A Cruel Quest for a Fat Dog

Exhausted I plopped down beside Jake in the middle of a grassy field in the small town of Montevallo.

“It’s not happening bro. There’s just no way.”

Jake has been my best friend since freshmen year of college. He’s my wild side. He’s that guy. The guy that has always initiated long, crazy, adventure filled nights of mischief and mayhem. He’s the guy that had us driving down to the beach at 1am simply to spend our single “off day” from baseball clinking bottles and cheering crashing waves with our toes in the sand. The one that convinced me it was a great idea to scale a 4 story dorm building to debo the Chi Omega owl statue. The antagonist that had me and Sweet Pea calmly walking buck naked through a massive house party and running across the President’s lawn. Without disclosing any further incriminating activity… we will just leave it at we’ve shared many crazy stories. Now don’t get it twisted… Jake may be wild… but he is a great guy and has never gotten me into any serious trouble. He’s never initiated or suggested anything that I didn’t truly want to do… he just simply gives me a little push. The same push Tyler Durden gives you…

“Slide.”

On the surface I’m cool, calm and collected but Jake can see right through this facade. He knows deep down I’m pissed and slightly disappointed. He smiles and throws his arm around my neck…

“I know buddy. We’ll get through this.”

I muffled a few curse words and slung Jake’s arm off my shoulders, stood up and took off barefoot across the field for another lap.

This is the run where I knew I was hurt. Injuries suck and every single athlete can testify to this horrific fact. Now if you are an athlete that has NEVER been injured… well… then you are probably a liar, not a real athlete, or you are far too prideful to admit it an injury.

The first step to any injury is admitting you have an actual problem. After my first ultra, I ended up with a stress fracture because my body was not used to the stress I was putting on it through training. It took me a long time to actually get it checked out because I felt invincible. So of course being young and naïve… I kept running on it. Training was life. If I couldn’t train… what was the point?

Thankfully… I grew up. I backed off from a regimented training plan and started looking at running in a different light. I started viewing running as a lifestyle more so than just a hobby. I started enjoying the trails and life so much better because I wasn’t anchored to a strict plan. If I felt good I would run. If I felt bad I wouldn’t. It was simple. I’ve kept that same mindset for the past couple of years and it has kept me from burning out and has kept me relatively injury free. The only injury I’ve really had in the past 4 or 5 years (other than the typical twisted ankles and sore IT bands) has been a fairly bad case of plantar fasciitis which started in April 2014. But a few sessions of rehab and hard work at The FARM had me up and running pain free in a matter of weeks.

After a smooth performance at the Oak Mt 50k earlier in March, I was amped and gaining confidence for my upcoming race schedule. I decided to do a traverse of the Art Loeb for one last hard effort before the Cruel Jewel 100. I figured with CJ100 and then Quest for the Crest 50k within a few weeks of each other… I would need to save my legs and be well rested. I also decided to not race Sweetwater 50k. Instead I joined Mike’s Kids 5k that helped support the Mike's Transverse Myelitis charity. Such a fun event! The FARM is a big supporter of Mike and his charity, so I tried to get a few local runners to come out and run it with me.

I figured I might as well go for a 5k PR… when in Rome right?

 

My 5k PR mission was a success. 17:30 ensured me that this effort may be one of the last times I throw down that hard on a 5k.

But damn… 5ks hurt. So to alleviate some tightness, Dr. Beau and I went to Oak Mt for an out and back run to Peavine Falls.

The week after the 5k I noticed a little soreness and tightness in my heel area, but I didn’t think too much of it. It wasn’t anything out of the norm and I brushed it off as a possible flare up of PF. The following weekend was the Battle of Jericho.

The Battle of Jericho was some serious fun! We had a great turnout! BOJ was everything I hoped it would be… a simple, fun weekend of camping, running, and colbeers with some of my favorite peoples.

Between flagging the course, running with the group, and sweeping the course… I put in a lot of miles for the weekend. There was slightly more pain in my heel after the weekend’s activities… but it was still nothing that concerned me.

The Tuesday following BOJ, Ole John Gregg and I headed out to Oak Mt for a spin on the Race to the Lake course. We kept it pretty casual but as soon as I started a climb along the Yellow trail… my calf tightened. This had never happened before. We took it easy all the way back to the south trail head. The next morning I could barely put any pressure on my foot without serious pain. Great. My plantar fasciitis is back. 3 weeks before Cruel Jewel.

