My Favorite Frank Beamer Story....Which isn't Really About Frank Beamer at all, but Rather Begins with a Bunch of Rocks.

Even if the Hokies lose this weekend to UVA it may not be Super Franlkie Beamer's last football game; at 5-7 the well supported Hokies could still end up in the Diamond Walnut Weedeater Bowl or something like that.  However, in celebration of Frank Beamer's last regular season game and his final trip to Charlottesville in anger, I want to tell my favorite Frank Beamer story,  which is less about Frank and more about the Appalachian Trail.  And its long, and its dumb, but this my blog, so....yeah.

So, in the beginning....

When I thru-hiked the AT 10 years ago I had a small radio, equipped with AM/FM/TV and weather bands.  When I started the hike I thought that I wouldn't be listening to it too much, seeing as I would be communing with nature and getting down with the trees and birds and shit and didn't want anything to interfere with that.  I'd listen to it at night sometimes or in the mornings, to check the weather and get some news of the world, but as I made my way down the trail my heart and mind was full of the silent sublimity of nature. I really had no need to listen to the radio.  

Then I ran smack dab into Pennsylvania.  

Pennsylvania is just a terrible place to hike.  It's where the glaciers from the last ice age stopped, and that glacial boundary is marked with millions of small rocks poking up out of the ground.  For two days out of the Delaware Water Gap I walked on the points of these rocks jutting out of the ground for miles and miles and miles and at last, with my mind numb and my feet sore and my nerves going all a jingle-jangle, I finally pulled out the radio and clipped it to my pack, stuck in the earbuds, and never looked back.  For the rest of the hike if I was walking I was listening to the radio.  Nature be damned.

How'd you like to commune with this?

Saturdays became my favorite days.  I'd listen to weekend edition on NPR and then listen to the rest of their Saturday programming, which was usually things like "Wait wait don't tell me" and "This American Life". Then, in the evenings, I would listen to college football broadcasts.

If the Hokies were playing?  Double Bonus, because when I hiked the trail I loved the Virginia Tech Fighting Gobblers more than I ever had before or have since.

Two reasons for this, as best as I can figure.  First, when you hike, when you actually spend your day walking for miles and miles, something weird happens to your brain - I think its because you are getting so much exercise that you have excessive amounts of Dopamine and other hormones to contend with.

For me, this was manifested in being extremely emotional.  Listening to Country Music was the worst.  I'd hear one song about Mama and how after Dad died she flew his F-14 into Libya and the plane got hit and the dog had to eject over the desert sands and we never could find him and now she's sitting there in her rocking chair knitting a pair of Christmas shoes for when Aunt Deb goes to meet Jesus and wondering about what happened to the dog and I'll tell ya - I would cry. Tears streaming down the cheeks and sniffles sniffling up the nose, a few hushed sobs.

But then the next song would be about the farmer's daughter with a predisposition to tequila who likes to go skinny dipping after she is done milking the cows and she has a tattoo somewhere on her body of what doing something to who and then she walks off to Bible Study with a tray of biscuits winking at you because when she made them she was buck nekkid (okay, she was wearing an apron, because otherwise it would simply be unsanitary) and all these old Church ladies will be eating her buck nekkid biscuits and it gives her little subversive heart so much joy, and did I mention she has huuuuuge tires on her truck and her dog is just awesome, like a little Boswell to her Samuel Johnson, going where ever she does and making little notes on her life so that one day the dog can publish her story and it will be not quite a best seller but that's pretty good for a dog, and he'll get to New York City to see if those city slickers ever learned how to make a decent salsa. And I would cheer-up, like, immediately.

So I was in love with the Hokies because I was sort of messed up and pretty much in love with everything.

Second, the Hokies, they reminded me of home.  Walking the AT at the time represented both the farthest and the longest I had been away from Blacksburg, and I was maybe a little home-sick.  Just a little.  So when I heard news of the Hokies or listened to their games, I felt like a little piece of me had gone back home, was hanging out spiritually in the town I grew up in with the people I loved, and that was cool man.  I could dig it, you know?

