As Far as the Mountains Go

As a liar's voice
golden Nebraska grassland
quivers before Fall

Before I started the Trail, someone told me the chances of my seeing another thru-hiker were equal to those of seeing a zebra on the Trail. I didn't see a zebra, but I met two hikers who had started as thru-hikers and decided to take a few days off, then section-hike the remaining miles. I met them at about midday. I didn't tell them this, but I hadn't eaten anything in about a day. No dinner the night before, no breakfast that day, and no lunch yet. Nor had I had much to drink. Maybe a couple one-ounce pulls of water that morning. I had recently resupplied. My pack was heavy with food. I didn't know why my appetite was absent.
I came over a rolling hill in some woods on private land and saw two of the friendliest faces I'd seen in my entire life. For one reason or another, I recognized both of them. They reminded me of family members who I couldn't quite place. Perhaps the transcendence of the Trail related us. Maybe I forced it. Both possibilities are feasible.
"And whose presence do we have the pleasure of sharing?" the man in the orange vest asked.
"My name is Michael Gutschenritter" My head looked down to my shoes. I was exhausted.
"You're the blogger," the woman said.

We introduced ourselves. Chris Miller and Dave. I'd spoken with Chris Miller on the phone. We had tried to meet to hike a section together. After meeting her this day, I wished I had hiked quite a bit with her. When they asked me how I was doing, I suggested we sit together at the picnic table to my left.
I had begun that morning to consider heading back to Colorado within the week. We talked.

Virgil was a Native from Arizona. When I woke up, I told him to look behind us at the horizon. A copper streak spanned the entire earth. A grey tone hummed above the copper until a blazing orange sliced through the bus windows. The skies lightened up a bit. Peaking silhouettes seemed plastered against the western sky and grew with each minute. They began to envelop the crowded bus and the sun rose higher. The yawns and chatter of the waking passengers were unmistakable. The garrulous man behind me started his incessant banter about his younger years, and, for the third time, about how he lived in Colorado Springs when he was in his twenties. He even used some of the same phrases, again making him laugh alone.

The smokers are always the first off the Greyhounds, forcing the rest of us to walk through their rising cloud of smoke. I considered asking one of them for a smoke, but I already felt greasy and rank. A smoke wouldn't have helped. Instead, I walked to a neighboring parking lot and did about 15 sprints until the next bus took off toward Steamboat Springs, my home.

I considered long and hard what my next step would be. Feeling vulnerable and in the midst of a huge decision to leave the Trail, I considered everything cautiously.

I know what keeps me happy, though. I love to experience life in its grittiest form. I love to meet my country firsthand. I love to see the flaws, the vulnerabilities, the stoicism, the beauty of my fellow countrymen. I love to be a part of the woods. I love the rain, the stillness of a naked branch, the winter's blanket of snow, the stare from a dominant owl who's been eyeing me for over a mile of trail. The interactions I have with all these people and nature are the most important aspect of my life. I intend to nurture these relationships as I have been doing. My future holds for me what it holds for most people of my generation: The Unknown. The future, for me, is becoming silly to think about. Summer leads to Autumn, which gives way to a snowy Winter, melting inevitably into Spring, then drying back into Summer. These seasons and transitions are all amplified here in Yampa Valley. And it is great to be a part of. I see myself staying here for some time and working through the seasons. My most consistent goal has been to work with the youth and help them build the same relationships that I have, with people and the wilderness. If I realize that goal, all the better. If my goals change, so be it. For now, I am intensely happy.

Naked for Autumn
like water in the river
aspens seek crystals

Thank you, Chris and Dave.