I went to the FARM for some serious rehab. For the record… I looooooooathe needles. Yes. I am well aware that a good portion of my body is covered in ink… which was put there with the aid of needles. I get it. But it’s different. Trust me. Dr. Beard and I put together a game plan of lots of rehab and easy running for the last remaining weeks leading up to CJ.

My foot just wasn’t getting any better, so I made the tough decision to drop from the Cruel Jewel 100. I was slightly pissed because I felt as though I was probably in the best shape I had been in since I started running. I was really looking forward to pushing it a little more than usual at CJ but being healthy and pain free far outweighed the high I would have received from racing. That pissedoffness quickly went away after I got in a relatively pain free run up to King’s Chair during CJ weekend. Besides… it was just a race.

I shifted focus to the Quest for the Crest 50k that was quickly approaching. Surely to goodness I would be healthy enough to at least go up and halfway enjoy the race with my friends. The closer race day came… the more I realized that I wouldn’t be toeing that starting line either. Another DNS. Ugh. I think I was less pissed about missing the races than I was at the fact that I was missing multiple opportunities to run in the mountains.

Finally I went to get an x-ray and MRI done on my foot. They found no fractures or tears… only a little swelling in my heel. Diagnosis? Stress reaction and DAS BOOOOOOOT!!!!

I wanted nothing to do with a boot unless it involved the Beerfest Championship over in Germany…

The stress reaction landed me in das boot for 3 weeks. I felt like a prisoner. I don’t sit still very well and having limited ability in my lower leg had me complainy and whiney. After a few days of sulking… I bucked up and decided to use this time as an opportunity to explore other avenues and activities.

 

I started hitting the gym and the pool.

Somewhere along the way… I actually started to enjoy cross training and doing something other than running. After I promised the wifey I would stay within my skill level and comfort zone while in the saddle… I even got Althea (my mountain bike) fixed… it was still busted up from a pretty bad wreck from last year.

Though I don’t get the same feeling of freedom as I get when trail running… riding still had me out enjoying nature and having fun on single track again!

So where does that leave me now? Well… I’m finally out of das boot! Whoop whoop! I’ve slowly started incorporating some short trail runs into my recovery routine.

I feel slow, sluggish, and still have some tightness/soreness in my foot… but the important thing is that it is getting better. I’m really excited about taking things slow and rebuilding from the ground up. I’m going to continue incorporating more cross training into my normal routine to hopefully become a more rounded athlete.

I am unfortunately dropping from the Fat Dog 120 down to the 30 mile version. I’m less disappointed in this than I thought I would be. I plan on using the race as my first long training run. By doing the shorter race… it’ll give me the opportunity to explore some of the beautiful trails and peaks at a more relaxed and leisurely pace in between helping crew Brandi and Brad as they run looooooooong. But the more I recover… the more I’m getting that itch to run long. I don’t have anything set in stone for the Fall just yet… but I’m starting to plot and plan something big! 

The break was much needed. My body was obviously telling me something… I just needed to listen. Honestly… I think it’s been a blessing in disguise. Like Dr. Beau and Sloan said in my recent visit... injuries give you a chance to take a break that you wouldn't normally take if you were healthy. A break to reevaluate and possibly fix any inefficiencies and become a stronger runner. I'm actually finally at peace with my injury. It made me step away from the running scene and truly reevaluate the direction I want my running to progress. Thankfully I have a solid support group and a handful of close friends that will lend an ear and let me vent my complaints, ambitions, and frustrations without fear of judgment.  Strangely… I’ve really enjoyed the rest and recovery. Yes… I’ve desperately missed the day in/day out act of running in the woods… but running is not my life. So when I get the typical “How’s life been treating you” question… and my only complaint in life is my hobby… I consider myself one lucky ass man.

So what direction do I want my running to progress and transcend? Well to quote a conversation I had with a good friend over my extended running break…

“Welcome to the world of the lone wolves and dark horses.”

Run long, run wild, and howl loudly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mountains, Man Crates, and the Furr of a Blitzen Trapper

I was recently introduced to Man Crates through a special and fun project they had in the works. They wanted to create a nostalgia project that made a person reflect back to when/where Mother Earth really took their breath away and their love for the wild began. I was immediately excited about the project, but I had never heard of Man Crates... so I wanted to do some research before agreeing. What did my research discover? Well… to say the least… Man Crates are flipping awesome!

