The Latest

As is every day, today is the day before tomorrow.(1) The day after that my friend Ruth and I fly from Denver, Colorado to Atlanta, Georgia, to embark on our little Appalachian Trail excursion. I have a one-way ticket, whilst Ruth has a two-way one. She's returning to Denver after nine or ten days of backpacking, whereas I'll return to Denver sometime in the fall (ideally of this year).

It's interesting to think that I'll be flying not quite two thousand miles home from somewhere in New England, after walking more than two thousand miles. Perhaps it seems silly to fly home when I could just continue walking, but there is no wilderness path between Maine and Colorado, and that is the whole rationale for the trip.

The AT isn't precisely a wilderness path, but few paths are anymore. Of course, any path ultimately negates the whole notion of wilderness, since the path itself is man-made. But man is a part of both wilderness and nature (as is all our plastic), and, without paths, our wilderness would likely never be preserved. Without access to wild lands, people would forget about them, and likely see no need for them. We need more people to appreciate the wilderness, not fewer.

Anyway, it's too early in the day for me to write or brainstorm so seriously. I've never even stepped foot on the AT, not even once. Nor have I ever laid eyes on a single white blaze. So I don't really know what the path is like. And that, I think, is a damn good reason to go find out. It is the unknown around the bend that initiates my stride.

The road to riches is paved with dirt.

1. That is until our tomorrows no longer arrive.

Do Leave Home Without It

I'm always slightly bewildered by what some people deem as "necessary" for their thru-hiking adventure, while others are capable of going with so much less. I myself have honed it down to damn near the bare minimum, like so many others equipped with a broad backpacking background. I've done this not because I like doing without (though in truth I do), but because experience has taught me what I need and don't need, and how much more enjoyable a trip can be with less. 

That's the interesting thing about long-distance backpacking---that less tends to add more (to the experience). Transporting a bunch of shit on your back (or anywhere else on you for that matter) is hard work, especially if you happen to be a pansy like me. I've never been much the weightlifter and backpacking is weightlifting masquerading as walking. And thru-hiking is an altogether different beast than even backpacking. It's backpacking times a gajillion.

Perhaps it's normal human behavior to believe we always need more(1), or maybe it's just good, old-fashioned greed, but almost everyone who's ever worn a loaded backpacked over vast distances understands THE VALUE OF LESS. Of having what's needed and not much else. On the long trails it's almost explicitly understood and accepted that the load you lug determines not only your enjoyment, but also your chances of success. In a nutshell, those hauling more tend to succeed less. (Granted, the definition of success is highly individual, and thankfully so, but in the case of "thru"-hiking, success means hiking a given trail's entirety in one fell swoop.) 

In this vein, my own needs have become less needy over the years.

My License Plate

In fact, most of my wants are no longer even wanted. While there are wants I continue to slip into my rucksack (like an electronic writing device, for example), I've found that my biggest want when backpacking is a delightful experience, along with wanting the opportunity to do more of the same. (And I've designed my life to do just that. I had to, too. Because, as Horace so wisely said, "It's later than you think." Or, as the modern day Horace, Steve Miller, put it, "Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future...")

Here's a list of things that less-experienced hikers are prone to bring along the Appalachian Trail, at least at the start of their respective journeys. Just as experience should help to guide these types en route, so too has it taught me that most those lugging all this crap will either not finish or not finish with these nonessentials.

DO LEAVE HOME WITHOUT IT

• A fixed plan
• A buck-knife 
• A machete
• Firearms
• Bear spray
• A camp chair
• A hatchet
• Camp shoes
• A dog
• Jewelry
• A GPS unit
• An attitude
• Binoculars
• A tri-pod
• A bear canister
• An umbrella

There's far more than this of course, but these are the more common of the superfluous items found on long trails.

Now for a disclaimer of sorts! Don't try this long-distance lightweight backpacking at home, kids! (It won't work, anyhow, being long-distance and all.) Moreover, it's important to understand that I don't really give a damn as to what YOU decide to carry with or on you, so take this with a grain of salt (though I'd omit that too, as there will plenty of salt found on you when hiking). It's your hike, your pack, and your fears. You needn't learn from my experiences, or anyone else's, but it would certainly behoove the beginner to let (his or her) experience do the teaching, as it generally will (assuming the beginner is capable of learning; admittedly, this is a heavy assumption).

