I’m walking across the country again

The mysterious backpack people

I was on the Appalachian Trail for the first time in 2003. A new ice cream shop just opened in my hometown that was right next to the trail, and my dad took me on an 8-mile hike there. My memories of that day are more like quickly fading flashes: dipping my toes in the water at the bottom of a waterfall, my dad explaining to me the difference between white and blue flames, someone with a huge backpack waiting in line for ice cream. After the hike, we ate 2 tablespoons of Bellvale Bog, still my favorite flavor, while watching the sun set over the valley. My dad pointed to a flashing red light in the distance and told me that’s where New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey intersect. I don’t know if that’s true, but I still tell everyone that. That day has stayed with me.

Back then, I didn’t know anything about hiking or how far that trail continued in any direction. It wasn’t until Father’s Day 2010 that I interacted with a hiker for the first time. We were standing in line behind two of the mysterious people with backpacks. My dad started a conversation with them and they explained how they started in Georgia and how they were trying to get to Maine. It consumed me during our 2 mile hike to Cat Rocks. I started fantasizing about what was after Cat Rocks. What had they already seen on the way to New York? How did they get food? Where were they sleeping? I couldn’t get it out of my head.

I went through high school, high school, and college with the Appalachian Trail always in mind. I have to do well in school, or I could just drop out and hike the Appalachian Trail. I need to get a good paying job after college, or I could just ditch it and hike the Appalachian Trail. There was no future I could imagine where I wouldn’t walk it in its entirety. But like most normal people, I graduated and got a job. I did exactly what they told me to do. Do well in school, go to university, get a job and you will be happy. Although I wasn’t. My job was interesting and I loved my coworkers and living in Boston, but I constantly wondered how people did this their entire lives. Every week it felt the same. Time felt simultaneously stagnant and like it was constantly slipping away. I always escaped to concerts or to the mountains on weekends and came to work on Mondays already exhausted.

How I was finally able to start the AT

I was fired in November 2023. It wasn’t because I was a bad employee. I simply chose to be on a team where my job was essentially to code myself out of a job; the better our code was, the less job security I had. I wasn’t surprised when I received the email. Honestly, I felt a little relieved. Everything I had to do during the week suddenly didn’t matter anymore. Less than 5 minutes after the news broke, I began formulating my gear list for the Appalachian Trail. I announced it on Thanksgiving Day, the obvious day to drop a bomb on your family. When I found no support, I immediately booked a $39 one-way flight to Atlanta with a 10-hour layover in Philadelphia to solidify my plans. That’s a lot of money when you no longer have a source of income.

I spent the next 3 months collecting a varied assortment of gear from REI, craft companies, and a few things that had been in my closet since high school. I boarded my flight to Atlanta wearing every layer of clothing and with my pockets full of anything that wouldn’t fit in my personal item. The hours between landing in Atlanta and beginning the trip were both exhilarating and terrifying. I was surprised by the full weight of the challenge I was pursuing and feared the unknown and, above all, failure. After a restless night’s sleep, I boarded my shuttle to Amicalola Falls, sat through the hang tag presentation, and walked through the infamous arch to officially begin my journey. I reached the top of Springer Mountain just before sunset. My interactions at camp were minimal, but I made up for it at Hawk Mountain Shelter the next day. The following weeks featured a lot of magic on the trails and interactions with a wide variety of characters. The group I was hiking with fluctuated until I reached Hot Springs. I walked most of the trail with Sweet Stuff, Pigpen, and Bird Dog.

The hiker feeling

Our days were filled with inside jokes, countless useless ups and downs, tons of junk food, and lots of miles. Every day seemed like a new adventure. I can still remember each day clearly. Somehow, it’s been two years and they still haven’t merged. The most memorable moment was the day we arrived at Standing Bear Farm after 3 consecutive 20 mile days in the Smoky Mountains. Our legs were so sore that we were limping around the commune, bluegrass music was blaring in the distance, and tons of strangers were approaching us while we ate our $10 unlimited nachos dinner. Something about that moment felt so surreal, but it was also when it really felt like we were among hikers. That’s the moment our walk really began. Some days were amazing and others were very hard. We were drenched in rain for an entire week in the Shenandoahs and by the time we got to Front Royal, we were all in a bad mood. The crazy interactions with the animals kept things interesting and at times it seemed like Mother Nature was trying to take us down. One night in Pennsylvania, Bird Dog and I were struck by lightning while camping on a mountain. I had lost so much weight on the Whites that I suffered hypothermia on a rainy stretch of the Presidential Traverse. Those days tested our resilience and sometimes our friendship, but we overcame them and finally made it to Katahdin.

The end was just the beginning

You spend months preparing for the end of this journey, wondering what your emotions will be like once you touch the sign you’ve been imagining every day. It is a very calm and melancholic conclusion. We were so happy it was over, but it didn’t feel like it was really over either. You adapt so much to this nomadic lifestyle that suddenly everything ends. For the first time in months, we didn’t know what we would do tomorrow. The single-goal mentality quickly turns into an unsettling feeling of having to return to normal life. How were we supposed to return to the everyday monotony of working every day after going through something so life-altering? I still don’t know the answer to that question because I struggle with it every day. I sit in my office constantly remembering the ups and downs I experienced on the trail. I feel so tired of the endless stream of meaningless work overflowing my desk, and I have no idea what I want to do in the future besides another walk. I’m chasing that height all the time. Literally as I write this, I’m sitting at my favorite lodge, Old Colony Ski Club, after hiking Mount Jackson with some old friends. Unfortunately, I have to go back to work on Monday instead of continuing beyond the summit.

To escape the monotony, I have decided to start the Pacific Crest Trail this April. I knew I was going to do it from about mile 100 on the AT and, like Lauren before the trail, the idea of ​​hiking has been plaguing my brain ever since it became a reality. Apparently 2200 miles wasn’t enough for me. I’m excited to step back into the unknown and take them with me on my next adventure.

My name is Lauren Singer. I’m an Appalachian Trail hiker, an engineer, a King Gizzard and Lizard Wizard t-shirt smuggler, a potential Pacific Crest Trail hiker, and so much more. Feel free to follow my adventure by subscribing to my blog.

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