Day 7: Blue flames and blister tape

I woke up on top of the Rocky Mountains to a cold, foggy morning that made me seriously question my life choices.

You know that kind of morning when your sleeping bag is the only safe place in the world and everything outside seems illegal?

Yes. That one.

Luckily, Mountain House Scrambled Eggs came to the rescue. Somehow, those little powdered eggs revived me enough to get my blood moving and convince me to start walking again.

The hike to Indian Grave Gap was surprisingly pleasant. In the end, I met a couple whose husband told me that he had tried to hike the entire Appalachian Trail with his brother about 40 years ago, and that was the exact point at which they gave up.

Which means I’m officially outgrowing the ’80s hikers.

I will definitely count this as a personal victory.

Shortly afterward I made a very serious and important executive decision:

My first blue glow.

The trail followed Tray Mountain Road for a bit before reconnecting with the AT near a parking area. Instead of heading straight back into the woods, I chose the gravel path.

And honestly? I don’t regret it.

It was a totally different experience walking on a road instead of going through a dense forest. It felt strangely refreshing, like ironically switching from the treadmill to walking outside. I’m sure my feelings about walking the road will evolve over the next 2,000 miles, but for today, it felt like a treat.

Plus, I knew the climb up Tray Mountain was going to be brutal and I wasn’t emotionally prepared for the ultimate brutality.

The climb was tough, but reaching the top was incredibly rewarding. I wanted to sit and enjoy the view with a snack…but the bugs had other plans.

So I fled downhill to the Tray Mountain shelter.

At the shelter, I made the mistake of taking off my shoes and assessing the damage from seven straight days of hiking.

Blisters between my toes.
A twisted blister forming on the outside of my heels.
Hot spots on the balls of my feet.

I love that for me.

Fortunately, there was a roll of Leukotape in the shelter and I wrapped my feet so well it looked like the first stages of a mummification ritual.

Survival on the trail = glamorous.

I’ve been trying to get better at signing shelter log books, so I proudly wrote a message like this:

«Tray Mountain is my bitch.»

Censored, of course.

Immediately after writing it, I turned the page and saw that a Boy Scout troop had signed right in front of me.

Instant regret.

My original plan was to meet Dread Pirate and Dan at Deep Gap Shelter. But as the miles passed and my mummified feet slowed, I had to face reality:

Kelly Knob wasn’t happening today.

So I humbled myself and stopped at Addis Gap.

Growth.

I set up my store in a mild slope (luxury camping) and we headed to get water.

What I expected: a quick ride.
What I got: A full expedition down an old logging road into the valley.

At least I got my feet wet again, which almost made the trip worth it.

I barely had the energy to make dinner, but Mountain House Buffalo Mac & Cheese came through when I needed it most.

I ate. It got into my quilt. And immediately he fainted.

Another day less.

And somehow, despite the blisters, blue flames, and humble mileage adjustments…

I still can’t imagine being anywhere else.

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