The Beginning

Even the longest journey must start with a single step, and we began our steps on April 30, around 11 AM. Thanks to the wonderful, generous, and conveniently Georgia-dwelling Spencer Smith, we had a ride from the Atlanta airport to the trail head at Springer Mountain. Also thanks to Spencer Smith, we actually got on the correct trail and made it up Springer Mountain, rather than spending our whole first day wandering along the Benton McKaye Trail (BMT in hiker lingo), which is where we (quite mistakenly) began walking on that warm, sunny Georgia morning. I think I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, so let's Backtrack (get it?) for a moment.

Denver
I suppose you could say that Denver is where our trip was slated to begin. Our flight to Atlanta left about 11:30 on April 28, and from that point on we were pretty much committed to this whole hiking thing. Patty had gone back home to the STL for a few days and I was still hanging out in Winter Park, so we agred to meet up in Denver the night before we flew out. The idea was that we'd get to hang out with the Hathaways for a bit, have a fun night out, and then have only a quick drive to the aiport in the morning. It would be a fun and relaxing way to begin our adventure, right? Well it would have been, if not for a minor detail. See, I had loaded my pack and some clothes for the plane into my car and driven to Patty's house, where I was meeting Caleb, who would drive me to Denver (it really was a good plan). We met up, I tossed my stuff from Ruggers (my Subaru) into Caleb's van, and we hit the road. It wasn't until my stuff had been brought in from the car, in Denver, that I realized something was missing.
Me: Did you guys bring in a big black trash bag?
Patty: I don't think so, but we grabbed all of the stuff that Caleb said was yours.
Me: (a bit concerned) Caleb, can I borrow the keys to go check in the car?
Caleb: Sure, I'll go with you.
Surprise: the bag wasn't there. Now here's the best part: except for my camera (which actually turned out to be somewhere else entirely), I couldn't remember what was even in the bag. I knew I had been tossing in random extra things as I was leaving the house earlier in the day, but didn't know if I was missing anything really important. I did a mental inventory: Gum (easily replaced), Crocs (Dang!, but I could pick up a pair of flip flops for camp shoes)... That was as far as I got, but the thought that I was forgetting something pretty important kept nagging at me as we went out for dinner, and all during the walk back. Back at Christy's we debated just driving back up to get the stupid bag, in order to put my mind at rest. (The drive from Denver to WP, by the way, is about an hour and a half in decent weather.) Caleb had to be back to work in the morning anyway (at this point it was definitely after midnight), and was willing to go early to take us. I knew we could get another ride back down, but I figured that since I couldn't rememer having forgotten anything important, I could count my losses when I figured out what they were. After all, I had my pack and all the important stuff inside. I was set, right?
Wrong. I realized it as we were doing a final once-over before bed: I was indeed missing something important. It was not only gum and blue foam clogs that I'd left back in my car. No, I had succeeded in forgetting my hiking boots as well. My freaking boots! How is that even possible? Well, with my talent for always having to go back (to pretty much wherever I'm leaving) for something, and without a solid double check after transfering my stuff to Caleb's car, it was pretty ease.
So at 5:30am the morning of our flight, we drove back up to get my boots (and the Crocs and gum, while we were at it). Brian Tripp was kind enough to drive us back down to Denver and the airport, so we tossed our stuff into his car (remembering the trash bag and boots this time, but forgetting my poles: ski poles rescued from the dumpster at work, that I had decided only the day before to take as trekking assistants) and were off once again.
We made it to the airport with time to spare, and that night in Atlanta had one of the funnest (yes, it's a word) evenings out that I've had in awhile. Rather than go straight to Springer the next day we spend an afternoon and night at Spencer Smith's (ok, his family's) lake house, where we set up our tents, waterproof-sprayed everything we could think of, and were treated to a fantastic home cooked meal. It was also at the lake house that I got in some last minute "trail training": marching up and down the stairs twenty times, wearing my loaded (and really freaking heavy) pack while Spencer counted my laps and laughed at me. Yes, it was a fantastic final evening in civilization.

And now we're back to where we started: April 30th, 2007. Patty and I are dropped at the trail, say our thanks and goodbyes to Spencer, and start walking. Two minutes later we hear yelling and a horn honking, and look back to see that Spencer's not just waving goodbye, but is urgently beckoning us back the way we've come. Ok, I'm thinking, we're never going to get to Maine if we have to keep turning around like this. As it turns out, we also never would have gotten to Maine walking the direction we were, because (as I mentioned earlier) we had set out on the wrong trail, and were 50 yards into exploring the (rather extensive and probably beautiful but unintended) BMT. So to add to the list of things for which we will eternally be grateful to Spencer Smith (a ride from the airport, accommodation in the ATL, driving us to WalMart, the lake house, dinner, a ride to the trail head, basically being amazing): getting us onto the AT. Without him, we'd probably still be wandering around northern Georgia, wondering why we couldn't seem to find the Hawk Mountain shelter.

So we set off, in the right direction (which was actually South, since we wanted to get an official start at Springer Mountain, but the nearest road access was nearly a mile up the trail), and we walked. Next time I'll write some more about the actually hiking part of the adventure, but for now I'm through. After all, if you're reading this now, you'll probably want to read as long as Patty's out on the trail. And she'll be out there for a few months yet, while I've only got three weeks of adventure to log. I figure there's no rush to get my story out. And check back soon for a promised post from Patty herself. I imagine it will go something like this: "Day 32- Still walking, and all I can think about is how much I miss Backtrack, and wish she was still out here hiking with me and making my coffee and dinner every day. The trail-- life, actually-- just isn't the same without her." I know, Patty, I miss you too.