Manly gifts packaged in a wooden crate that requires a crowbar to open? It’s badassery at its finest! What man wouldn’t love this? This would be an ideal gift for Father's Day, a birthday or just an "I love my man" present! I was sold and after throwing maybe not so subtle hints at my wife about receiving a crate of my own… I settled down and started thinking about the project. When did Mother Earth first take my breath away? When did I fall in love with the wild?

I would like to tell you that I fell in love with the wild the moment I stepped foot in the woods as a child… but that would be a lie… and I’m not a liar…

 *checks pants for fire*

Whether I was in love or not… I did spend a ton of time in the woods as a young lad. I can’t count the miles I spent riding bikes down the old logging roads behind my neighborhood, the number of sticks used to build architecturally sound forts that could withstand even the most severe attacks from Shredder’s evil Foot Klan, or the unimaginable hours spent crawling around in Army fatigues spraying my best friends with endless amounts of blue, pink, and green balls of paint. I thoroughly enjoyed spending long hours in the woods… but it wasn’t love. It never took my breath away… well… it did if we were using the trees as coverage for a “ring and run” attempt on an unsuspecting neighbor’s doorbell. But you know the kind of “take your breath away” I’m talking about right? That wonder and awe moment. Well… dammit… I stand corrected again. We did wonder if those neighbors saw us… and awed at the sight of our parent’s crossed arms and tapping feet as we returned to our homes to collect our punishment. But the woods were just fun. It was simply our way of life.

So when did it happen? When did beautiful Mother Earth open my eyes and heart to the wild? Well... I'll tell you the true story of how it happened...

 

When I was only 17,

I could hear the angels whispering

So I drove into the woods and wandered aimlessly about

Until I heard my mother shouting through the fog

It turned out to be the howling of a dog

Or a wolf to be exact, the sound sent shivers down my back

But I was drawn into the pack and before long

They allowed me to join in and sing their song

So from the cliffs and highest hill, yea

We would gladly get our fill

Howling endlessly and shrilly at the dawn

And I lost the taste for judging right from wrong

For my flesh had turned to fur, yea

And my thoughts they surely were

Turned to instinct and obedience to God.

 

Hmmm… does anyone else smell something burning?
 

I’m not Catholic but I do have a confession. The story above is not entirely the true story of how I fell in love with the wild. I fibbed a little. I was 27… not 17.
 

*looks to the sky for lightning strike*

 

Ok ok ok... before my pants really do catch fire and God strikes me down with a bolt of lightning… I’ll tell you the cold hard truth. The italicized words above are not mine. I know… shocking right? They are in fact the beautiful words of the Portland, Oregon based band Blitzen Trapper and their song called “Furr.”

 

 

The first time I heard this song it struck like a big ole solid G chord in my heart. It was as if Eric had lyrically crafted this song based on how I fell in love with the wild. I loved the band instantly.
 

Now by 2013 I had been running for a few years and even had successfully completed a 50 mile race and a handful of 50ks. I had secretly committed to making 2013 the year of discovery. Not only pushing boundaries as a runner… but perhaps more about pushing my own personal limits and discovering who I was as a person. As humans, we are ever changing and I felt as though I hadn’t completed evolved into the man I was supposed to be. I felt like I was on the right track… but wasn’t quite there yet.
 

 

In March 2013… I found myself standing in the middle of a shivering crowd at 4am at Vogel State Park. Who knew a long night of too much Avondale Saison with my best friend a few months prior would land me at the start of the 68 mile inaugural Georgia Death Race. Convincing me to sign up for the GDR was probably his way of getting revenge on me for shoving him into a thorny bush outside of my apartment. Sorry again  Scrump… I don’t rememeber… but you probably deserved it.
  

GDR was to be my first true mountain trail race. I had done plenty of races prior but never any races in real mountains. The race was an amazing learning experience. It was the furthest I had ever pushed myself. I watched a beautiful sunrise, ate my first bacon grilled cheese, and humbly death marched the final 20 miles on blistered feet with a retired Army Ranger. You would think after 19hrs of “epic” mountain time I would be in love with the wild… but I wasn’t. Don’t get me wrong…
 

“I could hear the angels whispering…”
 

 But I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I had however… fallen in puppy love with the north Georgia mountains…
 

 

That pesky north Georgia mountain love bug bit me again soon after GDR. I found myself grabbing a pair of cheap, vodka brand engraved sunglasses from a soon to be lifetime trail bro Jason Green. 
 

 

 

The next thing I knew… Willy had drawn a line in the gravel with his foot, told us to stand behind it, and blew a bullhorn. The inaugural Cruel Jewel 56 had started.

