I spent months and years preparing for my first attempt of the Appalachian Trail in 2019. I packed and unpacked my gear countless times, and ensured every single piece of gear was included. I painfully studied every once of gear for necessity versus its weight. The night before starting my first attempt of the Appalachian Trail, I got a ride with family to a hotel room and made a big to-do about starting the hike, even meeting my mother and step dad at the summit of Springer Mountain, after hiking the 8 mile approach trail from Amicalola State Park to the Summit, up all those countless steps. As most of you know, I didn’t make it very far that first attempt; before several issues in my personal life found me off the trail and heading home. This time around I was going to do things a bit different. Why? No good reason actually, but I wanted to. I only packed my pack, and got the trail food I needed for the first few days, less than a week before my expected start date. Procrastination at it’s finest right?! This idea of doing it different started when I spoke with the shuttle driver that would take me from the North Springs Georgia train station to the Parking lot at the summit of Springer Mountain. When I told him I was looking for a ride from the train station to Amicalola Falls, to start the approach trail again; he stopped me mid sentence and caught on the “again” part. I told him about the first attempt and his response was to first invoke the sacred code of the trail “I mean hike your own hike man”, “but if you did it once why do it again? Especially when those eight miles don’t count towards the total of the trail.” I actually didn’t have a great response to this. He wasn’t wrong, the approach trail didn’t count, it was extra miles, and I had done it once I told myself. I went with his advise, and I couldn’t be more happy I did, because if I would have taken a day to do the approach trail, and actually started the trail the next day, I wouldn’t have met the amazing friends, or Tramily, I later met on the trail and they made the hike what it was.

Anyway, my journey on the Appalachian Trail, this time around, started with a commercial shuttle, after a ride from my parents house to the Groom shuttle station in Columbus, Georgia. I loaded my single pack, and everything in it, into the van with everyone else’s massive luggage bags. I realized, at this moment, the irony that all these people were probably going places for much shorter periods of a time, with substantially more stuff, then I now had to live off of for the next six months. I said my goodbyes to my mom and step dad and sat in my seat. I had to explain to the shuttle driver several times that I was not heading to an airline terminal at the Hartsfield Jackson International Airport in Atlanta, but the train station. When he asked me why, I proceeded to explain how I was attempting to hike the 2194.3 mile Appalachian Trail. It felt mighty bold of me to say this out loud, and the driver apparently thought so too, because his response was, “I hiked enough in the Army, you’re a fool for doing this.” I told him “probably”, and put in my headphones for some music and a nap. If I would have listened to all the people in the world that told me the things I wanted to do were impossible, I would have never had the life I’ve had for the last few months. Maybe there’s a lesson to be learned in this, maybe chasing things in life. that are actually worth wild, require going against the grain, believing in something even when no one else does. 

An hour and a half later I arrived at the airport, but my destination wasn’t the normal passenger terminals nearly everyone else was clamoring, zombie like, to. It was the MARTA train station located in the airport. During the walk over, I found myself wondering if anyone else in the airport found travel as enticing and entertaining as I do. Everyone looked angry and upset to have to be here, annoyed at the inconvenience the airport proved to be to them.  I wondered if they only took a second to realize that anywhere they ever dreamed of heading in the world was accessible from this place, would they be a bit happier? However, this required something that seemed to have been lost in humankind…… the ability to dream of your future in a positive manner.. why is it that this most basic of positive actions is condemned by most people?  Is it that if you achieve your dreams, then other people are faced with the fact they too COULD achieve their dreams, and haven’t? Anyway, after my moment of greater understanding of the human condition, I got on the train and sat down for my ride to, nearly the end of the line, where I had no idea what I would do next. All I knew is the following morning I had a ride from the North Springs train station to Springer Mountain scheduled.  

After what seemed like several hours, my train arrived at Dunwoody Georgia, the stop prior to my pick up location the next morning. I had booked a hotel room about a mile from the train station with some points I accumulated from the time working in Indiana and L.A. and honestly couldn’t wait to settle down for the night. I slung my pack over my shoulder with my trekking poles attached to the outside and proceeded to walk through the city on the sidewalk. A recurring theme among this hike was the fact that we were often mistaken for someone who was homeless while in town, and this couldn’t have been more true in the upscale town of Dunwoody, so far from the Appalachian Trail. At least near by the trail people knew we were hikers, but here I looked like a vagabond wearing a Raccoon T-shirt, but honestly, that is exactly what I was now. So why not embrace it? Hindsight shows, maybe this was the very first instance of me becoming “hiker-trash” but more on that later. I got to the hotel and checked in, unloaded my pack and made sure my devices were charging. I did some research and found a good Indian restaurant a few miles away. Ever since working in L.A. and having my charge nurse, Bina, show me what actually GOOD, real, and authentic Indian food was, I was hooked and ordered the lamb biryani when I got there. After dinner, on the walk to the hotel room, I checked my phone and saw I walked about 6 miles only part of that with a pack and my feet HURT, how in the world am I suppose to work across the country I wondered? Maybe I should have prepared more or even trained. Either way, I settled in, calmed my nerves, and actually fell asleep.

The following morning I repacked everything and set off to the train station where I was to meet my final shuttle driver. I walked the few miles to the next train station rather then taking the train, and arrived about 30 minutes prior to the scheduled time. I contacted my driver and after about 30 minutes of struggling to find him, he found me, aimlessly wandering around the parking garage. I loaded my pack into the back seat of his SUV and got in. I was greeted by the cutest Pitbull puppy ever! She was super excited to have a visitor and proceeded to climb all over me and the backseat, tearing my puffy jacket, and managing to get yelled at by the driver. He apologizes to me, offers some duct tape for the tear, and continues to tell me how I need to keep her from the back seat because she will chew on the wires under the driver’s seat. Now at 80+ MPH, in Atlanta rush hour traffic, my driver is attempting to carol this dog, swerving from the left lane to the right, and I have my first introduction to shuttle life on the AT. After several hours of this, we arrive at the dirt road that leads up to Springer Mountain, and proceed to start the bumpy, pothole covered drive up. Once we get to the parking lot at the top, we unceremoniously say our goodbyes, I get a few kisses from the puppy, and start the mile backtrack to the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. A short time later I reach the bronze plaque marking the start, sign the trail register, and have a short conversation with two Canadians who were taking pictures with the plaque who had zero idea what the AT was. I got a few pictures and headed north, officially starting the 2194.3 Mile trek, guided by the glorious white blazes that would take us over some of the most beautiful and remote lands on the east coast.