Tearing up my quads on the long trail

Yo Don’t think that people like to acknowledge how much luck plays a role in the outcome of your walk.

Perhaps by crediting results to luck, people feel like you are denying the skill, experience, and hard work that went into the effort. Perhaps, recognizing how much of their success can be traced back to good luck, people become uncomfortable in the reality that their luck can change at any moment.

good luck

Yesterday I was lucky enough to meet Marc at a coffee shop in the city. We exchange numbers, and he offers to take us from the lodge back to the pass at the trailhead in the morning.

He tells us how he cycles this trail every day until the first snow of the season (which he predicts is a week or two away). We wave to him as he drives back through the pass. Chicken and I share another moment of gratitude and disbelief at the complete kindness shown to us by strangers on this trail so far.

My good luck leads me to Burnt Mountain, where the steep, rocky slabs are easy to navigate in their dryness. In many steps and movements, I think to myself how challenging this mountain would be if I couldn’t trust my feet to not slip out from under me if the rock was wet.

At the summit of Mount Ethan Alan, I check my map to see that I have exactly 100 miles left to walk between here and Canada. I can’t decide if that feels very far away or directly imminent.

Look for the fire… The trail actually goes straight up this rock wall.

the last breath

Before I can start thinking about the end of the trail, I need to focus on the long, steep climb up Camel’s Hump, another of Vermont’s five 4,000-foot peaks. The views at the top are incredibly impressive, as you are always in the delicate and powerful alpine ecosystem.

In the distance, I can see Mount Mansfield, the highest peak in Vermont and the last mountain over 4,000 feet in the state of Vermont. It’s a beautiful moment: me, chicken, gentle winds, beautiful views and a setting sun.

Then, my bad luck begins.

There is no good luck, very bad, terrible

I know the descent will be long and steep according to the map, but I’m so excited to get to our camp for the night as I start going down the hill too quickly.

I take a step and feel a stab of pain near my knee. Often odd twings are normal on a long walk, and I can shake them off and leave them. In the span of five or so steps down the hill, the stab of pain becomes an aching and tearing at my knee with each step forward.

It takes me hours to descend the final mile to our shelter. With each step on my right leg, I’m convinced I can feel my quad muscle shredding near my knee.

Finally, I reach camp and tell Chicken, «You may be the only one of the three of us to make it to Canada.» I briefly tell him what happened and he understandably has a lot of questions about what this means moving forward logistically.

I tell him that, while I appreciate it, I need to not talk about this tonight. I know my closest rescue location (7 miles ahead) and plan to use those miles to evaluate if I can continue walking on my leg in the morning.

All I can do is control the things I can control: I drink a liter of water, do my nightly stretches, and settle in to sleep as much as possible.

One way or another, tomorrow will decide the future of my hike.

If Camel’s hump has no enemies, I’m dead.

Today I listen almost at home to the Keston Cobblers Club and it sounds like trying to cry very quietly in a shelter so you don’t wake the others.

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