Sure you do.

Anyways, the story.  Around Halloween of 2005 I had actually reached Pearisburg, and my family pulled me off the trail for a week to rest, relax, and do some slack packing, where they would drive me to point A, I'd walk for about 25 miles or so and get picked up at the end of the day at point B by my parents.  They'd drive me home, I'd get to eat a nice big meal and sleep in a regular bed.

After a week of this I was finally out of range, and it was finally time to start hiking again for reals.  I was driven out to somewhere near Marion in a truck and dropped off with a full load of food, some fresh socks, and a new pair of trekking poles, and there I was again, back in the woods.  Mixed emotions.  Mixed emotions.  Happy to be back on the road, sad to leave those I loved behind so I could go finish the hike.

But it was Saturday, and I had the Hokies to buoy my spirits, yeah?  It has been a great season for Tech, despite the fact that they were lead by Marcus Vick (Marcus Vick!).  They had begun the season ranked 8th in the nation and had steadily improved their standing as they destroyed all other opposition.  They beat big named teams.  Looking at the college football landscape today it is almost impossible to believe, but there was a time when #3 VT met #18 Boston College at Lane Stadium and Beamer's Boys put their adversaries to the sword in front of a sold out crowd.

My how times have changed.

Any ways, on November 5th, as a I sat huddled in a dark shelter not too far from Burke's Garden, the #3 Hokies hosted the #5 Hurricanes at Lane Stadium, and it grew dark, and I fell asleep listening to the game, and I woke up around 11:30 to the sound of Frank Beamer saying that we should give Miami all credit, they're a great football team, you know, and.....

They had lost, 7-27.  'Twas a schlacking.

The next morning I penned a hasty note in the trail register, a notebook left at the shelters that people write in, either to share news on trail conditions or just have a laugh, let people know that you were at this particular place.  I was feeling plucky, so I wrote a sarcastic note stating that upon hearing that the Hokies had lost my spirit was so mortally wounded, my heart was so broken, that it was not possible for me to continue, and I was getting off the trail.  Laughing to myself, I kept on a'chooglin down the line.

Fast forward about a month and about 500 miles later.  I'm at the Walayisi Outdoor Center in Neels Gap, GA, the last stop before the AT's southern terminus in Springer mountain.  There is an outfitter there, and the people who work it are used to seeing people going north who have just logged in their first 70 miles of the trail and maybe their first 70 miles of backpacking ever in their lives.  Many of them have no idea what they are doing and desperately need gear changes and advice.  It is a PERFECT place for an outfitters.

I was standing there, eyeing a pocket rocket stove, and one of the people working the outfitters saw me. "Those are sweet little stoves, man."

"Yeah, they look it."

"What are you carrying?"

"Oh, I have a whisperlite."

"Ha!  You mean a 'whisperheavy'?  You know, we got a sale going on right now, if you are looking to upgrade."

I gave him a sour look, or at least the sourest look I could manage, which wasn't very sour because like I said earlier I was pretty much in love with everything.  "That's okay.  I've managed to schlep it for 2,000 miles.  I think I can manage the last 77."

But hey, he wasn't all bad.  He gave me and Bad Cheese and Stale Crackers (the two people I finished the hike with) the number to Domino's pizza.

And as I sat there, eating a lovely medium pizza that was mine and only mine, these two hikers walked in who I had never seen before, but they knew someone I had gone to high school with and who is now a yoga princess or something like that (really.  It's actually pretty cool).  Bad Cheese and Stale Crackers introduced themselves, and when I told them who I was they were flabbergasted.

They had read my post after the Miami loss, and they thought I had actually, really, had gotten off the trail because of it.

And that's my story.