 

 

 

This race was an adventure. With a 4pm start… most of the race would take place in the darkness… something that I’d never truly experienced as a runner.
 

 

The part of the race we actually saw was filled with beautiful single track…
 

 

I vividly remember leaving an aid station as the night was closing in. I crossed over a bridge and started to make my way towards the dark, lonely, foggy woods…
 

“So I drove into the woods and wandered aimlessly about
Until I heard my mother shouting through the fog”
 

Well unlike the song… I didn’t actually drive into the woods… I ran into the woods. And I wasn’t necessarily wandering aimlessly… I was following flags. And it wasn’t my mother shouting through the fog… it was my crew and bro-bro Chuck. Still… you get the idea.

 

I somehow was fortunate enough to be the first person to cross the finish line and won my first ultra... but I still wasn't truly in love with the wild...

 

 

A few weeks after Cruel Jewel… we headed up to the Smoky Mountains for a family vacation. My parents had surprised me and Kati (my wifey) and my sister’s family (husband Michael and daughters Kinsey, and Brantley) with a weeklong cabin stay in Gatlinburg! Surprisingly… I had never actually vacationed to the mountains. I had always gone specifically for a race… it was never to simply enjoy spending time in the mountains with the ones I love.
 

We unpacked our bags and settled into the cabin. Everyone was drained from the long drive and wanted to rest, so I decided to venture out onto a trail for a sunset run. “I could hear the angels whispering…” as I drove into the Great Smoky Mountain National Park and found a spot at the Alum Cave trail head. I grabbed a handheld water bottle and headed out into the woods. As the trail began to climb… the angel’s voices became louder…

 

Eventually the trail opened up and surfaced out of the thick trees. By this time the angels were no longer whispering… they were singing praises and blowing trumpets! I was finally home.
 

 

I stood in awe... gazing out over the silhouetted mountains. Time stood still. I drew in a deep breath of fresh mountain air and slowly released it. I took in another. I could feel the air changing me
 

“For my flesh had turned to fur…”
 

It was as if Mother Earth had wrapped a tourniquet around my arm, found the largest vein, and injected me with the drug WILD. My heart beat faster and faster as the drug slowly circulated throughout my bloodstream. Mother Earth knew she had hooked me. She had injected the purest form of the drug because she knew… she knew I would be rendered helpless to the power of WILD.
 

 Over the course of the following 6 days… I fell in love.
 

“From the cliffs…” 

 

 

“and highest hill…”

 

 

“We would gladly get our fill…”
 

 

I ran wildly through these gorgeous mountains…

 

 

I took the time to appreciate God’s handiwork…

 

 

 

My soul was cleansed by the mountain waters…

 

 

 

It was as if my eyes had been opened to some magnificent invisible realm. A realm that had always been there… but I never had the capacity to perceive it. I felt exactly what my niece Brantley had felt when we took her to the aquarium for the first time…

 

 

I had rediscovered the blissful and untainted spirit of my inner child.
 

I left the mountains that week a changed man. I had fallen in love with that way of life. Everything made sense when I was in the mountains. I could hear this silent, ancient voice… a voice that relaxed me… that calmed me… that slowed me down… that opened my eyes and heart to what life was truly about. Somewhere along the way…

 

“I lost the taste for judging right from wrong
For my flesh had turned to fur, yeah
And my thoughts, they surely were
Turned to instinct and obedience to God.”
 

It wouldn’t be until months later (October 2013) after the successful completion of the Pitchell adventure…

 

 

that I would truly feel accepted into the wild. After traversing 69 miles of rugged North Carolina mountain trails… Adam Hill gave me a hug on the summit of Mt Mitchell and welcomed me as a young wolf into the pack. Little did I know at the time… but those 18hrs would change me forever. It changed my entire perspective on running and adventure. It felt like I was initiated into a secret underground society.
 

 

"But I was drawn into the pack and before long

They allowed me to join in and sing their song

Howling endlessly and shrilly at the dawn..."

 

 

It was after this adventure where I adopted my running mantra…
 

“Run long, run wild, and howl loudly.”