1. We're certainly led to believe as much, what with all the BS marketing shoved down our throats: "You're still using last year's shit?! You poor sap! That shit is soooooo outdated! You need the latest, greatest! BUY NOW!!!"

Potential AT Hiking Partner up for Bid on Ebay!

How's this for an Ebay auction? This young man is auctioning off the opportunity for potential bidders to hike the Appalachian Trail with him. The opening bid starts at just $4,500! Should I do it?! He fails to mention whether he'll piggyback you or carry your backpack when needed, or whether he'll cook your food or offer foot rubs or sexual services, but I'm sure  all this could all be worked out for some additional funds.

Here's the description he's written for potential bidders...  

Hello, my name is Mike Laura and I am a 25 year old male with a lifelong dream to hike the entire Appalachian Trail. I am a masters degree graduate who has been trying to find work for 8 months now, but have had no luck in doing so and it's been very frustrating. I believe the economy will get better within the next year or 2, but for the time being I'd like to go on a journey in which I will not be able to when I do settle down at a full time job. The Appalachian Trail has been on my mind since I can remember. The way I see it, if there if was ever a best time to do it...It's now. I've got college below my belt, and I'm in the best shape of my life due to frequent hiking, exercise, and healthy eating.

There are only two things stopping me from leaving tomorrow, and that is the lack of funds and someone to share the experience with. I am looking for someone who shares the same passion as me when it comes to the great outdoors and completing the trail. I am looking for someone who wouldn't at all be burdened by having to support my financial needs as we go (Food, Gear Replacement, etc.)  

Some may think of me as absurd for asking such a thing, but I know if I couldn't find anyone to join me and had the money to spare then I would go for this right away. I'm a very easy going, common courtesy, and easy to get along with person. I have calculated it would take about 6 to 9 months, and would cost about 5 to 7 grand per each of us. Please feel free to message me if you'd like to talk more. If you decide to take part in this journey you will gain an irreplaceable experience, optimum health and a life long friend.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thankfully he offers free shipping, but unfortunately he doesn't make mention of any refunds, so I'll have to mull this over for a few more days...

Comparisons (or Appalachians to Oranges)

Here's another of my many problems. It's not a big problem per se. Nor is it, for that matter, even a small one. Perhaps it's not even a problem, but rather merely problematic. But I'll pacify my rapid-fire mind for a sec and call it a problem because, for the most part, those pesky little problematic things are indeed problems.

Anyway, my problem is I don't get nearly as excited about things as I once did. It's not that the child within has passed away; I assure you he has not! (In fact, those who know me will attest that I remain profoundly immature.) I really don't know, but maybe it's just a normal part of the aging process. Or maybe it's a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts---romanticizing and reminiscing about past experiences, while failing to fully enjoy present ones---that is until they've also slipped into the past, perpetuating the whole cycle. Is that what we do as we age: look back at the good, ol' days, even though these still are? Whatever the case, I just know that few things I do now excite like the things I used to do.

One such "thing" is my upcoming AT hike. When I think about the trip (which is far less often than you might think), I hardly ever find myself excited or the slightest bit animated. It's not that I'm bored with the idea or anything, just that I don't find myself restlessly anticipating the arrival of my journey. I guess it's always been this way though, since even when I was a kid I used to sleep in on Christmas morning, perhaps the only child in the world to do so. Maybe I'm still just a sleepy, dissatisfied kid, knowing that anticipation might only set me up for disappointment. Again, I know not. 

I think it boils down not to aging (and the simultaneous wearing down of life and vitality itself), but to my silly habit of comparing things (again, things being events in this case, as you have probably figured out by now). Few long-distance backpacking adventures will ever compare to my first, when I was so excited to see what was around each corner that I often walked well into night and well past the point of pain. That trip was a major turning point for me, and one of the defining experiences of my life. I endeavored to recreate those feelings by doing the same trail (the PCT) a second time, but the experience just wasn't the same, despite an increased number of events/stories and characters en route.

Worse yet, I found myself comparing the two trips, and I hated doing that. Here now, I'm wondering if I'll slip into the same conduct. I wonder if I'll compare my past experiences (and feelings) to those I'll incur on the AT. I certainly hope not, but I know I have that tendency. And what a shame that is.