And yeah, it isn't that great, which is why any effort I've made to write about the Trail and my hike have met so often with frustration.  For me there was no great spiritual epiphany or insight.  I didn't meet any bears.  I didn't fall in love with nature or anything or anyone else.  When I got back my life followed the same arc that it was already on before I did my hike. The AT was a grind, a long day in and day out moderately dangerous adventure.  But it was beautiful, and I was happy, and it has molded my sensibilities, and I am ever so grateful to have done it.

But I think if this story tells anything, it shows what Frank Beamer had built at Virginia Tech, and what it meant to so many people.  These guys actually thought that a VT football loss had been the final straw that finally forced me to hang up the trekking poles and call it a walk; that they actually believed I would do such a thing shows what power the program had over us, how much a part of our lives it was.

Frank Beamer in happier times.  I'll leave it to the shirt and the hat to give away the year, but it was a very, very long ago.

So thanks, Frank, for giving so many people something they have held so dear, a decent college football team, and occasionally a great college football team.  There are more important things in this word, I suppose....but the Hokies gave so many of us something to project a bit of meaning onto, a reason to put one foot in front of the other towards the Fall season and towards Saturday and Thursday nights in Blacksburg, and a reason to eat Turkey Legs that are just way to large to be natural.      

And now, I am going to get me some of those buck-nekkid biscuits.
 

Preperations

So, where was I with the whole Appalachian Trail thing? I believe I had discussed an intention to blog about past experiences (very anti-blog) and I tried to answer some basic questions. Probably scared some people with mention of nude hiking day, but I didn't participate and I promise you won't hear another thing about it.

But before we start actually walking, we have to prepare for the hike.

Physically, I wasn't very well prepared to hike. This worried me, because as my time on the much vaunted BHS track team had taught me, being conditioned is important when one wants to avoid injuries.

I had planned on using the time between graduation from Virginia Tech, in May, and the start of my hike on July 1st to do some physical preparation, to get acclimated to walking long distances with heavy loads. I did a little of this. I would load up my backpack with 4 litres of water and some bricks and take a long stroll around the neighborhood. But, I must admit that I spent most of the time before the hike hanging out with my girlfriend (eventually wife) playing checkers, making cookies, playing records, engaging in other wholesome premarital activities. We spend hours by the pool, and many evenings in some Blacksburg's finest eateries and drinkeries. As a result, I ended up starting the trail in the worst shape of my life (save maybe today).

If I wasn't prepared physically, I was certainly prepared mentally. I walked through the trail on paper, pouring over maps and guidebooks, figuring out where I wanted to resupply and getting an overall strategy put together. My goal, I decided, was to focus on getting through the difficult first 500 miles, which would put me in Hanover, NH, and past the intimidating mountains in Maine and New Hampshire. I would take it slow, hoping that I would make up time later. Overall, I hoped to be home by Christmas.

I also bought a TON of stuff. I decided that most of the backpacking gear I had wasn't well suited to long trips, so I ended up pretty much buying much of what I needed. A lot of my purchases were good; my backpack turned out to be excellent, my clothes made it the entire trip, my trekking poles were a god send (though they broke in Vermont...duct tape made them last until Blacksburg, VA). But I also had a lot of stuff I didn't need or that turned out to be not the smartest choice. I got a GPS (useless), a whisperlite (super reliable, but too heavy) a Cat's meow sleeping bag (too heavy, not warm enough) AND a first aid kit capable of small field surgery (overkill).

So, physically and materially over equipped, but mentally ready, I flew up to Maine with my mom and my future wife, snapped some photos, hiked up to the to of Mount Kathadin (couldn't see a damn thing...except I think I saw Macbeth's witches moving through the fog), made it to the bottom, and I was on my way.

My Introduction to the Trail

My first backpacking trip was with Boy Scout Troop 44 out of Blacksburg, VA. It was the first backpacking trip for a lot of us, actually; Troop 44 was known not for hiking but for cooking. Under the tutelage of the great Arthur "Torchy" Walrath, who literally wrote the book on camp cooking (check out Camp Cookery for Small Groups at Amazon.com), Troop 44 became the Bobby Flay of the Blue Ridge Mountain District.

