The finish line of the AT is at Mount Katahdin in Baxter Park in Maine. It is the highest mountain in Maine at 5,268 feet and was named Katahdin by the Penobscot Indians. Katahdin means "The Greatest Mountain" and is a fitting place to end a long hike in the woods. Many claim it is the most difficult climb of the entire hike. However, Baxter Park is closed to camping on October 15th each year. It is still possible to hike up the mountain after that date, but one would have to find a place to stay outside of Baxter Park and hike the end of the Trail in one day. Additionally, weather conditions often force the rangers to close the park to hikers. The park closes officially the last day of October. Many times, thru-hikers have hiked all the way up to Baxter Park, but are too late to finish the Trail on Mount Katahdin. So, as important as it is to not set a time limit for oneself to properly enjoy the hike, it is best to reach the end before October 15th.
In order to give ourselves plenty of time to reach the end, we will be departing in March. This means we will be hiking and camping in cold weather and snow for at least the first few weeks of the hike. We experienced this weather firsthand when we camped on top of the beginning point of the AT this year on a road trip down to Florida for a family vacation. We were not prepared for the cold weather then, but next year we will be. Now we know that just because it is blazing hot in some places in Georgia, up in the mountains it will be very cold.
During my spring break from community college in 2008, I decided to embark on my first long hike. At this point, not owning a bike, a car, or a driver's license, my primary means of long distance travel was hitchhiking. However, too many run-ins with the police from trying to hitchhike on highways had dampened my spirits and trying to hitchhike on other roads was just too unbearably slow. Since I had several days, I figured I would walk from Grand Rapids, MI to Upland, IN to visit a friend at Taylor University. The distance was somewhere between 180 to 190 miles. The first day I woke up early and took the earliest city bus to the southern edge of town and began to walk. And walk. And walk. I decided to be really strict with myself and so I walked twelve miles without stopping. And when I did stop, I allowed myself only five minutes for each break no matter how tired I felt. So at the four-minute mark I would begin to strap on my backpack to ensure I was actually stepping again within the five minutes. I walked on and on, nibbling on cheese and cereal during the breaks along the way. By early evening I was tired, and began to eye my surroundings in search of an out-of-the-way spot to sleep for the night. Before I could find a suitable place, houses started to dot the road around me. Then more began to spring up. Then a school. I was now in a fully developed residential neighborhood with no hidden places to stretch out a sleeping bag. So I walked on and before I knew it, I was in the center of a sizable city, Kalamazoo, 45 miles south of Grand Rapids. I never thought I'd reach this city in one day, but here I was! I could walk 45 miles easily in one day! I'd get to Upland in no time! At this point I was desperate to get off my legs and found a Taco Bell so I cold sit down, eat, and figure out what to do next. I knew there was no way I could walk the several miles it would take to walk any more south to more rural places where I could find a hidden place, and there was no way I was going to retrace my steps up north. So I called a friend and told him to look up nearby cheap motels online. At that point I cared more about nearness than inexpensiveness so he directed me to the nearest motel and I fell asleep instantly after paying who knows how much money. The next day, of course, I had to walk some more. However, my legs felt so stiff and every step inflicted so much pain that in an hour I hadn't even walked two miles. So much for being able to walk 45 miles in a day. At this rate I'd be lucky to walk ten miles. Fortunately, several drivers saw me walking and despite having no thumb lifted in the air, they stopped and kindly offered me rides. One man was driving way south and drove me most of the way. I probably walked less than ten miles more after that first day to arrive on the steps of Taylor University! There isn't a chance I could have walked a mile more.
In the summer of 2010 I excitedly purchased my first road bike. Within days of owning it, I planned a 100-mile trip down to Spring Arbor, MI. Two biking pals decided to ride out to meet me halfway and ride the rest with me. Again, I left early in the morning and pedaled and pedaled, without breaking often. By the time my friends called to determine when they should leave I was already halfway done. This was great! I could ride 100 miles in a day no problem! I pedaled more furiously and by the time my friends met up with me, I was only ten miles away from our destination. By the time we reached my friend's home, I had ridden 100 miles in a neat 10 hours. I felt like Lance Armstrong! The next day my friend and I rode sixty miles to another friend's house so we could all go to a concert together the following day. That ride was much slower and we took many breaks, but it still felt good. On the last day the three of us would bike a measly eight miles to the concert which I was sure would be simple! It was not. It was laughable, how slow I was, and every second hurt immensely. My friends surely thought I was the worst biker ever as I barely made it through those eight miles in what must be a record for the slowest eight mile bike ride ever!
Will the third time be the charm for learning from my mistakes?
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