My first day on the road, it occurred to me that if I'm driving west, there has to be a point where I cross the Appalachian Trail. In Massachusetts, I unceremoniously crossed under the trail in the pouring rain, blasting music from a friend's playlist because I'm too lazy to create my own (or have any decent music taste). In March, I set out to hike the AT. March 2020, as we all know, is when the coronavirus set out to ravage the planet and change the world as we knew it. I made the decision to postpone my hike until the pandemic cleared up. From then on, I made sure that I would do everything I could to be responsible during the pandemic. This stemmed from the vivid idea that I could, if "irresponsible," be the cause of somebody else's death. That's heavy stuff. I think everybody had that feeling in the beginning, that real personal responsibility before the virus started to take hold of communities around us and suddenly we had all heard of somebody that was infected. But here's why I felt this way, and this is what I didn't know I needed to process until I passed under the trail in the pouring rain. Out of respect for the hikers involved and the family affected, I will spare many details of this story. A few hikers in my tramily (that is, my trail family) were hip to lots of cool ways to travel and save money. One of those ways was couch surfing. Two friends arranged a ride from an elderly couple to spend the night in their home, while the rest of us had split into groups to split hotel rooms, based mostly on who got to the road crossing at the same time. The couch surfers, after a few hours of getting to know their hosts, were sitting in the kitchen with the female host, when they heard a thud. They all rushed into the next room to see the male host on the ground, not breathing. The hikers attempted CPR and called for help, but the man was dead. For the rest of the night, they comforted the woman, who had lost her husband of decades. They spoke with neighbors, reminisced with old photos, and finally felt that the woman was in good hands when her adult children arrived the next day. News of the incident reached me through a friend in our hotel that evening, and I saw the couch surfers the next day at a motel. I remember seeing a photo of the man and his wife that they got permission to take with them. I remember feeling secondhand terror during their retelling of the story, but there was also a calm reverence, for a man that had loved and lived, but that could have lived longer if not for this tragic and sudden death. From this, the couch surfers had gained a new purpose for their hike, feeling as if they had an angel watching over them. This experience had a very different effect on me. I started to understand that I could be the carrier of a virus that would likely produce no symptoms in me, but had the potential to kill kind people who wanted nothing more than to share the magic of the trail. I have never done CPR in an attempt to save a life. I've never seen the life leave a person's eyes. I have never so much as lost a close family member. All that to say, the gravity of death is not often in the forefront of my mind. Not until March 2020. The second day of my drive west, I thought to myself, Will I cross the Mississippi River? Now, before you tear into me about how Yes, you will, and This is basic geography you foolish American, I want to just put it out there that I was in Indiana for an hour without even knowing because there was no signs. I don't know if I missed the signs or if there simply were none. How is that allowed? So, Will I cross the Mississippi was the first question, but the second was Will I know if I have crossed the Mississippi until I stop for gas and search the internet on my phone? As these thoughts are circling in my mind, golden fields and farm lands start to turn to swamp, trees stand dead in pools of water. Suddenly the sparse trees open and I see a large bridge. More importantly, I see a sign. MISSISSIPPI RIVER. No exaggeration here, I'm squirming in my seat, so animated, saying out loud No way, the Mississippi River! WOW, this is so cool! I'm crossing the M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I. I'm just sort of babbling out loud to myself because I'm so excited, I feel like a kid seeing the ocean for the first time or something, I don't know. It's one of those things that you know exists, you know is important, but until you see it it feels kind of like folklore. To me it represented a line I had never crossed on my own, a distance that made the journey feel more real. And then I'm in Iowa. For the first time on this trip, I feel truly alone, and I could feel the distance between myself and everybody I love. Each day I've been driving for 10 hours on my way to Colorado. On day 1, I crossed the AT. Day 2, the Mississippi River. So, naturally, on day 3, I wanted to cross another significant line, to wrap it up in my mind in three big highlights. But, just as 2020 has taught us, we don't always get what we want or expect. I guess I still did cross a few lines on day 3. I crossed into Mountain Time, the time zone I will spend the next few months in. I saw the speed limit reach 80, which I thought was absolutely nuts. And after 30 hours in the car, sitting in a hotel room in Cheyanne, Wyoming, I crossed the threshold from thoughts to words, typed here, after thinking for so long that I really ought to just write something instead of thinking about writing something all the time. So here's to that. So why am I driving across America? I'm still figuring it out, but crossing these lines has made it a little more clear. It's to have an adventure after not getting to do the big adventure that is the AT. It's to process things. It's to feel that giddy joy of discovery again. And it's to create.
3 Comments
Tyler Weninger
11/30/2020 10:23:57 am
Can't wait to follow your new adventure in life Anna. - I may just have to come visit since you're only a day away now 8)
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Elle
11/30/2020 04:52:44 pm
great article Anna!!! (-:
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CONNIE EININGER
12/1/2020 09:14:11 am
really enjoyed reading about your thoughts. and adventure. i am so proud of you. please have fun and stay safe. love, grandma
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AuthorHi, I'm Anna! I'm just a girl that loves to play outside, especially in the mountains. Archives
January 2021
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