My friend Ruth says that maybe I just don't know the character of the Appalachian Trail, and that it's hard to get excited about something (or someone) you don't really know. But we both know that this isn't the case. Of course you can be excited about the unknown! In fact, in most cases the unknown may even be more exciting! I fantasize about un-experienced experiences all the time, and they ignite and excite, but I really shouldn't share those here, and so I won't. (Trust me: it's better this way.)

I guess in the end it's normal behavior to record and compare experiences. It's what we humans do. Maybe it enables us to not just relive experiences dear to our hearts, but to continually seek new ones to allow any such comparison. And thankfully it's pretty easy to experience something new, even when doing the same old thing. It's all a state of mind, really. And, as they say, it's impossible to walk the same path twice, and for that I should be grateful.

Seek and destroy!

...seek (more experiences) and destroy (old notions)!

Bring on the AT!

My AT Hike Ruined My Life (A Guest Post)

I don't normally publish guest bloggers, but I enjoyed reading how Carey's AT thru-hike changed her life. In fact, she claims it pretty much ended her life. Enjoy!

by Carey (originally posted HERE) and printed without anyone's permission but hers.

Carry-On on Three Ridges, VA, '12 (pic thanks to Donna Dearmon)

My 2012 AT thruhike was my first long distance hike and I took almost 8 months to complete it. It ruined my former life. Thank goodness. I was bored, unhappy and completely jaded on people. I was angry a lot and frustrated, overweight and argumentative. I worked in animal rescue and regularly saw the worst that people can do to helpless creatures and I hated people, though I loved the animals-which was the one bright spot in my life. It just wasn't enough.

During my thruhike I regularly received trail magic from family and friends as well as complete strangers. People who I might have argued with on the internet about politics or religion helped me, getting nothing back from me but a thank you. We never talked about the things we might disagree on. All that mattered was that I was hungry, cold, tired, in need of a ride, and they offered me help, from one human to another. I am friends now, with some of those trail angels, even though we have very different "beliefs".

I have come away from my thruhike with a new faith in the goodness of humans. I saw evil in humans, too, on the trail and off, but the good was overwhelming. I have faith in humanity again and that makes me incredibly grateful. I don't see it as being blind to the evils of humans, but of seeing more good than bad in individuals. I trust groups less than ever, however, and feel even further removed from the politics, religions and other things that I hated before my hike. In some sense I could say I hate them even more, but feel less reactive towards them and less inclined to argue with people about them.

I also learned that I am a badass. Seriously. I was night hiking in the rain in December in Virginia, almost done with my thruhike and I realized. I am a badass. I kick ass. I am tough and stubborn and resourceful and determined and I am about to complete this amazing journey (which I did a few days later). The self confidence that came from my thruhike can never be taken from me.

I learned to appreciate basic things, like four walls and a roof, chairs, tables, clean water, hot running water, electricity. I have already lost the constant appreciation of these things, but I regularly have flashes of gratitude for these luxuries of American life that I enjoy. I understand how others in much poorer parts of the world can be happy with much less, because I was extremely happy on the trail, with much less. 

I appreciate my luck in being an American much more than I used to. I don't need things anymore. I am working on getting rid of "stuff" I had stored before my hike that I now don't see the need for. The stuff I do keep I appreciate much more. I enjoy it, but don't need it.

I learned to trust myself, my instincts, and the things that are important to me in the companions and people I bring into my life. I learned that life does provide what you need, even if it's not what you want. Sometimes it only provides what you need for the next couple of days and you don't know what will happen after that, but then it provides just enough after that to keep going for the next few days. 

I learned to find joy in just breathing and walking, whether in the sunshine or the rain. I felt strength and weakness in my body, and I conquered challenges that scared me.

I came back from the trail and had major withdrawal. I had to reevaluate everything in my life and it took several weeks. I was unemployed and felt that any job other than on a trail somewhere was a horrible idea. I considered finding new homes for my pets so I could go be a ridge runner or caretaker on the AT. I chafed at my responsibilities and regular life. I became a hermit and worked only on my blog and the pictures from my hike.

