The AT is a long song….

«Well, don’t worry, don’t be afraid, I’ll give you good cheer…»

Lately, “Life’s a Long Song” by Jethro Tull has been floating around in my head. Not just as an earworm, but as a kind of soundtrack for these last few days before I hop on a plane and trade the familiar rhythms of home for the long, wandering melody of the Appalachian Trail. There’s something appropriate about that melody: simple, firm, quietly profound. It’s the kind of song that surprises you, like big changes in life do.

Cuddura cu l’ova, Swordfish caponata, Pasta with sardines, Cannoli

Easter was especially significant this year. We got together, met new friends, enjoyed each other’s company and celebrated with a traditional Sicilian feast. I savored every bite, knowing full well that soon my meals will be more like boiling water and adding whatever. After trying a wide variety of backpacking foods these past few months, I know I’ll be fine. They’re not exactly Swordfish Caponata, but they’ll keep me going. Plus, the trail has its own culinary magic: trail angels with hot food, lodges with surprising amenities, and small-town restaurants that feel like oases. I look forward to being a part of the trail community again. A network of strangers who somehow feel like future friends.

«Hey, before you go, can you take a look and fix it…?»

The song says that the daily tasks of life can seem mundane. Until you’re about to be gone for six months. Suddenly, every little task becomes a little ritual of letting go. The house will continue to function without me, but I still find myself doing the rounds “just in case”: refueling the batteries in the cars no one drives, cleaning the dryer vent, unclogging the washing machine drain (how is there so much dog hair?), and replacing the garbage disposal that decided to stop working at the last minute. Honestly, it’s better now than when I’m 500 miles away. And yes, I absolutely lined up the Insinkerator label perfectly. Some details matter more than others.

Does anyone already remember the phone numbers?

Preparing the team has been its own adventure. I thought I had found the perfect 10,000 mAh power bank: sleek, lightweight, and beautifully designed. Until it broke during a looting. A reminder that even the best equipment can be fragile. The oatmeal soaking container that came with the mail-order oatmeal? Surprisingly heavy. My recycled peanut butter jar suddenly looks like a work of engineering genius. I also upgraded my phone as the previous one was limping along with 70% battery. The new one is a powerhouse, but the “easy transfer” process was anything but. Password vaults are great until you realize that you don’t actually remember any of your passwords. Or your own phone number. Or your wife’s.

The Gear Commitment Update

I keep taking things out of my backpack, trying to make peace with the fact that I’m carrying a bear can and a guitar. That’s 4.5 pounds of stubbornness. So I trim the edges, swap, simplify, and learn what really matters. Shakedown nights are one thing, but you always know you’ll be home in a day or two. The moment of “tomorrow I’m on a plane” is different. You start to think in terms of commitment, not convenience.

Some of the decisions about the equipment to “board the plane tomorrow”

1. Shin-length leggings are out; Ankle-length runner leggings are in fashion.
2. I will bring the heaviest sleeping bag and change it in Virginia. The weather looks good, but the beginning of spring on the AT has a life of its own.
3. The camping pillow is over. My puffy in a stuff sack works well. Especially now that I have a strap to keep it from sliding off the air mattress. The new problem is that the old camping pillow was suitable for the air pump. I hacked an adapter to make the air pump work with the mattress. Yes, backwards, I know, but it seems like some equipment manufacturers want to keep you in their ecosystem instead of playing nice with others. Anyway, REI in Sandy Springs, here I come.
4. Foam clogs are in fashion; The flip flops are out.
5. The pee bottle situation: No more one-liter polycarbonate bottle; The jar of peanut butter is ready. A second jar of peanut butter, not the same one for soaking oats described above, just to be clear. It’s not glamorous, but at 64 years old, walking out of the store in the rain at 2 a.m. is even less glamorous. The trick will be to notice which recycled peanut butter jar is which in the middle of the night. I appreciate the reflective tape.
6. Rain gear is still a puzzle: a rain jacket (also my windbreaker), a giant poncho (which will make for epic photos), and an umbrella. The AT is famous for its many types of rain: Forrest Gump rain, sideways rain, “where does this come from” rain.
7. The kilt for rain stays on. There is no debate there.

Start a long walk….walking

Tomorrow the first steps of the journey begin. Not on the road, but through airports, light rail systems, and the suburban miles in between. A friend offered to take me from the house to the airport. This seems like something mundane and easy, but it’s actually a very meaningful gift considering how crowded the San Francisco Bay Area freeways are and all. I appreciated the offer, but there is something poetic about starting a long walk…walking.

Leaving the house on foot feels good. Thank you to everyone who sent well wishes, prayers and blessings. They mean more than you think.

Life is a long song… and the OT is a long road… and I’m ready to hear what the next verse sounds like.

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