The hike was part of an attempt at the BSA's 50 Miler Award: if you travel 50 miles by foot or by float (or a combination of both), spend a certain number of nights out in the woods, and do a service project, then you too can get the BSA's 50 Miler Award and sew the patch onto your pack. Wear it with pride.

Our 50 miler was a combination float/foot attempt. We went about 25 miles down the New River in canoes, and would do the rest on first by hiking on the AT. On the second day of the trip we hopped out of our canoes near Pearisburg and hoofed it towards one of the mountains towering over the town, Angel's Rest.

The first day of walking was difficult. We had canoed 13 miles into the wind, had to wait for quite sometime for our packs to arrive, and then had to walk through Pearisburg to the base of Angel's Rest. By the time we got there it had started to rain (naturally). This filled me with fear, becuase the prevailing wisdom on Angel's Rest, as shared by the older scouts, was that it was akin to scaling the Matterhorn, the trail so steep in places that you could reach out and touch it. They were all exagerating of course, but Angel's Rest still does present a challenge. With all the rain coming down, how on earth would we ever make it to the top?

We were just about to start up when the trail was filled by a giant, towering over us in green rain gear with a HUGE pack. He was an older gentleman (50?) one his way into Pearisburg and he stopped for a spell to talk with us. We asked him where he was going and he told us.

Georgia.

He explained that he was thru-hiking the Appalachain Trail and that it ran from Maine to Georgia. It was the first I had ever heard of this. You may be surprised to know that, but remember I was 12, and when you are 12 there are a lot of things you don't know. Amazingly enough, I did meet some people during my hike who didn't realize the trail they were walking on extended for hundreds and hundreds of miles in both directions.

Anyway, the idea that one would chose to walk that far was mind blowing. I am not saying I vowed that day and there to hike the AT, but I thought that it must make for a great adventure. A seed definetly was planted.

I remember a lot about the first trip. The troop mothers had given every other person a stick of summer sausage, and it played havoc with our digestion and was a greasy burden. I am amazed that we were not attacked by bears. Everytime we stopped for a breather my Dad would go around with what remained of his summer sausage and knife and ask people if they wanted some, and cut you off a piece whether you wanted one or not.

My Dad also betrayed a skill for forecasting the weather, which I have learned in subsequent years is something he pays a fair amount of attention to, as do I. He became a kind of oracle. We would ask him if we should set up tents or if it would be okay to sleep under the stars, and he'd give us a judgement based on the clouds and the way the wind was blowing (or maybe he had spirited a radio along with him, I don't know). He was never wrong.

The hike wasn't easy. We didn't have the best equipment, we didn't have the most weight efficient food, we didn't know that we didn't need a good deal of what we had brought with us. One guy "got it". He was a cross country runner, a really good cross country runner, and obviously understood that in a game of distances lighter is better. You could pick up his pack with one finger. Even on my best days on the AT, I could never make such a boast.

In spite of the difficulties and many aches and pains, we were successful. To get the patch we had to camp out one additional night, and so we camped out at one of the Scoutmaster's houses. In an obvious lapse of judgement (a rare thing), they decided to show us "Deliverance", becuase one of the guys who we met while canoeing sort of looked like some guy playing the banjo on a bridge in the film. My glasses broke, and my Dad and I spent the entire movie trying to fix them. We couldn't find any screws so we had to track down some wire and tape; I think my Dad may have stalled on purpose so I couldn't watch the movie. For this I am grateful. It would have been too much. He's a good man.

So that was the first trip. There were more, and eventually there was a small group of scouts and leaders who had things pretty well figured out. When I started hiking the AT for keeps, I considered myself an avid hiker.

But as it turned out, I still had much to learn.

How is that for a cliffhanger! Stay tuned for more.

Some Basic Questions Answered

Before I start jibba-jabbering about the trail, its probably good to get some FAQs out of the way.

#1. Where is the trail, and how long is it?

