* * Hiking through the times of my life

The air is crisp and the sky clear as I get out of my car on State Route 621 at the trailhead of the Appalachian Trail in nearby Craig County.  Sounds of gunshots from distant hunters’ rifles echo through the hills.  I lace my hiking boots, throw my pack on my shoulders and begin my uphill trek.

For as long as I can remember, even since my childhood days, I have loved to hike in the mountains.  I have been blessed in life with good health and have been fortunate enough to hike in most of the major mountain ranges of America and in several more in Europe including the magnificent French and Swiss Alps.

I hike southbound on the Appalachian Trail, yet my direction is generally westward on the ascent of Gap Mountain.  At this time of year, most of the leaves had already fallen from the trees, which in this forest were generally a foot in diameter or smaller.  This was a typical Appalachian forest with predominantly hardwood trees but a smattering of pines.  Trail planners had done a good job of moderating the grade so as to not be overly steep at any particular point.

On one of our trips to the Alps, our daughter Whitney, who was probably seven or eight years old at the time, made an interesting observation that has since stuck with me.  She said, “When I am hiking, I spend a lot of time in my own head.”  My guess is that at the time she said it, she felt it to be a negative rather than positive aspect of the endeavor.  However, I have come to realize that she was astute beyond her modest years because I too spend a considerable amount of time in my own head when walking a mountain trail.

When hiking, a person's brain does interesting things. The eyes process stimuli but the brain unconsciously tells the body how to walk. With one's physical body being actively exercised, one's lungs are taking in large quantities of fresh mountain air.  The heart pumps blood quickly throughout the circulatory system, delivering nutrition and endorphins to the cells.  When I stop to take a break on this quiet day, I literally hear the sound of my own heartbeat.

I pass the Niday shelter, one of the many three-sided wooden structures along the Trail where hikers can spend the night away from the elements.  I take a quick break and gobble a snack before continuing my uphill journey.

I have hiked this particular section of Trail before.  It is always nice to hike a trail for the first time but hiking a familiar trail is not a problem for me.  Each of nature's seasons springs a new experience.  And in each of my own life seasons, I interact with nature and the trail in a new way.  Each hike is a new barometer for my own fitness and age condition.

From 1981 until 1991, I lived on the West Coast, in Seattle.  A friend of mine from college at Virginia Tech lives on the other side of the Olympic Peninsula from Seattle, in the rain forest, in a community called Quinault.  In the year I moved to Seattle, we climbed Colonel Bob Mountain, near his house.  Reaching the summit requires some 4500 feet of climbing.  The distance is over 7 miles each way.  So this is a very strenuous, all-day hike. There is a spectacular view from the top looking westward towards the Olympic rain forests and ultimately the Pacific Ocean, and eastward to the grand summit of Mount Olympus.

Ten years later, just before moving back to Virginia from Seattle, I did the same hike once again.  And then, in 2002, I did it for a third time.  This hike has become a symbolic bookmark for my life.  According to the schedule I have set for myself, I should probably hike it once again in the next year or two.  At some point, age will catch up and I will no longer be able to do this hike.  Father Time marches on.

As my body propels me steadily upward, my mind contemplates my books. I visualize my third book, Harmonic Highways, Motorcycling the Crooked Road, nearing completion and I begin to think about my fourth book.  My plan is to write another novel.  The time I spend in my own head helps my brain sort through a series of possible story scenarios.  Spending time in my own head is a pleasurable thing for me.

Eventually, I reach the ridge line of Gap Mountain.  The trail undulates with small rises and falls, but is generally level.  On this section of the mountain, there are several rock outcroppings, like molars protruding through a gum.  Unhappily, there are many shrubs with prickly barbs which tear at my shirt.  I find a nice rock outcropping with a commanding view to the south and I sit in the warming November sun in nothing more than a T-shirt and a pair of light shorts.  The sun beats down on my thighs and warms them.  There is not a breath of wind and there is no one around.  No animals move through the forests nor do any birds fly through the air.  The world is completely motionless.

I eat my lunch and make my retreat, my head now filled with new ideas and new possibilities to explore.