500 miles of less noise

A quarter of the way behind us, and for the first time in a long time, my head feels… calm.

500 miles. I still can’t believe it.

We woke up to a cool and windy morning. Temperatures have dropped a lot in the last few days and it’s hard to get back into the cold after getting used to the warm, cozy mornings. Fuego, as always, brings me coffee while I’m still in my sleeping bag, which at this point seems like a level of luxury I probably don’t deserve.

I wake up to the smell of coffee and little by little I come back to life. I stay wrapped in my sleeping bag for a while, packing it and my pad, listening to the others outside making breakfast, talking about plans, miles, weather. Nobody is in a hurry, but somehow everything gets done.

Now we pack our bags almost without thinking. Everything has its place. It’s a routine.

We hit the track at 8 in the morning. The plan is to do 25 miles.

Shortly after, we reached another 500 mile milestone! It feels fast. Once you start doing 100 miles a week, it almost feels like flying.

And then the trail opens up to one of the most beautiful places we’ve seen yet: Grayson Highlands State Park. Wide open landscapes, scattered rocks, low bushes and herds of wild ponies grazing around us.

I had never seen wild ponies before and the sensation took me by surprise. It was a simple, almost childish joy. The kind that appear unexpectedly and don’t ask for anything. Somewhere in the middle of all that, there was magic of trails, sandwiches, and coffee. We stayed longer than planned, talking (as always), before moving on.

The trail became rocky and Fire kept laughing at me as I tripped over roots and rocks every two minutes. I guess everyone has a superpower, this one somehow became mine. Next time you might want something more useful.

At 5pm we still had 10 miles to go. We stopped for water, took a short break, and then continued doing exactly what we’ve been doing all day…walking. It’s surprisingly slow.

The last climbs surprised us a little. Steeper than they looked on the map. Or maybe it was just the miles that caught up with us. Except for the cold morning, it was hot all day.

We arrived at the shelter around 7:30 pm, as planned. There was still room butOnly the top bunk, although without a ladder. Just upper body strength and a level of coordination that I definitely don’t have. The boys accepted it, which seemed like the safest possible outcome for everyone involved, especially considering a possible midnight relegation.

Dinner was instant noodles upgraded with garlic shrimp, parmesan, and some greens I found in the hiker’s box.

I got into my sleeping bag tired, happy and in great need of a shower. Smiling, with a calm and empty mind.

No stress. Just that simple curiosity about what the next few days will bring.

And somewhere between all those miles, something changes.

At my house in Vancouver, I have it all. A roof over my head, food, comfort. And yet, sometimes I feel anxious. Restless. Like I’m always a little behind on something I can’t even name.

Here I carry everything I need on my back. Food for a few days, water from the fountain that comes next. In the morning, I often don’t know where I will sleep that night. And somehow, that uncertainty feels easier. Life comes down to the basics. Eat, walk, filter water, drink, walk, sleep and repeat.

There’s something about that simplicity. About moving your body for hours, breathing fresh air, being physically tired in a way that feels deserved. It doesn’t seem like a big, life-changing breakthrough.

It’s more like my brain finally stopped running ten tabs in the background. And then there are the people.

Hikers. 99% of them are amazing. Open, kind, driven by something that’s hard to explain unless you’ve felt it yourself. We are all different, but at the same time, we are all looking for something similar. We encourage each other. When someone is having a bad day, others step in without even thinking about it. I have never experienced anything like this anywhere else. How complete strangers can become close in just a few days. Maybe it’s because everything unnecessary disappears here. What remains is simple. And real.

That night, lying in my sleeping bag, after 500 miles, I realized that the trail really doesn’t give me anything new.

Just silently remove everything that is not needed.

And what’s left seems enough.

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.