I'm still on the trail and having a fun and rewarding time. I'm sorry I haven't updated anything over on TrailJournals.com -- town stops or either a whirlwind of activity (shower, laundry, resupply, etc.) or I just collapse and sleep. I have a written journal, though, so it's more a matter of me sitting down at the computer and keying it all in rather than me simply not taking notes.

Anyway, I hit the 801.1 mile marker before I was picked up and taken to Harpers Ferry for the Memorial Day weekend and much needed break. I got plantar fasciiitis coming over the Roan Highlands, which not only resulted in some low mileage days/weeks and many neros and a few zeros, but also proved to be pretty dang painful. That was 4 weeks ago or so and things look to be on the mend.

At this point, I estimate that only about one quarter of the thru-hikers who started at Springer are still on the trail right now. Call me crazy, but I attribute this year's good weather for the drop-off -- I think a lot of people took advantage of the weather and made big miles up front and then suffered various wears and tears that eventually took them off the trail. There have been some out and out injuries (broken wrists, sprained ankles, blown knees, etc.), but most people getting off for health reasons have simply worn out rather than been suddenly injured.

It seems a greater percentage of the younger crowd (those below 30) have dropped out than those older. Some got off due to injury, others due to boredom or change in priorities, and others simply ran out of money (Hot Springs, Damascus, and Pearisburg have bars within walking distance of where most hikers stay, so there you go). Of the older crowd, it seems to be wear and tear and injuries, with a few family emergencies back home thrown in. The crowd seems to be 80% fresh out of high school or college, about 15 percent retired, and a few middle-age people thrown in. And, a greater percentage of men seem to leave the trail than women.

I've enjoyed nearly every hiker's company that I met. There are some characters out there, but of those that seem sketchy, I haven't encountered one that was a traditional thru-hiker or section hiker. They are more likely drifters who have found the trail a convenient and cheap way to escape real life.

Anyway, I'm still on the trail and anticipate finishing in Maine, barring any injuries. Good luck to all who are hiking this summer. Be safe.

I'm finally on the trail, having made it from Amicalola Falls State Park to Hiawassee, GA. I've made tons of notes but am a little behind on getting journal entries written. I hope to catch up and will get them keyed in while in Franklin, NC.

Anyway, you'll find my latest entries (3/6 and 3/7) over on http://www.trailjournals.com/hat.

I am not making up the following conversation, freshly spoken this morning:

"Yes, my name is ___ and I'd like to make a change to our [web & database] hosting account."
"Sure thing, Mr. ___. Let me bring up your account. Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. ___, only the account's primary contact can make changes."
"Uh, I see. Who is the primary contact?"
"Let me see. --- Okay, Mr. ___. the primary contact is blank."
"What?"
"It's blank -- no one is listed."
"Okay. Can I change that?"
"No. I'm afraid only the primary contact can make any changes to the account, including who the primary contact is."

And this is why the Appalachian Trail is so dang appealing to me right now. Simplicity. Sure, there's challenges, but I think one of the last things standing between someone and a successful thru-hike would be bureaucratic silliness. As long as someone can stay warm, feed themselves, stay sheltered at the appropriate times, and keep putting one foot in front of the other safely, then the goal should eventually materialize.

Hang on -- my call is very important to _____ and I'm only number 3 in line...

-- Hat 2012 NoBo AT

Grrrrrrr. The weather is absolutely gorgeous outside. While I should appreciate the view from my upstairs window I can't help but think how much better the view would be from somewhere on the trail. With five days to go (again), I am more impatient than ever.

At least I haven't touched my pack or other gear in two days, so maybe that's an indication of some amount of resignation that the trip will start at some point, I just have to sit back and let things come to me.

What I have done, though, is revisit my iPod and add some new albums. Of today's acquisitions, there's:

• Love Snuck Up, Buddy Miller & Julie Miller
• Written In Chalk, Buddy Miller & Julie Miller
• Satisfied At Last, Joe Ely
• Live In Europe, James McMurty
• Super Extra Gravity, The Cardigans
• My Favorite Things, John Coltrane
• My Kind of Blue, Miles Davis

While I don't think one should drown the entire trail in MP3 mayhem, it doesn't hurt to have a little something tucked away for tough climbs, slow nights before falling asleep, and for sharing with others.