 

(Adam "Mad A" Hill)

 

The mountains bring me an inner peace that allows me to love deeper, dream bigger, and live simpler. At times I get frustrated when work, injuries and other obligations won’t allow me to venture up to the mountains. But even when my soul becomes deluded with the worries and stresses that life often brings… I can still feel a hint of the drug flowing in my system. I can still hear the angels whispering ever so gently in the clouds that roll over the mountains… “come home”… the wolves standing on the cliffs and high hills howling under a harvest moon…  “come home.” For now… I’m patiently abiding my time. Waiting. Waiting for the day to come where I no longer have to bounce up to the mountains for a quick WILD fix. Waiting for the day where I can hook right up to that mountain IV and have a daily dose of that original, pure, exhilarating, life-altering, reality bending drug that Mother Earth hooked me on years ago.
 

Run long, run wild, and howl loudy…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art Loeb in a Day - Bringing Le Sexxxy Back

 

 

Is sleeping in the back of your car, long late night caffeinated drives and stumbling into the office Monday morning really worth spending a single day running in the mountains?

Yes. The answer is always yes.

 

 

 

After a late Saturday morning start and a 5hr30min drive from Birmingham, my car came to a halt in a back alley street in Brevard, NC.  I grabbed a pair of shoes, stuffed a duffel bag full of running paraphernalia and hopped into Ali’s car.

Ali is a kindred soul… like my trail twin… like a sister separated at birth. Though we have ran in some of the same races… we have never had the opportunity to simply run and share our passion for the trails together. But the stars finally aligned and presented us with a very short window of about 24hrs for an adventure…  

We set off on the 3 mile trail up to Looking Glass Rock and chatted as we followed the switchbacks up the mountain. Before we knew it… we had reached the top.

We explored the huge granite dome up top and watched 2 climbers head down the side of the rock.

We eventually took a seat to watch the sun set over the distant mountains. Not to toot our own horns… but we started the perfect slow clap to cheer on the sun’s descent!

We climbed back up the rock and stopped to talk with a group of South Carolina guys that had come up to camp for the weekend. The wind soon picked up and goose bumps initiated our return to the trail. The descent down from Looking Glass Rock was a fun and fast! We reached the bottom just as the woods were getting dark.

Note to Self: If you decide to leave your car in a back alley street… especially in a town you’ve never been to before… remember the street name or drop a pin in your maps…

We eventually found my car and started walking the mean streets of Brevard to find some grub. Apparently Brevard is the least crunk town eva. Everything was closed with the exception of a little Mexican place… Ranchero. Ranchero’s food was delish… but their attitudes… well I’ll remain nice and just say they were subpar. After dinner, we swung by and grabbed ice and some local brews before heading to Davidson River campground. After a beer by headlamp… I checked into my room at Hotel Del Andrews, set my alarm and curled up in my sleeping bag.

My alarm went off. UGH! I swear it felt like I literally had just closed my eyes. The stars were still shining bright as we packed our vests with a day’s worth of water and snacks. The game plan to run the entire +30 mile Art Loeb Trail was hatched a few days prior to the trip… and of course we didn’t really start talking logistics until the night before. We finally decided to leave Ali’s car at the Art Loeb trailhead at Davidson River Campground and drive my car out to Daniel Boone Boy Scout Camp. From online descriptions the Art Loeb was pretty easy to follow with the exception of the part in the Shining Rock Wilderness area which started at Daniel Boone Camp…

“Since it is entirely within Congressionally-designated wilderness, you will find no signs or trail blazes -  be prepared to practice map reading and compass skills.”

Well… we didn't have a map... or a compass... so unfortunately we were not prepared to practice those skills... so we did the only thing we knew to do...

We followed John's advice and went home...

"Going to the mountains is going home..."

 

A cool morning had us starting off in light jackets, but we quickly shed them as we started ascending. This section of the trail was steep and technical… or a crunker person might say that the trail was “gnar gnar.”

We climbed until we reached what I presumed was Deep Gap… but really it could have been any gap... hell it could've been Thigh Gap for all we knew. We referenced the pixelated map saved on Ali’s phone. Meh. I vaguely remembered reading something about their being a spur trail up to Cold Mountain that was supposed to be at Deep Thigh Gap. The trail leading left fit that bill, so we went right to follow the ridge. We climbed a bit and were rewarded with a few brief breaks in the canopy.

Ali could already tell she wasn’t feeling the entire 30+ mile adventure that we had originally planned. She decided to descend back to Daniel Boone Camp to grab the car. She decided she would crew the rest of the way and maybe run the last section with me. We parted ways and I continued through Shining Rock Wilderness.

I pressed along at a pretty good clip passing a handful of backpackers along the way. Though this section wasn’t blazed or marked with any signs… the trail was well defined and pretty easy to navigate.