Finally I realized I could keep my pets, who are my family, and work in the outdoor retail industry and feel as if I had the best of both worlds. I start my new job tomorrow with people who are thrilled to have me because I did my thruhike. I am thrilled to work with them as well, and learn about all the hikes in the desert around me. My pay per hour is almost half of what it was before my hike. It worries me, but I feel like it's worth it to stay in the outdoor world and work with people who understand my new obsession. 

I am planning another thruhike, of a western trail. I am still addicted to the AT, and it will always be the one, the first, but I look forward to my new life and I am excited for it. I hope one day to revisit the AT, whether in sections or another thruhike, because I believe it is special in the culture and people who make it what it is. 

I made many friends on the AT, who I am still in contact with, and I treasure them greatly. I relate more to them than most of my pre-thruhike friends, who aren't all that interested in what I did and how it changed me now that I'm back. My old friends are just trying to figure out if I'm going to be able to participate in society again. So am I, but I think I've found the way that works for me, at least for now.

To follow my new adventures please come check out my new blog. I'm in the process of updating my 2012 AT thruhike there, and after that will come new adventures and gear reviews.

Carry-On, AT 2012

http://carryonadventures.blogspot.com/

The Impromptu Plan

"A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it." ~John Steinbeck

One of the first things the long-distance backpacker learns is that trails do not easily yield to plans. It bears reiterating: trails do not easily yield to plans. Thankfully, I'm not much the planner. As per Eisenhower's renowned quote ("Plans are useless but planning is essential"), I'm almost constantly in a state of reacting and planning. Yet I refuse to kill the time (or myself) with plans, be they abstract or concrete or gelatinous(1) or otherwise.

Plans mean squat! They serve only as an illustration of what might be. And lots of things might be. Lots of things might not be! (i.e., your planned future). Plans are merely wishful intentions, holding no merit whatsoever. Actions are what get things done. Plans, not so much.

Too many times in my life things have not gone according to plan, and I was forced into adaptation, to readjust and pull out the ol' Plan B or Plan C or Plan D or Plan E or Plan F or Plan G or Plan H or Plan I or Plan J or Plan K or Plan L or Plan M or Plan N or Plan O or Plan P or Plan Q or Plan R or Plan S or Plan T or Plan U or Plan V or Plan W or Plan X or Plan Y and even at times, the ol' Plan Z. (Never mind the numerical backups! Ϙr thϕse dΛmη GrΣΣk-LΣttΣred plΛηs.)

"It is a bad plan that admits of no modification." ~Publilius Syrus

The thing is, adaptation is a major component of life (and success) (and let's not forget failure), and so it makes sense to plow forward with new plans all the time. Or no plans. The key is to keep plowing forward. That's what life is: forward progress toward our ultimate and inevitable demise. It doesn't necessarily have to involve growth, nor does it need to "get you somewhere" (it's likely we all end up in the same place, anyhow). But it's imperative to keep on keeping on. I call it the HERE NOW manner of being. Our presence isn't enough; we need to be present. 

And just as it's difficult to plan for the past, so too is it tricky to plan for the future. (This, even though the future will soon be a thing of the past.) Sure, the planning itself may be straightforward enough, but the result of that planning isn't quite so easy to foretell, which of course necessitates further planning and adaptation. Why? Because shit happens. And when the shit hits the fan, as it inevitably does, we should learn to use it as fertilizer, and to figure out how to keep from standing in the way of it all. For in life, the fan is always running.

But isn't failing to plan planning to fail?!

Fuck no! Take a look around: even God's plans fail all the time! And yet He goes on doing whatever it is He does (nothing). The essence of a good master plan is its malleability, its ability to be changed as required to ensure its optimal effectiveness. Have a mission/a goal, commit to the process, and e-x-e-c-u-t-e. Execution gets the job done; carefully constructed hopes do not. "However beautiful the strategy, you should occasionally look at the results," Churchill noted. And the goals are achieved in the trenches and on the trail, not in the planning stages. 

Interestingly, I've known a number of hikers who actually took months to design elaborate day-by-day spreadsheets and then carried them onto the trail, only to have thrown them out within a few days of hiking. These spreadsheets originally appeased their neurotic goal-oriented mindsets, but in the end the only purpose they really served was to make for good fire-starter. I've also seen so many over-planners depart the path in the first few weeks, because it failed to comply with their expectations.