I don't know if it'll amount to anything, but I applied some [tent] seam sealer to my favorite Rockports last night, so I guess that counts as trip preparation. Other than that, I am in a holding pattern until Tuesday morning.

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

If all had gone according to the original plan, I'd be enjoying a great dinner at Amicalola State Park and Lodge right now and later on probably fussing with my gear one last time, anticipating an early start in the morning, up the Approach Trail.

As it stands, I'm in my favorite chair by the fireplace, petting the dog, poking around on the 'Net, and congratulating myself on how well that bratwurst did on the grill, especially with the onions and tomatoes sizzling next to them.

And, occasionally, I'm still unceremoniously hacking up gunk.

I made the decision Monday night to push things out one week, mainly because I thought it was foolish risking bronchitis or walking pneumonia and possibly aborting the whole endeavor only a few weeks or even days into it. After so much planning and rearranging my life and, let's not forget, some gear purchases, it just made no sense to start out if things weren't at least ninety percent.

Naturally, I'm second guessing my choice -- the weather (at least here in North Carolina's Piedmont region) was spectacular and I can only imagine what the views may have been out on large parts of the trail. As it was, I knocked out a few errands I would have left undone and got to enjoy one more day in the little log cabin on the lake. The dog and I bopped around town, windows down in the car, and generally enjoyed ourselves.

I will say that the delay, while tormenting me, has got my mind going in overdrive and at two in the morning today, when the dog and his elderly bladder needed to go out, a thought came to me. I immediately returned inside, walked over to my pack, worked a little magic with my gear selection, and lopped a pound off my gear weight, thereby bringing my pack's total weight (minus food and water but including fuel) under 15 pounds.

Also, when I called Amicalola State Park and Lodge to move my reservation by one week, I discovered that they had my check-in date as the 27th rather than the 28th. I can only imagine my frustration and reaction had I arrived tonight and discovered that my reservation had come and gone (as I'm sure my money would have) and that they were fully booked.

So, rather than lamenting the lost week and agonizing delay of my hike, I'm going to chalk it up as fortuitous. And, once I'm underway and out on the trail a couple of weeks, I think no one will remember that I started with a one week delay -- I'm pretty sure I won't care. It's not like the Appalachians are going anywhere.

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

Home, Sweet Home:

take a vacation. That much I've learned over the years. Even the simplest and tried-and-true road trips (like my runs between NC and TX) always present a few last minute hurdles that test one's patience and ability to roll with the punches.

But, here I sit with only 2 days before I leave and I still have trail maps, guide books, and so on spread out before me as I put the finishing touches on my plans. I've never seen my plan and the resulting spreadsheet of daily mileage and resupply stops as written in stone -- there's just too many variables and unknowns -- but more as a framework. More importantly, such planning has encouraged me to read the trail guides thoroughly and view each map inch by inch. Thus, the real value of my planning has been to familiarize myself with sights and interesting stops along the way and to provide context to place names as I read other hikers' trail journals. For instance, when someone refers to Guyot Shelter I have a pretty good idea where that is and know that's it's within the longest stretch of the AT uninterrupted by road access.

And, while any plan may be pretty much out the window within a week or so of starting out (since armchair planning is most likely more optimistic than realistic), having such a plan assures those around me that I have indeed put some thought into this, improved my chance of completing the thru-hike, and thereby justified the disruption this endeavor causes for everyone.

I've no doubt that before I leave the coffee shop this morning I will have everything squared away. After all, I've only got the last 300 miles to plan or so. But weighing on my mind is a cold that has outstayed its welcome. Actually, this is the second of two colds, as I was getting better a few days ago and then got worse again, but with slightly different symptoms. The cold has had two unfortunate affects. First, it's taken me off my physical preparations, which included daily walks with my full pack. Second, it's sapped my ability to crank out 10 hours or more of work on behalf of my clients, so that they are well positioned when I up and leave.

