Eating Elephants

I have fond memories of my childhood and fantasizing about heroes. The Superman’s and the Batman’s of the world, those crusaders that most young boys envision themselves becoming someday. To fly around the globe with a mask and a cape, launching brilliant attacks to foil the bad guys plans. Power Rangers were one of my many boyhood superhero novels. It’s a grand thing to look up to such prominent figures in our lives, even though most were just a fallacy.

What happens when we grow up though? When the world deters us from such notions and spoils the imagination of believing in such a thing. Which sort of figure might we turn to, igniting that spark of imagination, allowing us to believe that there really are super heroes in this world. Certainly there are villains, so shouldn’t there be some opposition unto the evil that casts itself upon the world? As I reflect upon this with the years that have passed, I’ve had so many people I can personally call my heroes. My best friends who would drop everything on their plate to help me if necessary. The role models/mentors who beckoned a guiding hand for me when I felt lost with nowhere to turn. My siblings who provided love when I needed it the most. My parents who supported me through everything, even when I was behaving like a foolish adolescent. My father who in particular has guided me more than I give him credit for.

Oftentimes we don’t always know how to communicate with each other, my father and I. There is something special however, in the bond between a man and his son. Sometimes the words are aloof and the conversation is awkward but what my father has taught me more often than not, some things are just better left unsaid. To let our actions speak for how we think, to let our emotions echo how we feel. There’s something beautiful in sitting in silence and being moved to tears at the world that revolves around us. When I think of what a hero looks like, my father often comes to my imagination. For he taught me how to stand up for those who might be incapable of standing up for themselves. He taught me compassion and kindness without being too much of a pushover, allowing one to take advantage of what may appear to be a weakness. He taught me how to love a woman and stand by her through thick and thin, even though y’all make it damn hard at times. Someday I will be able to introduce a woman to my parents and as my mother and her joke about me, I can look to my father with that unspoken admiration. For you taught me in all the right ways how to win her heart.

The title of this blog is The Heroes Without a Cape and I can’t help but see heroes spread throughout this trail. Some are small, some are tall. Some are introverted, silently observing all the languages of the world and some are extroverted, captivating the masses with their eccentric aura and articulate conversations. Some are young and some old. Some are taking their first steps into the wilderness, leaving behind a life of security and diving into the great unknown. As the miles tick by, sooner or later we all begin to leave behind the facade of being what the world thinks we should be and as we throw our capes on we fly higher than we’ve ever been before. Out here we can let down our guard and display a vulnerable side, a side that for most young men in particular, has been tainted by how masculine we think we ought to be.

I was speaking with a fellow hiker a couple days ago as we cooked our dinners and lay down our sleeping pads onto the floorboards of a shelter. I was moved at the story he was telling me as he spoke of a girl who had broken her foot on the trail just a few days prior. She was making her way into Erwin, Tennessee. Hidden underneath a fallen leaf was a small rock that she had the misfortune of slipping on, breaking her foot in three different places. Her name was phoenix. While I don’t know her personally, my pain for her is overwhelming. At any point in the coming months, that slight miscalculation could happen to myself or any of the other hikers, ending our thru-hike with an unsavory trip to the emergency room. What he also told me gave me goosebumps, sending chills down my spine. From the time that she lay in pain on the ground, staring at the sky in agony, seven hikers had stumbled upon her misfortune. Not one of them left her side to continue on their hike. They comforted her, spoke with an uplifting tone and even got a few smiles out of her in a photo they had taken. For when she recovers and returns to her journey, she’ll look back at that moment and realize that through the ashes, a phoenix can rise.

The next couple stories I would like to share are, at least in my opinion, a bit more sensitive. Hopefully I can portray them with a bit of justice when I speak about the problems that these folks were confronted with.

As the past couple of weeks have passed me by, there were two faces with whom it seemed I was destined to run into almost every day. Their trail names, Papi and Chestnut. These were two north bound hikers whose comradery matched that of two best friends that had been through a lot. Peering out into the world in all its glory as well as the gloom that manages to seep its way in. Coincidentally the two of them had actually met on their second day of the trail, hiking together for about a month and a half. The funny thing about running into these guys is that when I did, it seemed as though they were always traveling south bound on a slack-packing day (slack packing is where you take a lighter day pack and have a shuttle driver drop you off 10-15 miles up the trail and you traverse south bound, having the shuttle driver pick you up when you reach your destination. You can also do this traveling north bound). I’d be plugging along and it seemed like clockwork almost every morning between 9:30-11:00 our paths would cross. As we would pass each other we would grin and the same old jest would force a chuckle out of all three of us regardless of who said it “well it looks like your guys’ compasses still aren’t working today”. We would continue on for 5-10 minutes regarding trail information that was coming up ahead, maybe a beautiful view or a mile marker.