Like life, long trails require flexibility and they need to account for all sorts of contingencies: fatigue (which, during a thru-hike, is not too terribly tough to predict!), a last-minute/spur of the moment decision to visit places that strike your fancy, or even hiking with others---others who may be slower or faster than your customary pace. The true adventurer should embrace caprice, and isn't a thru-hike supposed to be an adventure? Trails should be NO PLAN ZONES! My past thru-hikes have always been and I expect the AT to be no different. But you can bet I'm not planning on it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PS: All you planners can steer clear of me. I cherish the unexpected and the unknown. It's why I step outside everyday and even some nights: to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield...to plans.

1. This is the only way I knew to insert the word gelatinous into the first paragraph, which is unequivocally of utmost importance to the serious writer.

Carpe Diem! Seize the Day by Getting a Tattoo

Since I had nothing better to do, I decided I'd seize the day online and perhaps make a few people smile, assuming a few people ever stop by here, and assuming they find humor in these photos. We'll start with my personal favorite. He must work out.

Then my silver medalist, though I'm not sure what the guns signify. Killing the day maybe.

Third places goes to the guy with the cards. Seize the day by gambling it away.

Another gun theme to seizing the day. Maybe I'm missing something here.

An effeminate, cutesy Rastafarian-themed tattoo...

Feet are a great tool for seizing the day.

Wrists, not so much...but they are a good way to end your days.

Based on her back alone, I would love to seize the day with this gal...

A bowling-themed carpe diem tattoo. I can't think of a better way to seize the day than to go bowling...

A carpe diem tattoo complete with tattooing tool tattooed on...

Interesting spot for it. I guess we're supposed to seize this gal, guys...

A carpe diem shield of sorts...

I'd want to seize the days ahead, not those behind me...

Seize the greed...

Seize those nipples...

I'm guessing this tat is fake. Can we artificially seize the day?

To reiterate, I'd want to seize the days ahead, not those behind...

I hope she never loses an arm...

Why limit sucking the marrow from life to daytime only? Carpe PM!

Lymē Bastards

Few fears stand in my way when hiking or backpacking. It's not that I'm thick-headed or know not when to be afraid, just that as I step onward, the fears continually tend to step aside. But there are two fears that stand out (and yet stand firmly in the way) like no others: the big L's...lightning and Lyme Disease. I'm not really afraid of the former, since it's fairly straightforward to distinguish a thunderstorm from, say, a blue sky (and thus, how easy it is to avoid any resulting electrical strike). But the Lyme disease, well, that scares me.

Ticks are hostile, sneaky little creatures. Though they love pets, they do not make suitable ones themselves. Yet, like so many other domestic animals, they seem to adore humans. So much so that they actually latch on and won't let go! Clingy little bastards. While that's problematic enough, it's not the major concern. The real trouble is that these little arachnids carry and spread disease. Nasty ones too. In the US it's primarily Lyme Disease.

The disease can peel open a whole can of worms, problems that can alter the course of your existence forever more. These include, but aren't limited to, flu-like symptoms such as fever, headache, nausea, vomiting, swollen lymph nodes, and muscle aches (as if the muscles won't already ache enough on the trail). There's also usually a lovely rash remaining and, if left untreated, later symptoms may involve the joints, the heart, and central nervous system. Some infected individuals have even suffered long-term cognitive defects, though the AT thru-hiker already exhibits this type of behavior and may therefore be immune to further impairment. Perhaps worst of all, symptoms can lay dormant for weeks after the initial bite, and by then, the tick will likely outweigh the hiker's backpack.

Though Lyme won't likely dispatch a healthy individual like myself, it could put a damper on my dream to walk the length of the Appalachian Trail. In years past it has knocked more than a few hikers off the trail, as they tried to, um, tick the miles off (instead, they ended up ticked off). As such, it'll be necessary for me to do a "self-examination" and scan every single inch of my body, even those damp, dark recesses where only the brave (or extremely deprived of the ability to smell) might care to venture, places I don't even want to go. Still, as I'll have all day everyday to sift through the substratum of my soul, it should be easy enough to examine other parts of me.

The AT is represented by the red line 

Cogito Ergo Scribo

The mobile backpacking office is coming along. Everything has been ordered and should arrive before my Appalachian Trail hike (an AT Journey Northword, if I might), with time to spare (and perhaps even enough time to learn to use it all, though that's dubious at best). Unfortunately, it will be anything but simple. Thoreau would turn over in his grave if he saw today's version of simplicity! Complexify, complexify, complexify! 

