to reset for the next leg.

All through the forested hills, I get glimpses of the Tenmile range hovering pale like a mirage, drifting ever closer, looming ever higher. The trail goes straight up and over that sky-high wall. But I won’t be trying that today. It’s funny, on the uphills the thought of more miles makes me sick, but on the downhills, I start thinking a little more wouldn’t be so bad. No, I know I need a pit stop before continuing on.

I hear poles clattering on the switchbacks below me. We meet at a vista, overlooking that great jagged range. They say they are going to try and make it over, and as close to Copper as they can, today. Queue the self-doubt. Should I follow? Make the most of these clear skies? Who knows what it will be like tomorrow? They continue on and I am caught. But no, I must trust my initial decision, it will be right for me.

Another hiker passes me on the descent, so fast. I’m not used to populated trails, so now I have to contend with the agonizingly competitive part of me. Social opportunities, turned into mirrors of judgment, as I constantly question myself with outside eyes. What about chill out? What about just enjoy the company? Wherever I go, the mental tyranny follows, and I can’t just hike away from a cruel self-image.

I reach town before noon, and am able to check in early to my motel. The rest of the day goes smooth as butter – errands, laundry, eating lots of oranges. Though nothing extraordinary happens, I feel energized by the end of it. Maybe it’s the hot shower, maybe it’s processing that I just completed the first 100 miles of the trail. But looking at the map, it still feels like I haven’t made a dent in 500 miles. And the unknowns scare me – terrain, weather, health, and other endless items.

I have no chill, there’s so much to stress about. But at the same time, the adrenaline kinda makes me feel more alive, even though I hate it. Why do I choose to feel so much of this? That is something I often wonder, as a risk-averse person jumping into a very undetermined thing. But the saving grace is that one thing is determined: the direction I must go (literally). That’s more than I can say for my life in general, and probably what keeps me going, despite the mental and emotional (to say nothing of the physical) pains that must be endured.

Day 6 – 15.6mi

I wake up too early, nerves like electric wires. Make it to the bus stop too early. I’m buzzing, in anticipation for the challenge of the day.

The bus whisks me through the sunrise, around the Tenmile range, to Copper Mountain Resort. I plan to slackpack segment 7 backwards (west to east), climbing up from Copper, over the ridge, and descending to the highway where I stopped yesterday to catch the same bus back to my motel.

Teeth chattering from the cold, and the electricity surging through me, I make my way from the resort to the trailhead on a paved bike path. Fear, will it ever leave me alone? It’s a relief to start pacing up the incline, to give my muscles something to use that fear for. Forward momentum.

I choose to start from the Copper side because it is a shorter climb, and I want to get it over with sooner, both for my nerves and also considering the sky. Showers again this afternoon, and I’d like to be out of this steepness by then.

And steep! As I clear the treeline, I can’t catch my breath. I feel a little dizzy, uncomfortable at the drop. This incline is just a little too much for me, the trail is too narrow. I keep seeing myself falling, down down, to the tiny lego village below. I try to keep my eyes on the trail and be very conscious of my footing. There is a safe way through, of course, of course.

The peaks on the ridge are all numbered – up to ten. I round peak six, and then mount the ridge just before five, into the rising sun illuminating the other side. Terrifying, beautiful.

Somehow, as soon as I can see the dirt ribbon winding across the flanks of the mountains and into the trees, all fear is gone. I can see the safe way through, now. Also, it helps that this side is a little less steep. I take my time going down, trying to enjoy the view, the feeling. My survival mind says, never again, thinking of that steepness. I try not to dwell on it, or the myriad of other thoughts that go along with it (is everyone else totally cool with this, am I the only one scared?).

I cross more than a handful of hikers while heading down, including one I briefly met yesterday. (I worry after, that I should have asked their name. Meeting twice warrants a name, right? Ah my clumsy social skills). I wonder if I’ll see any of them again tomorrow, when I continue on west from Copper.

Back in the trees, I have a sob. Releasing the emotional tension of the morning. Sometimes I feel so intensely I think I’m going to die. It’s a relief when I come out alive.

I make it back to my motel room in the afternoon, not before being greeted by a few drops of rain. I could eat, and relax, and enjoy these comforts before I’m out on with my big pack again early tomorrow morning. But I find myself obsessively checking various weather reports, maps, and so on, trying to find out what tomorrow has in store for me before it arrives. Why must I make everything such a stress-fest? I catch myself in the spiral, finally. What use is it to try? It feels good to try and chase certainty, but it never ends. But I cannot stay still.

I don’t understand this life, and how we are born for chasing, and chasing makes us suffer. I don’t understand how to extricate myself from the vicious cycle, because it’s all I’ve ever done. What happens in place of that? Who can say what ‘letting go’ even means, even feels like?

I tear myself away, hot shower, lie in bed. I could ruin everything I want with chasing. I even chase when I do not know what I want.

All I need to do is go out tomorrow and see what happens. But it’s really hard to be content with just that. It feels empty and daunting. I must think out every scenario: that is being good, that is being prepared. Spontaneity feels reckless, to me, who has always cared about doing everything the right way. But aren’t I here, with a small hope to break out of the confines of what came before?

I wonder of the solitude of this journey so far, and if it is going to remain this way. I love being alone, it’s true. Other humans feel too complicated (or I feel too complicated to make other humans deal with me). I wonder, because of all the people I saw on trail today. So many! But I leave it at the wondering.