Hello again, friends. It’s been another month since I’ve last posted, and it feels like my plans for the future have changed about every other day during the course of that month. I spent most of the time between my last post and now in Indianapolis, staying with Gummies and his family, which was lovely, but slightly tinged with sadness. When I stepped on the plane in Toronto, it was still with the hope that Gummies and I would be returning to Canada together, where he would be staying on a somewhat permanent basis. Well, within the first couple days of my visit, the universe decided to remind us of probably the most important lesson we learned on the trail: life doesn’t often go to plan.
Today is my last day in Canada. Early tomorrow morning, I will board a flight to San Diego, and the following morning I will take my first steps on the Pacific Crest Trail. After over a year of preparation, I woke up a couple of days ago and it all suddenly seemed so real. When I first learned about the PCT and thru-hiking, and thought “I’d like to do that some day,” it all seemed like some kind of distant dream. And now it’s here.
Every time I think about what I’m about to do, a jolt of excitement runs through my body. But there’s also an undercurrent of pure terror. As much as I like to envision myself as a spontaneous, carefree adventurer, I’ve always been a bit of a worrier. What if I injure myself and can’t finish? What if I don’t make any friends? What if I can’t handle the snow in the mountains? What if I don’t have the right gear? What if I haven’t prepared well enough? What am I doing?
On this journey, I am challenging myself to go with the flow. I’ll rest when my body wants to rest, I’ll eat when I’m hungry, I’ll cross bridges when I come to them. One foot in front of the other. One day at a time.
Last few Canadian hiking excursions. With friends both human and furred.