Since this write-up I've purchased a small Samsung tablet (i.e., a non-smart, non-phone smartphone), an external keyboard, an external backup battery and a way to carry it all, along with the necessary cords and chargers and whatnot. In all, the outfit tips the scales at one and a half pounds and set me back more than three-hundred smackers. I better write.

The setup is a technosexual's fantasy, but it's closer to my worst nightmare and goes against almost everything I believe in when perambulating through the woods (in a nutshell: owning and carrying less, solidifying my relationship with the land). It won't do its full job in rainy weather or away from free wi-fi, it'll be hard to see in direct sunlight and will demand all sorts of TLC, including clean fingertips, which are hard to maintain while backpacking and nose-picking. I plan to wear the tablet on a lanyard around my neck, for quick access. It's a 5-inch handheld version, so about half the size of other handheld apparatuses dangling from me.

Lame joke aside, I'm thus far pleased with the device, and I've already downloaded all the pertinent apps: a dictionary, a thesaurus, a Scrabble game, a Kindle app and a library of books to keep me occupied at nights. It has a voice-to-text app that should allow me to keep my grubby paws off its finicky glass screen, and its performance seems accurate enough. Here's a sample sentence "written" with it:

"I yam wall king the appellation trial this ear."

At least 'Appalachian' wasn't Apple Asian.

The device also comes equipped with a far more precise voice recorder, a camera, a video camera (and capacity to store my library of nasty videos, to keep me occupied at night) and, most importantly, a seemingly capable word processor. There's even a GPS unit on it, though I doubt I'll ever take the time to learn how to use it, even when lost (panic is my preferred method). And, if I'm absolutely sick of silence (hasn't happened yet), it's got an MP3 player with all my band's music. A synthesizer will allow me to create additional masterpieces. All these silly little apps for the App−alachian Trail!

As if walking all day long didn't already, these distractions may make it tough to write. But, as per this blog's title, I think I'll manage.

The AT and its many States

There are fourteen states that the Appalachian Trail cuts through, along with a few others that I currently know of:

• State of Deep Fatigue
• State of Confusion
• State of Awe

I hope to see and experience each and every one of these states, save maybe for those bordering on States of  Fatigue or Confusion, or indeed those very places. (Incidentally, these places are all capitalized here not merely for effect [as capitalization is generally a no-no when in bullet form], but because they are indeed places and not merely emotions.)  

Fatigue is to be expected, as no long-distance backpacking trip can transpire without it. Even though I was once a professional endurance athlete, paid to do really dumb things, it is during these long-ass hikes where I've reached some of the deepest levels of fatigue. Canyons, really. Maybe it's because sleep is never all that great (think cold, bumpy ground, along with big, sharp-toothed animals lurking under the umbrage of darkness) or perhaps due to the behemoth upon thy back. In any case, the hiker learns to embrace and befriend fatigue, or the state will likely be the last one the hiker reaches, prior to ending the hike (or his life).

Confusion is also expected, as no one in his or her right mind would choose to wear a backpack for 3500-kilometers. These are confused individuals to begin with!

States the AT incurs...

Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine.

Other states that the trail will almost certainly incur (and/or induce)...

• Contempt
• Suffering
• Paranoia 
• Hostility
• Doubt
• Anger
• Grief
• Disgust
• Sadness
• Homesickness
• Loneliness
• Anxiety/Fear
• Boredom
• Hunger (this is a guarantee)
• Hysteria
• Depression
• Aggression
• Horror
• Embarrassment
• Frustration  

Of course, it's not all negative states; there will also assuredly be states of...

• Ecstasy
• Surprise
• Affection
• Love
• Pleasure
• Hope
• Compassion
• Euphoria
• Gratitude
• Interest
• Forgiveness
• Pride
• Sympathy

One thing is for sure. I will try my best not to go through the following states...

• Hatred
• Guilt
• Regret
• Remorse
• Shame
• Pity
• Envy
• Ambivalence

As the Appalachian Trail is a metaphor for life itself, I suspect I'll experience all these states and more, shoehorning more life into the next seven months than many folks do during their lifetimes.