Our plane landed in Georgia last weekend but it’s taken most of the week to feel like we fully landed.
Not surprisingly, week one of a big trip is all about adjusting, finding your rhythm, letting things settle. Thinking “I can’t wait until I have a routine for this” as you fumble through packing your pack, filtering your water, setting up your tent each day. Watching all your anxieties about the trip surface, seeing many of them go, finding out which ones are going to persist. And of course, feeling the miles, walking that line between finding your legs and overstressing them.
There’s a sense of waking up something old and familiar, something dormant. My body remembers parts of a long hike that I’ve forgotten.
We made our way to Atlanta on Saturday and then to Amicalola Falls State Park on Sunday so that we could wake up and start walking on Monday morning. Sitting in the tent on Sunday evening, Dean was sewing a Smokey the Bear patch onto his backpack and I was modifying my ill-fitting bra with some scavenged cord and needle and thread from my film canister repair kit.
Right. We have this move. Even if I’m not exactly sure what that means just yet.
60 miles. 5 days. Snow, sunburn, lots of wind. One small blister, a few sore knees.