The trail runs from Mount Kathadin, Maine, to Springer Mountain, Georgia. It runs through (let me see...) Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, West Virginia (just barely), Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina and Georgia.

Total distance actually varies from year to year based on measuring equipment and changes to the trail, but when I hiked it was about 2,170 miles.

#2. How long did it take?

About five and a half months. Started July 1, 2005, finished December 10, 2005.

#3. How many miles a day did you go?

I think if you actually take the length of the trail and divide it by the number of days I was out, it comes out to like 13 miles a day, but that includes a lot of zero days in towns and a lot of "nero" days (days where you don't go very far; for me, a nero became anything less than 7 miles. Why 7? I don't really know). I usually shot for 16 miles a day once I was in shape, and I could easily do over 20. My longest day was reckoned at 27.

#4. North or South?

Most people hike going North, starting in Georgia and heading up to Maine. Because I started the hike well after college graduation, in July, I started in Maine and went South. If you do start that late, the weather is much more favorable going south than north; Mount Kathadin usually closes in October due to snowfall.

#5. How much did your pack weigh?

I started out with probably 70 lbs fully loaded (includes food and water), which was way too much. By the time I was in Vermont I had it down to 45 fully loaded. At that point I no longer kept track. I think it inched up a bit when it got cold, but I changed out some of my gear for some lighter options and got it back down again some.

#6. Where did you poop?

In the woods with the bears.

Actually, on the trail there are shelters on the way. They are not much; typically a three sided structure with a roof. It will keep the rain off of you, as long as it isn't windy. Most of these shelters are fairly close to water sources AND they usually also have privies or outhouses.

They come in many different types. You got your classic outhouses, your octagons, your mouldering privies, your two-seaters. My favorite is the mouldering types, because they are typically open air and as long as people "flush" by tossing some duff into the privies when they are down they are less smelly. I will let you puzzle over what duff is. It may or may not be Homer Simpson's favorite beer.

#7. What did you eat?

For the most part, I ate anything that could be cooked by adding hot water. Freeze dried meals, Ramen noodles, some pastas, things like that. In addition, I usually had trail mix, a jar of peanut butter, grape kool-aid, cocoa, and many, many many energy bars. Snickers bars, actually, provide the most energy on the dollar.

In town I ate what ever I could get my hands on.

#8. Down or synthetic?

I started off using a synthetic sleeping bag, but I am definitely a fan of goose down now. I met people on the trail who ended up going in the other direction.

#9. Nude Hiking Day?

I think nude hiking day is in June, and it is usually something the northbounders (i.e. people hiking from Georgia to Maine) do to break up the monotony of hiking. So I missed it. Didn't stop me from trying one day anyway. Didn't catch on for me.

#10. Wow, really? Did you run into anyone, that would be embarrassing

No shit. I've actually read that if you are going to hike nude, its best to do it in a small group of people, mixed gender if possible. Otherwise you just look like someone who really, really loves nature. Thankfully, I picked a day and a place where I didn't expect to meet anyone, and I was right.

I did, however, definetly got caught once skinny dipping...not really skinny dipping, but rather just having a wash in a stream. That is a story in and of itself.

#11. Did you hike alone?

Sort of. I didn't have a dedicated hiking partner. In the beginning, there was plenty of northbounders coming up the trail so I usually had company at night. Sometimes I would hike with some southbounders for a few days, and finally towards the end I hiked with a couple whose hiking style matched mine fairly well (Bad Cheese, Stalecrackers, if you are out there give me a shout!)

There was a large portion of the trail where I did hike very much alone, from Pennsylvania well into Virginia. It was not fun.

#12. Dude, I got more questions, but the idea of you hiking nude...it's like burned this image into my brain. Somethings are better left unsaid, you know?

Hey, I didn't ask the question.

#13. You should have lied.

Fair enough. We'll pick this up at a later time. It's late anyway, and I have to be getting to bed.

#14. I'll bet you are going to tell me you sleep in the nude too.

