Dirtbag’s guide to surviving the post-trail blues

Not sure how to navigate society after finishing AT? It’s best to start planning your PCT hike as soon as possible!

When I left the Austin airport, the first thing I noticed was the sun. Only four days earlier he had reached the summit of Katahdin. Now, I was in a concrete wasteland, every street sound magnified, the sun oppressive without the AT forests to protect me. It was as if he had been in a coma: he was completely disconnected from modern society and current events. All the people were so clean, the men’s faces so naked. Showering every day seemed like an exaggeration and I didn’t dare wear anything but my city clothes. I set up my hammock in my friends’ backyard instead of sleeping on the couch inside the house. The first time I introduced myself using my legal name, I felt like I was lying.

«Post-Trail depression is brutal,» I warned my friends along the way, «last year, after leaving the Camino del Norte, I spent weeks doing nothing but scrubbing my apartment from floor to ceiling and lying on the couch. You need to have a plan for when you get home.»

My plan was simple: keep moving. I spent five days at home catching up with my normie friends and then hit the road. You can’t just follow the trail foreverI consoled myselfWinter is approaching and your knees need time to recover. So I started traveling miles by car instead of on foot. Over the next three months, I drove over 12,000 miles and traveled across the country to visit my AT friends. From Austin to Taos to Phoenix to Boise to Austin. From Austin to Atlanta to Boone to Chattanooga to Austin. From Austin to Wichita, from St. Louis to Austin. From Austin to Denver to Austin. As I was driving I heard Purgatory by Tyler Childers over and over again, and I talked on the phone for hours straight. I loved watching the changing landscape, the cowboy towns that turned into canyons, the canyons that turned into saguaro cacti. The moment I pulled into town, I felt the PTD, or as I like to call it, «The Pit» approaching.

“It’s right there,” I told a friend, pointing just below my right foot. «It’s trying to suck me in.»

Playing bananagrams with my mom and grandma, with my feet wrapped around the legs of my chair to keep me afloat. Throwing the sheets off my bed, running to my friend’s kitchen to make her a nice breakfast, The Pit spinning behind me. Screaming at the echo as I cycled through a tunnel, The Pit dragging me down, down, down. Sometimes I managed to gain some ground and could only see it in the distance. Then, when I least expected it, I would become absorbed in its depths, eating nothing but junk food and completely unable to get out of bed, staring Heated rivalry for the third time. The only way out once I got to that place was to go completely wild, to fight against a certain inertia.

I made sure I had somewhere to be at noon so I couldn’t stay in bed until nightfall. I was technically homeless and looking for work, but I didn’t dare apply for anything I didn’t want to do, which was most jobs. In January, I quit road trips cold turkey and quit my job entirely, taking up dancing. Every night I danced for hours, two-step at the honky tonks, bachata and salsa at the club, ecstatic dancing on Sundays and ballet classes at the studio. Dancing was the best antidote, it made me feel like DanceOff again. It was flowing, it was creative, it was shining. People couldn’t take their eyes off me, I was connected.

Little by little, staying in one place no longer made me feel so bad. I had absolutely nothing to do, so what did I want to do? I wanted to bake apple pie, search little free libraries for collage materials, and learn to play the guitar. I wanted to start a secret smut blog and try on prom dresses at the mall. I stopped drinking and helped build a pigsty. I read The path of the artistlearning to rest and nourish myself without constant changes. I began to find purpose in things as simple as reading a magazine in a bubble bath. The Well no longer stood.

Since I did my first trail at the age of sixteen, my life has been a constant cycle. At first I can be normal. I can teach or go to school and I can make sense of that lifestyle. But finally, my vision starts to blur, my head starts to tighten, and I think: If I don’t get out of here, it won’t be me anymore. And so I continue the path and, on the first day, I am myself again. I’m alive. Until the course ends and then I face The Pit.

I am very excited to enter the PCT this year. I’ve been dreaming about this for so long, it will be so beautiful. But, for the first time in more than a decade, I left society without urgency. It wouldn’t have killed me to stay in Austin. Somehow, through these six months of turmoil, I have learned how to integrate my dirty self into society. And if I can find a way, in the midst of my adventures, to settle down… Well, wouldn’t that be growth?

This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any products or services you purchase using links in articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price they would otherwise pay, and their purchase helps support The Trek’s ongoing goal of bringing you quality backpacking information and advice. Thank you for your support!

For more information, visit the About page of this site.