It's really tempting today to push my start date from February 29th to March 2. But, I feel that if I make allowances and excuses before I even start, that speaks negatively of my ability to finish a thru-hike. That is, if here I sit in a toasty warm coffee shop with all the comforts of civilization in front of me and I fudge on my plans, then what will my decision be when I am three days soaked to the bone and tired and sore?

On the other hand, starting my hike congested & tired and risking bronchitis or walking pneumonia sounds like a bad idea and a sure-fire way to end the trip within weeks.

Maybe the thing to do is finish my spreadsheet (probably only another 45 minutes left to that task), double-check the addresses on my maildrop boxes, check my email and knock out a few more billable hours before tonight, and trust things look better in the morning. No doubt they will.

As they say, you never step in the same stream twice. If today is unpleasant, that's no promise that tomorrow will follow suit.

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

I am seriously considering changing my trail name to "Goat Rodeo" as the term aptly describes the last or near last workdays before I start my thru-hike.

There's no doubt that stepping out of the "real world" is as much work if not more than preparing for the hiking world. At least when preparing for a big hike, you do some research (poke around on WhiteBlaze, read some trail journals, pester the local outfitter with questions, add about a bazillion bookmarks to your web browser, etc.), then you buy some equipment, do some shakedown hikes, more research, adjust your equipment, and then you get going. I think that's probably about the tune most people dance to when preparing to hike.

On the other hand, though, stepping out of the "real world" (my phrase, and many of you may disagree with it) is a dance that's performed to a song written especially for you. Some people have to step back from a career, or delay starting one, or have to put social interactions and relationships on hold (or have had the reset button pressed for them), and so on. Some people will have to find accommodations for pets, perhaps a pet sitter, maybe someone to water the plants. And then there's the work that goes into making sure you have someplace to which to return. Maybe that's paying ahead on rent, or packing stuff into storage, or putting mortgage (and utilities and other periodic bills) on automatic payment. There's also reminding friends that you'll be out of pocket -- that way they don't get their nose bent out of shape when you don't respond 14 facebook event invitations in a row, or you'll be missing cousin Videtta's renewal or her vows in June, or whatever. The list goes on and on and on.

For me, it's a number of the things above, plus prepaying a number of domain names set to expire over the summer, making sure my web & database server's are put on auto-payment, clients are happy with how I've left them and comfortable with the people I helped them find to take care of things after I leave.

There's a ton of little projects around the cabin I was going to attend to and which I might yet still get to (but probably not), like re-caulking the bath tub, pulling up the dead winter plants from various pots on the front porch and planting things that can go through about August with little or no attention, there's putting away my fishing gear (now pleasantly lining the front porch) so it doesn't turn into a jumbled mess of poles and fishing line and knocked over tackle boxes. There's cleaning up my office and tossing all the stuff I probably won't need when I get back. Again, the list seems to get longer every minute I think about it.

But today, it's all about my professional obligations and that's where today's vocabulary comes in:

Goat Rodeo (noun) --A Goat Rodeo AKA Goat Rope, is about the most polite term used by aviation people (and others in higher risk situations) to describe a scenario that requires about 100 things to go right at once if you intend to walk away from it.

Urban Dictionary
http://www.urbandictionary.com/defin...erm=goat+rodeo

I have (as of this moment) about three critical and big clients with issues that will take me well into the night and a good chunk of the weekend to resolve. Plus, I have about 3 more clients with small but still necessary loose ends to tie up. And finally, there's two more that I could probably let slide but doing so would weigh on my mind -- I'd much rather have them taken care of so I can embark on my hike guilt-free.

Gads. And to think tomorrow I was going to finish stuffing a couple of boxes for some mail drops (the usuals, like Fontana Dam, for instance) and a bounce box. Well, that has to get done no matter what. And I still have to make reservations at the pet boarding place for the dog to stay overnight. Oh, and one of the cats needs to stay at the vet overnight so she gets her meds on time.

Well, it sounds like I better get another cup of coffee and get to it, then.

Wishing everyone else starting out this week and next good luck on your hike. I'll see you out there.

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

Still recovering from hellacious cold but feeling better, bit by bit.