Unfortunately, Papi had to hop off the trail to tend to some things back home making Saturday, April 22 the last day that we’d be able to all poke fun at the south bound vs. north bound meet ups. The next day, Sunday, April 23 I had still ran into Chestnut multiple times actually. The first encounter came in the morning as I was packing up, about to set out for the day. Chestnut approached me as I was stretching in the shelter and I asked him how he was doing “ehh not so good, I lost my Papi yesterday!”. Given our daily run ins, I was slightly sad as well. However, how often do you get to hear a grown man say “I lost my Papi”? That comment gave me a chuckle a couple times throughout the day but also made me curious. After about the third time meeting Chestnut, I decided to ask him how his family was doing as I was sitting down to make some coffee on top of Whitetop Mountain in Virginia. With a great view he sat down across from me and conversed about just that, family. Chestnut had told me that he had lost his wife just last year after 26 years of marriage. My heart sunk down into the depths of my body, for I felt as though I had so little to console him with. As we spoke, I don’t think he needed to be consoled by me however. He mentioned that his daughters were off at college and this seemed in a way to be a part of his grieving process. Our conversation about the situation was brief and to the point, although I can’t help but be grateful for Chestnut to gently divulge that information with me. For it takes courage to speak about such an event that provokes an everlasting gloom upon one’s world and even more courage to grieve whilst hiking this trail.

This next story goes in depth about a family who had adopted a young girl with the lovely name of Addie grace. The parents were named Terry and Susan. As I set this story up, I find it proper to explain that they are a retired couple who have adopted 4 children and as Terry has set out to hike the Appalachian Trail, Susan and their three year old daughter, Addie Grace, have been shadowing him in their red Winnebago van. I had seen Terry a couple times on the trail, only in passing and our conversations were always brief. On Thursday, April 20 however, the trail had been screaming at me to express a little more grace on my hike. To slow down and take in the magic of the day.

The day couldn’t have started out better! It began with warm weather and sunshine. As I galavanted about for 6 miles, I came to a parking lot with some amazing trail magic with burgers, hot dogs, eggs, fried vegetables and beverages to wash it all down. The meal was spent with good conversations and laughter and then I was on my way, determined to try and push 20 miles before descending down into Damascus, Virginia. After that first trail magic I attempted to push the pace as much as I could until about 4 hours had passed me by, crossing paths with the red Winnebago. I must confess that I did not want to be social, for I was on a time crunch at 4:30 still with 10 miles to go in my day. As I walked up to them I immediately recognized Terry so he and his wife asked me if I needed anything with which I politely declined and turned to keep walking. This was when I was met by a startling three year old who for some reason was scolding me as if I had just stolen all her candy from Halloween. I asked her to give me some knuckles and she shook her head no while still giving me the stink eye. By this point I was amused, entertaining a conversation with Terry and Susan pulling out a bag of funyuns peaking Addie Graces’ interest. Fumbling over her words, I pieced together a sentence that sounded like “give me some!”. I made a deal with the sassy three year old, that we could share them and when the bag got close to empty I needed her to help me finish them. As we passed the bag back and forth we fortified a sense of friendship, savoring the crispy bites of fried onion chips.

After the bag had been polished off, Terry and Susan had offered myself and another hiker a bowl of a tasty crock pot meal with rice, ham, and peppers in it as well as an Angry Orchard’s Hard Cider at which point I was just along for the ride now. Suddenly I had forgotten what the big rush was, abandoning my agenda of pushing another 10 miles on the day. As Addie Grace diverted from scolding and frowning at me to smiling and laughing, Susan and I had began to talk about how she came into their lives. “We were set up to do one thing and all of a sudden this little one just gets thrown on our doorstep!” I came to find out that this was quite literal after Susan had told me that her parents were meth users coming from Texas to have the child in Oklahoma and then dumping the kid, escaping the repercussions they might have been confronted with in Texas. Terry and Susan were on a list to be “next of kin” for Addie Grace, so in their 60’s they were confronted with a choice. Take the kid and raise her as their own or leave it up to chance. In 2020, with the world being what it was, the system had taken this innocent child in and spit her out like she was nothing, being literally left on the front porch of their house. I had thanked the couple for sharing their story, as well as for taking a chance on this precious but fiery little three year old. As I picked up my pack, my attention turned to Addie Grace. “Do you see that white mark (white blaze) up ahead on that wooden pole?” She nodded yes. “I’ll race you to that pole and we have to touch the white blaze. One, two, three go!” We made it to the wooden post and touched the white blaze! I looked at Addie Grace and finally got the fist bump that I was after. I told her she had just hiked a little bit of the Appalachian Trail with which she very reluctantly had to turn and go back to her parents. As I hiked about 5 more miles after that sequence of events, I couldn’t help but to feel a bit like a hero myself. I had hoped that someday when this little girl grows up she’ll be able to remember all of her friendly encounters with hikers. On that day, if she’s faced with a choice between the venomous life that has riddled her family, and a life of exploration I hope she chooses the latter.

These are my stories of a few Heroes Without a Cape. While there are countless more, I can’t help but to share these with you.

When life seems to be fading away, and death appears to be peering through the clouds, what is it that we hold onto to strike the lightning into our bones? What are the grips to the depths of our reality? When the line starts to become blurred, where is the silver lining that allows us to see what’s in front of us with a clear vision? No shaky knees and sweaty palms. No sweat dripping down the brow and darkened vision over our eyelids. I have seen life lived to the fullest disguising any fear in the world. I have seen it shut away in a box with the key thrown into the depths of oblivion. I have seen millions of smiles and I have seen grief without hope in plain site. If there is a possibility that I can bring just a sliver of happiness into someone’s life shouldn’t I take the leap of faith? Isn’t that what the good guys do? The hero’s without a cape are ever-present in this often doleful life, whether you believe in such a thing, however, is entirely up to you.