Mile 20.5

He wasn’t the first to ask her why she had been hiking since she started the AT. However, it was likely the most memorable. It was after another awful night of thunderstorms and equipment failures. The rain slammed her rainfly and demolished a clasp that held it to the ridge line. In the middle of the night, she tackled a temporary fix, grateful that the rain had stopped but cursing the weather. Through their conversation, she learned that he didn’t fare any better. The earth he pitched his tent over funneled water into instead of around his shelter and slowly but steadily soaked everything, including his sleeping bag.

Aside from the shared discomfort from yet another onslaught of nature in less than three days, the two hikers could not possibly have less in common. In the real world, these two would have no reason to cross paths, let alone have a conversation. Honestly, who in the real world has conversations with strangers these days anyway? Everyone is vetted, cross-referenced, and researched before they say word one to each other. Yet here they were, lamenting their respective equipment failures and conversing over breakfast at a cement picnic table in the middle of nowhere. The thick and damp fog made the whole scenario even more surreal. As if this were a dream that she woke from but was still dreaming. She, of course, didn’t have an answer to his question. She never does.

He was hitching into town while she debated how to tackle the miles ahead. There was an enormous mountain between her and the next stop. It was cold. Her gloves were soaked through. She wondered aloud whether tackling a cold, windy mountain with no gloves was wise. Without hesitation, he offered her his gloves. With a pinch of convincing, she accepted the offer. She hiked her miles, leaving him at the roadside gloveless with his thumb out. His generosity touched her.

Surprisingly, they crossed paths at the next junction. She arrived with warm hands, and he arrived only moments earlier with dry gear. She purchased new gloves from the outfitter and was happy to hand his back over. They exchanged pleasantries, and she thanked him one last time. Then, exhausted from the 10-mile hike, she opted for a hostel while he opted to hike on with his freshly dried gear and ever-important gloves. That was the last time they ever saw each other on the trail.

Even though we take different paths and move at different paces, we only make it to the end if we do it together.

It was the first of many lessons that she would learn on the trail, and maybe, in that lesson, she found the answer to the fateful question, “why are you hiking?” She hikes to escape pretense. She hikes to be vulnerable.