By this time this coming week, I will have spent my first night on the trail, just past Springer Mountain (I'm doing the approach trail, so thus the uber low official AT miles for Day One).

In any case, I feel my cold has done its worst and now it's a matter of getting back to 100% as quick as possible.

Onward and forward.

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

Seven days before I make the 5-1/2 hour drive to Amicalola State Park and eight days before I start marching up the Approach Trail to the top of Springer Mountain, I have a non-trivial cold.

Dang it. I maybe get a cold once a year and it's usually not a big deal. But this particular cold is moving in slow motion and seems like it wants to hang around longer than the usual 2 or 3 days. So, there's the risk I won't be at one hundred percent when I start. On top of that, I have last minute things to wrap up with clients and I need all my hours between now and departure to get them settled.

I have chosen to give up my daily 6AM six mile walks with my full pack, but I'm not willing to give up much more. I've got to finish my billable hours, box up a few mail drops (luckily, only about 3 to 5), and so on.

No doubt, I will start as planned, but here's hoping that I'm 100% at that time.

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

I just got back from the shoe cobbler and my favorite pair of boots is now resoled and ready for action. Sure, I could've bought another pair or gotten trail runners but, when push came to shove, I decided to go with what was comfortable and I've trusted before.

This particular pair of boots has seen me through all types of weather, all types of terrain, and all types of troubles. So, who am I to tell them they have to stay home this go 'round?

Here they sit, then, all cleaned up with new soles (and treads I haven't seen since a monster truck rally commercial on TV) and ready to go. Sure, they're not light and snazzy like the latest trail runners, but they're my boots and they're going to go.

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

[And, yes, I'm well aware that the likelihood of one pair of boots making it through the entire hike are remote, which is why I'll probably break down and get something else before I head out, breaking them in before I go. But, again, these boots hold a special place in my heart and should get their chance to go.]

...while humming up Unicoi Turnpike, just north of Wilks Road and about 11 miles south of Hiawassee, Georgia. I saw the AT crossing sign first and then four hikers with a "Hiker to Town" sign about a moment later. We whipped into the turnout to the side of the road and I hopped out to see if there was anything we could do.

Frankly, I thought giving them a ride into town was out of the question since the car was loaded down with luggage, my gear (I had taken it down to Houston to get Dad's thoughts on what to do with that baffling bulky TNF 15 degree Cats Meow sleeping bag and my Exos 46 pack), and various gifts and such the family had sent back with us. But, I thought it didn't hurt to ask and see if there was anything else they needed.

After introducing themselves -- Squatch, Tetris, Jack Rabbit, and Rambo -- I asked what I could do to help.

Phone service was their top priority if a ride wasn't in the cards. None of them could get service and as a result there was now way to contact the shuttle from Budget Inn in Hiawassee. No problem, I thought, my phone is pretty good in such situations.

No dice. The dreaded "No Service" popped up as soon as I hit dial.

You guys need anything else? Nope? Well, okay. Hey, wait -- I could stop by the Budget Inn and let them know you're out here. Duh!

I got in the car, put it in gear, but then thought about it a moment. Putting it back in park but leaving it running, I hopped back out.

"Hey, let's give it a try. I bet we could squeeze you in. Two for sure, maybe three. I don't know about a fourth, but let's see what happens." They were up for that. Worst case, I was thinking, I could give 2 of them a ride into town and then turn around and get the others on a return trip, though the car was running on Empty and I'd have to remember to tank up while in town.

I popped the hatchback open, ran around to the back passenger door, and started humming stuff over the back seat into the storage area. Then it was back around to the bumper to squish everything into the tightest possible mass.

We were able to squeeze two packs into the back of the car (a '09 Pontiac Vibe) and then three hikers into the back seat. A third pack went into the back seat, across the laps of everyone. With a bit of discussion, some coaxing, and maybe a violation or two of Newtonian physics, we squeezed the fourth hiker (sorry, the names and particular arrangements get fuzzy) and his pack into the back seat.

Grand total: 6 people, 4 packs (plus my little Osprey Exos 46), luggage from a week-long road trip, one wished-he-hadn't-been-awoken-from-his-warm-nap Chihuahua, and maybe a half-gallon of gas left in the tank.

