My son, Derek, has finished his trek through the Smoky Mountains and is now winding his way through North Carolina and Tennessee (the Appalachian Trail meanders through both states for a while). So far, he's acquired lots of blisters, eaten his way through boxes of food, met some interesting people and taken in some startling beautiful scenery, he says. After hiking 40 miles over two days, yesterday he took a day off to shower at a hostel and email his article to our local newspaper.
The thru-hikers give each other trail names. One guy, a lawyer, is nicknamed Not Guilty and another, a Brit, has the moniker Father Christmas. Derek's nickname is Caterpillar. Not because he moves like one, but because somebody said he looked like a caterpillar threshing around in his sleeping bag. Okay, so maybe he does move a little bit like a caterpillar.
My husband, Dennis and his friend, Matt, drove down to North Carolina yesterday to meet up with Derek and hike part of the trail with him. They left the house at the ungodly hour of four a.m. (to avoid traffic in New York City). So far, so good but for Derek, so many miles and months away from Mt Katahdin, Maine - the end of the journey.
