The week that my Father died was part of a slow, inevitable process. We as a family knew he was going, it was just a question of when. Even with that knowledge, his passing that Thursday evening hit like a hammer. None of us had ever lost a close family member.
I had been playing around with the idea of doing an old AT hike that my parents and I had done 20+ years before. That had been a hike to Weaverton Cliffs which overlooks Harpers Ferry.
This time, I could use the Internets to research the trail and get a map. I also read trail descriptions, a six hour hike? Yeah that I could handle, even though I wasn't in the best of shape.
Turns out I read the hike description wrong; not six miles total - twelve miles over very rocky terrain. Whoopsie.
I ran out of steam less than a quarter of a mile from the cliffs. At that point my knees were tightening up, and I'd had a minor ankle sprain. Lunch gave me time to prop my ankle up and take a break. Wisely I decided it was better to focus on the return hike rather than push ahead on what had become the roughest section of the trail.
The return hike became something of a push-my-body-more-than-it's-used-to situation. I remembered one athlete's description of how he could push himself past his norm on hard hikes; break the hike down into smaller manageable sections. So I'd look ahead to a particular tree or rock ahead on the trail and set a goal for getting there. Meanwhile my knees were progressively getting stiffer and more painful with each hill. Level terrain I could manage almost pain free. Except for most sections of level terrain I had to navigate over a jumble of rocks.
I had thought that up there on the Appalachian Trail that I could connect with my Father in some way. Sort of a spiritual ley line. Understandably, I wasn't thinking of him as much as I had originally imagined. The demands of the hike itself on my out-of-shape body took precedence. Calling 911 seemed like a looming possibility - especially if I couldn't get back to the trail-head before the sun set.
Then I did start hearing my Father, or rather what he would be saying if I related the story of this hike to him. Yeah, I never should have taken on such a hike before working up to it with shorter hikes. Yeah, I should have dressed warmer. Yeah, it was a bit silly pushing myself to do a hike in January by myself.
Each thought brought a little smile to my face in spite of the pain and self pity I was going through. Mentally I was starting to compare my pained shuffle to the Bataan death march. I could see my Dad in my mind's eye snort with amusement and shake his head.
For a while, I hiked with an older couple until my knees couldn't keep up. We had a cool conversation about different hikes in Maryland. I managed not to spill out the story of my Father's passing - that was too fresh and too close to my heart.
By the time I took a rest and declined their kind offer to stay with me, I was less than a half mile away from my car. I knew I could make it and found a little bit of pride creeping in, ignoring the fact that I had been contemplating the very real possibility of having to call for help not too long before.
It was worth it to spend time with my Father. What the heck, I'd definitely wanted to do it again - on a shorter hike