The ride into Hiawassee went smoothly with me pestering them with questions about gear, the weather, and so on. Trail appetites were in full force, apparently, as we hit the edge of town and comments were made concerning the Subway, the DQ, and a number of other places. I'm not sure, but I don't think the question was where they would eat later, but in what order they'd tackle the restaurants.

Budget Inn was easily found, being off the main drag. We dropped them off, I got their names, we took a couple of photos, and we went our separate ways. I'm sure they were heading for a hot shower first and something to eat after that, and I was off to find gas under $3.75 a gallon (total FAIL) and then skidaddle ahead of the storm back to the Piedmont.

A good day, indeed.

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

I'm taking my own sweet time driving back from Houston to North Carolina and made some time to drive up to Amicalola State Park and Lodge. If my impending hike wasn't real enough before today, it definitely is now. There's nothing like seeing a sign with "Hiker Check-in" to let you know this is where the fun begins.

I have reservations at the Lodge for the night before I start the Approach Trail, thinking that I would like to explore the park before hitting the trail. The Lodge is gorgeous, though I didn't arrive until after the sun set and thus probably missed the full impact of the views before it. It looks like there' lots to see and do in the park, so I should be plenty occuppied the day before I start my trek to Maine.

Currently, I'm holed up in a motel in Dahlonega, GA, not far from the park. It seems to be a happening little town and, despite the steady drizzle, the streets downtown wre paked with cars and people were walking to and from a variety of shops, restaurants, and some music venues. I would suggest if you have some time before your own hike that you check out this town and see what you find.

Only 11 days to go!

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

Normally, this proclamation would either elicit a response of "Well, I would hope so; people have been doing it for years" or "Uh oh -- what have you been up to?"

In this case, it's simply a matter of my surprise that my Super Cat Alcohol Stove actually works. I know, I know -- hundreds of hikers if not more have punched holes in cat food cans, poured in some alcohol, and fixed themselves coffee, tea, or a hot meal without fanfare. But, we're talking about me here. We're talking about Me + Open Flame + 190 proof Everclear, not to mention poking holes in a can and whatnot all without setting my sweater on fire or piercing a major artery (well, technically, I suppose they're all major).

And, let's not forget the most important thing: Without over-thinking the whole endeavor. There were no attempts to optimize hole punch size, exactly calibrate the distance between holes, build some sort of multi-part ancillary pot stand, or otherwise muck with the sublime simplicity of the stove's design.

It just works.

How awesome is that? Such a simple design and it does what it's supposed to. Indeed, what I like most about such designs -- particularly the Super Cat Alcohol Stove and its brethren -- is that you're actually making something by starting with something else and removing stuff from it. That is, you take the can and you completely change the nature and purpose of the object -- nay, make it an even more interesting object -- by punching holes in it (removing bits of the metal).

Eh, forget the philosophy; I can now practically guarantee myself hot coffee every morning. Now we're talking.

On a more serious note, it was a fun project because I pulled Dad into it and we had a grand time torturing a handful of cans, dinking with makeshift windscreens, timing the boil and complete burn time, and figuring out the optimum amount of alcohol to use. There was probably a laundry list of things we should've been doing (for me, billable client hours and wrapping up my trail planning; for Dad, whatever was on his Honey Do list from Mom, maybe checking in on work at the office, and so on), but playing with that simple little stove was a good way to spend the afternoon. I'd say the Appalachian Trail is already paying off.

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

Boredom.

Or rather, how to handle it. I've no doubt that a thru-hike (or even a section hike) of the AT must involve some amount of boredom. From what I've read, parts of Virginia lend themselves to this stimulation stagnation and others claim Pennsylvania inspires the blahs, but I suspect that nearly any part of a non-trivial hike is susceptible to boredom given the right conditions. One only has to imagine days of a steady routine (wake up, hike, go to bed) coupled with rainy weather (limiting one's ability to get the full effect of many of the vistas) and bland food, lack of hiking companions, etc. to see that boredom is likely at some point in time.

