Walking as Fast as I Can

I had a dream a few weeks ago. By the way, what has happened to these last many months since returning to Albuquerque? Where is all the writing, the entries in this blog? Did I accidently erase something?

Let’s not start going down that road. It has been a challenge. I’ll leave it at that.

Back to the dream. I was off the hike, back home, but planning to return to the PCT and finish up California, Oregon, and Washington. I was excited that I would be returning. It was time, and forget all the encumbrances which booted me off last July. I was going back.

Then I awoke and realized that there would be no going back this year, that is was too late, too cold for those parts of the trail. I felt quite sad. Like a lost opportunity, another road not taken.

With the economy cratering, with my medical skills getting out of date, closing in on 61, and doubt forever creeping in, I have not been successful finding a job. But I hike about eight miles a day, up the scraggly hills, in the bite of north winds, my still so light Montbell trail vest cutting the wind, keeping me warm. It is only the hands that get cold, gloved that they be.

Yes, I can still hike. And I can walk fast, and smell the magic air, watch the sun dip below the red enamored western sky. There I am happiest. There I am strong and full of purpose.

Time to return to trails still unfettered with my memories.

I cannot wait for July again. Where could I go in the early spring? How about the Appalachian Trail?

I started the PCT in honor of Emily. I still see her wondrous smile as she hiked on many a trail and off cross country through mountains immense and unknown. I still feel her most up there in the clear air, with deer and coyotes and flocks of quail twittering out the brush, bush tits dancing in sage, and white winged doves flashing in morning light.

Emily’s friends from Montana visited over Thanksgiving. Singing and laughter rose in the house. Her brother and sister flew in from opposite coasts. We were almost whole again. Once her sister, coming down the stairs looked up at me, as I sat at the table, probably trying to look productive. She gave me a soft shy smile, just like Emily would. She looked so much like Emily that for a second I was startled, like all this had never happened.

I do want to be creative again, to contribute, to plumb the depth of these emotions, and maybe even help someone along the way. And yes, to be a proxy for Emily’s legacy, part of her still so very vibrant future.

But right now I need to walk, plan the hike, start up the dehydrator. Write. Dream. Hope.
I must walk as fast as I can, put in miles to the future, always a great unknown. Find god in the details. Find love in the morning. Solace in a lonely wind.

How about the AT in March? Hike a couple months, come home for a respite, then back to the PCT. Can’t leave that hanging too long.