Mile 860

After a week off trail Misfit found herself in a whole new world. Ahead was a loose community of independent hikers who valued speed and miles. They were a social group that embraced the broader sense of community. A fluid coalition of people that played off each other and rooted each other on through the miles. However, staying still for some time, she learned that was not the case everywhere on the trail. Here and now, she ambled along with a different type of hiker. It felt foreign and strange by comparison. It was full of cliquey, insular groups. Declared tramilies that didn’t mingle with others, kept to themselves, and had a tribal mentality.

The first tramily she encountered was “The Frumpy Ol’ Boomers.” They were a group of older retirees and good ol’ boys. They said things like “kids these days” and “get off my lawn.” When Misfit tried to socialize with them, she often found they didn’t listen to things she said. Instead, they would talk over her and treat her like an outsider. She did not feel welcome, let alone wanted, in this space. She felt as though she was an intruder in this boy’s club. She hit the brakes, let them hike ahead on the second day, and was grateful that she never saw them again.

The second tramily she encountered was “The Hodgepodge.” This spectrum of characters included the tender heart, the trainwreck, and the spreadsheet-maker, among others. Misfit could not understand the ties that bound them, yet here they were, six hikers committed to sharing their journey together. Unlike the Frumpy Ol’ Boomers, this group was kind and friendly, but an undercurrent of mischief left Misfit ill at ease. After a day or two, she received an official invitation to join this tramily. Not one for ceremony; she kept it loose and hiked with them for a bit. She quickly affirmed what her intuition hinted at. They had a reputation for being a rowdy bunch, a moniker that did not suit Misfit. On the third day, she quickened her pace and left them behind as they were a slow-moving pack. It would not be the last time they would meet, and Misfit harbored no ill will. However, she was happy not to be an official group member.

Finally, the last and most influential tramily of note was “The Hive.” All the plans and milestones were set by the queen bee then all the hiker bees executed their orders. They considered themselves in high regard and made little room for outsiders to partake in their company. Operating as a team, they were competitive in pursuing the best hike possible. This led to them being elitist and insular, barely making room for any hikers to say hello. That is, all but one of them.

Unlike the others, FancyFeast was kind and inviting. She was interested in talking to people outside The Hive and made time to learn their names. Her differences often left her feeling like an outsider in her own tramily and ultimately would lead to her departure from the group. She was a stray puzzle piece herself, so it goes without saying that Misfit and FancyFeast became fast friends.

Despite their differences in speed and schedule, the two often hiked much of the day together. They still made their miles even at their slower pace and enjoyed each other’s company. FancyFeast made Misfit feel less like an outsider, while Misfit ushered FancyFeast into the brave new world of hiking her own hike.

On the other hand, Hopper was not associated with The Hive. However, he and Misfit had many common bonds. In a roundabout way, one might say that Hopper’s trail name was gifted to him by Misfit. She named him such because he was always hopping on and off trail such that he would always pass Misfit, only to pass her again a day or so later. Thus, they played this game of fox and rabbit until the day Misfit stood still too long for even he to fall behind her. Until now, Misfit thought she and Hopper would never see each other again. However, the trail always finds a way. An injury had delayed Hopper, and he was also displaced from his world like Misfit. Coincidentally all three hikers had started their journey in the same week, but only now, months later, had their paths aligned such that they became a triad in this world of tramilies.

Sometimes they hiked together. Sometimes they hiked separately. They often landed in the same camp by accident and sometimes on purpose. Though they worked together, they weren’t insular or exclusive; Misfit was grateful that they often extended invitations for others to join their conversations and adventures. Each valued their independence and individuality but worked together to ease the burden of many hiker tasks. Hopper taught them to go fast. FancyFeast taught them to slow down. Misfit taught them to embrace the journey. They celebrated a birthday and navigated a harrowing canoe trip down the Shenandoah River. They weren’t a declared tramily; they were something better; They were friends.