The idea that perhaps we are for the most part less able than generations before us to tolerate and manage boredom was put into my head via a snippet from an interview I read of an artist. Her point wasn't the expected knee-jerk quip that we are bombarded with radio, TV, film, the Internet, video games, etc. to the degree that we don't have the space to get bored, but rather when we do get bored we simply turn from what is not longer interesting to something else, avoiding as quickly as possible the opportunity to get bored. As a result, we have very little experience in how to deal with boredom.

A recent thread on Whiteblaze (http://www.whiteblaze.net/forum/show...65-Getting-Off) asked the question, Why did you get off the trail/quit your hike? Of the many common answers (injury, lack of money, didn't meet expectations, etc.) the one that struck me most was "I wasn't having fun anymore." In many cases, the respondent pointed out they were tired of being uncomfortable (you can only be cold and/or wet and/or tired & sore for so long before it just becomes miserable). But, nearly as often the respondent pointed out that they had seen enough vistas, mountain tops, trees, etc. and seeing more just wasn't going to do anything for them.

They were bored.

And, there's nothing wrong with that. Hike your own hike -- if you've gotten from only half your planned hike all the vistas and views and wildlife sightings and nights of camping that you can stand or need, no one says you have to subject yourself to ever more. You're sated, so it's time to move on and find another challenge or interest.

But I have to ask the question -- more for my own interests than anything greater -- how do we manage the boredom? That's a completely different question than "How do we eliminate the boredom." I know many hikers will do like I do: bring an iPod to occupy the mind trudging on. (In fact, I've bought a few albums and audio books I refuse to listen to until I'm actually on the trail and need some mental stimulation.) For others, it'll be a book or a journal or their camera or a sketch pad. But, these are all tools to reduce or eliminate boredom.

What I want to know is how one actually endures boredom. That is, let the boredom take root -- don't shove it away with an iPod or idle conversation -- and simply stew within it. I'm not sure many of us have the discipline or skills anymore to simply endure boredom.

Going back to the artist's observation that we aren't equipped to handle boredom (though we are equipped to eliminate it), I think to what it must've been like for early settlers creeping across the plains in their Conestoga wagons. No satellite radios, no iPods, no seat-mounted monitors and DVD players, heck -- many couldn't even read, so books were out of the question -- and I'm pretty sure any kid that started "Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall" would've been tossed out of the wagon by -- oh, let's say -- Arkansas. So, they knew boredom and to a degree that most people today will never know. "Oh look, another scrub oak. Grass, grass, grass, grass, scrub oak, grass, grass, grass..."

So, one of the things I'm [perversely] looking forward to on my hike is seeing how I handle boredom. PUDS, early nights at camp, trees, trees, and more trees -- I'm pretty sure that at one point or another, I will get bored even if only for a few hours or so. Will I reach for my iPod, will I dig around in my snacks and find yet another way to combine GORP, jerky, tortillas, peanut butter, and Clif Bars into the ultimate conglomerated trail snack, will I start yakking maniacally to the next hiker I encounter? Or, will I simply let the boredom envelope me and see what it takes to stay sane and keep my attitude up?

Much like most people today don't know how to start a fire, pick a campsite, identify common birds or trees, or get from Point A to Point B using anything other than a car, accepting and handling boredom is a lost skill.

It's time to brush up.

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT

What? There's been a like-new fifteen degree bag in a closet upstairs and I'm just now finding this out? Well -- hecks yeah -- I'm grabbing that puppy and using it through to Damascus.

I like my new MontBell and all -- I even tested it down to the upper 20s -- but why not opt for the added comfort of a warmer bag? It [the fifteen degree bag] doesn't compress down into the small package the MontBell does, and I'm sure it weighs more, however I'll gladly debate the merits of one bag over the other from the toasty comfort of my newly found bag while on the trail.

The only thing that remains is to convince myself I really ought to skip seeing live music at The Garage (dang it, and it's The Real Nasty followed by Meghan Marquette, a must-see line-up) and instead test out the bag while we have 21 degree weather tonight. Decisions, decisions...

-- Hat, 2012 NOBO AT