Har har.

Trail Day!

I regret that I was unable to make a post on December 10. I am in the middle of preparing for a final exam for school (Masters Degree program in Naval Arch. from VT, if you are curious), and with a job and a family and Christmas looming in the distance and all the preperations THAT entails, there just wasn't enough time to sit down and write.

I regret it though, becuase December 10th is a day that I hold close to the heart, right up there with my anniversary, my wife's birhtday (which I better not forget) and my daughter's birthday (which I could never forget).

It is an important day for me becuase December 10, 2005, was the day that I finished the Appalachian Trail. It was the end of of a 2,170 mile journey that began at Mount Kathadin, Maine, on July 1 of that same year. It is a journey that I can sum up in one word: Incredible.

And of course, one word is not enough to describe it. Before I left my Grandmother asked me if I was going to write a book about my upcoming hike during a farewell lunch at Red Lobster (her choice, not mine...though cheddar biscuits can also be described with one word: scrumdidillyumptious). And I told her no, becuase it is something that has been done many times. I used the example of Bill Bryson's "Walk in the Woods", though I am not sure Bryson spent enough time out in the woods to really capture the essance of making a thru-hike.

Then when I was done with the trail I thought that maybe I could write a book about it, but the words simply would never come.

For the longest time, it seemed there was nothing really to talk about. The trail is generally thought of as a life changing experience - and for many it is. There are books (see, it has been done before) about people who have gone on the trail and have their entire perspective altered. They go out and see God in the nature around them and they go home and become ministers. Or they become so in love with the journey that the only way for them to deal with it is to keep going, and they end up hiking the trail 3, 4, 5 times, to the point where they understand every rock and stream as one undesrstands an old and intimate friend.

Me? Not so much. If any changes happened, they were small; the trajectory of my life remained essentially unaletered. And that is an aspect of my hike that I found frustrating at times. God never decscended to meet me on the mountain top so that he and I could play chess (though I hear he much prefers Battleship) - though I will toss a bone to my spiritually inclined friends and say that I did feel often a profound sense of grace and thankfulness (though not in a mushy "I love you Jesus baby" kind of way...more on this in a later post).

I also thought maybe I would "find myself" or achieve oneness with nature. As far as being one with nature is concerned, nothing could be farther from the truth. I often felt very much ill at ease with Mother Nature, like I was a guest in her home who had overstayed his welcome. Her house is beautiful, don't get me wrong, but I found myself tiptoeing quietly through it trying very hard not to break anything. My relationship to nature was reverent and intensely respectful, but I felt we were always at odds.

As far as finding myself, I don't know who I was supposed to find. I realized late on that the entire hike had been a reflection of who I was. It was meticulously planned, tenaciously (if somewhat patiently) pursued, tightly organized. But I was also incredibly flexible in changing plans and shifting intermediate goals, and I did take time to enjoy my surroundings. People told me that I should be a little more free spirited. That I should fold up the map and linger a little longer in town or on the trail. And sometimes I think I should have, sometimes I wonder if I should have had more fun. But it's something I simply couldn't do; something I have never been able to do. I hiked with every fiber of being of my being, giving it everything I had until the end, just hanging on -- becuase believe me, as awesome as it was, it was very difficult many, many times.

I threw myself back into the business of living life when I returned - got a job, got married to my at that time girlfriend (who was finishing her junior year of college while I was away), had a family. All of these are great things, but by doing so I am not so sure I got the chance to process the hike.

Well, after 5 years of thinking about it, I think I have something to say at last, and this Blog seems like a good platform to do it in. I don't know if what I have is worthy of a book -- but maybe if this goes well I can gather my thoughts into some sort of body of work.

But that really isn't the point. Since I have gotten off the trail one thing has changed - there is this incredible desire to talk about the trip to anyone who will listen. Maybe its a way of reliving a wonderful 5 and half months; maybe its a way to keep those memories alive. My friends and my wife are tired of hearing about it, so guess what?

You're next.