This was the only section of the trail that was muddy. Needless to say… my shoes were soaked and muddy after sloshing through this…

I eventually arrived at Ivestor Gap and left Shining Rock Wilderness.

From here the Art Loeb trail was well marked… however I decided to take a side quest up one of the balds before continuing on my journey...

This adventure wasn’t about seeing how fast I could run the Art Loeb. It was more about exploring a new trail and reconnecting with the mountains that I had missed so much. After exploring the area for a bit… I said goodbye to Ivestor Gap and continued onward towards Balsam Knob.

 

I started the chilly and windy ascent to the ridgeline. As soon as I reached the spine I started getting excited and my stomach started filling with butterflies… I was bringing Le Sexxxy back... and this trail was Le Sexxxy…

I pushed hard up the ridgeline and shot a smile at a group of backpackers who were taking in Le Sexxxiness of the mountains from up top…

 

I bounded down the other side of the bald and start climbing up through some overgrowth towards the next bald…

I reached the top of the next bald and could see down to Black Balsam Knob parking lot. I didn’t see a bright green Element waiting at the bottom, so I found a quiet spot in the grass. I took off my vest to use as a pillow, sprawled out in the grass and enjoyed the cool breeze and warm mountain sunshine.

A group of hikers passed and their talking snapped me out of my serenity coma. I took my phone off Airplane mode and started the descent down to the Black Balsam Knob parking lot to see if Ali was there yet. She wasn’t. I chatted with a few hikers and briefly contemplated taking a side quest up to Sam’s Knob… but before I fully committed to Sam’s Knob… Ali texted me and said to carry on and she would meet me at Gloucester Gap. I headed back up towards Black Balsam Knob to play at 6000ft…

Because of the beautiful weather, amazing views and easy access… this area was crowded. Still… I hung around a little longer soaking in Le Sexxxiness before descending. There’s just nothing sexier than elevated single track with a view… except maybe my wifey when she’s all dolled up in a Deandri dress... hot damn!

I crossed over the road and fell back into the tree line. The Art Loeb shares the Mountains to Sea trail for a bit… this section brought back wonderful memories of the Pitchell Fun Run I did a few years back.

I passed a small group of backpackers heading towards Black Balsam… but then it was right back to running solitude. I passed through Farlow Gap, said hi to some backpackers in the Deep Gap shelter, and then started the climb up Pilot Mountain.

I spent a good amount of time on the summit of Pilot Mt. Since it was a bit harder to get to than Black Balsam Knob… the summit was all mine for moment. I sat around and enjoyed the beautiful weather over a Cliff Bar.  

After finishing up my snack… I started the fast descent. This section was steep but a lot of fun! I started crossing over dirt roads which I assumed was an indication that Gloucester Gap was drawing near. A few switchbacks later and I could make out my green Element, pink fold out chair, and cooler waiting at the bottom. I popped out of the woods, cracked open a beer and hummed Justin Timberlake’s “I’m bringing sexy back… yep.”

I found Ali taking a nap. She woke up and the Element was immediately transformed into “Ali’s Country Kitchen.”

 

She whipped me up her famous peanut butter nutella almond chocolate chip with a single coffee bean wrap. I munched on the deliciousness while I changed my socks. I finished off my Le Sexxxy beer while Ali gathered her gear for the final 12 mile section. I closed the hatch and as we started towards the trail it hit me…

“I think I just smashed the rest of my wrap in the tailgate.”

I did but it was too late to turn back. We were already 4 steps towards the trail. The last 12 or so miles consisted of a repeating pattern of ascending then descending ridges and gaps. Though not as scenic as the first 18 miles… good conversation and speedy descents made the section pass quickly. Brevard peeked through a gap in the trees and the sound of vehicles let us know we were closing in on Davidson River Campground. The last section of the trail was a long descent to the river. We popped out off of the single track and strolled down the crushed gravel walking path back to Ali’s car.

 

We drove back to Gloucester Gap to pick up my car before sitting down at a restaurant to demolish a well deserved bacon cheeseburger.

9hrs of playing in the mountains, traversing some of the most beautiful single track the South has to offer, lying around on grassy balds, and drinking colbeer… yea… adventures don’t get much better than that…

"In every walk with Nature one receives far more than he seeks…"

Ali… I pray you receive far more than you seek during your walk along the PCT this summer! Stay crunk and I'll see you in the Fall! 

 

Till tomorrow…