Hitting the Trails Again in Strange Times
Earth Day called for a trip to the mountains. This seemed particularly true since we are living in strange times with a know-nothing administration tearing apart environmental regulations even as most climate scientists warn that we are close to the tipping point of irreversible damage to the planet. Meanwhile, the Great Slowdown brought about by Covid-19 has resulted in cleaner air and water and a generally more pleasant pace of life. These strange times made it seem particularly imperative to hit the trails for some perspective.
The strange times are also why the past three weeks were the first time since January that I hadn’t hit the mountains weekly. The most obvious reason for this is the shutdown the pandemic caused in Shenandoah National Park and the northernmost part of the Blue Ridge Parkway. The break also meant finally attending to things at home that I’d pushed to the side over the past few years. While I am glad for the impetus to put the past away, I was even happier to have a stunningly beautiful trail day with my aging sidekick, Snickers.
The day’s choice was White Rocks Gap and Falls a little south of Reed’s Gap on the Blue Ridge, an area south of the closure. The loop follows a ridge above Sherando Lake and dips down to falls, a little over nine miles total.
We headed west at nine, following I-64 until Crozet, then cutting over to Route 151 south through Nelson County. I burned a lot of miles on this road over the years cruising between breweries and wineries, but I hadn’t been on it since April 2014. That was the week when a whole lot of things in my life fell apart, and pondering that time felt cathartic as we cruised past old haunts and turned up Beech Gap Road towards Wintergreen. After all, I was doing what I’ve done many times over the past several months and taking back a place from unhappy memories — putting the past in the past and creating a better present and future.
Beech Gap Road crosses the Blue Ridge at Reed’s Gap. A couple months earlier, Snickers and I had parked there to hike Three Ridges, one of the best and longest hikes I’ve done in years. There were a few cars parked at the trailhead, and the scene was the same a few miles south when we parked at the White Rock Gap trailhead.
The air was cool. There were a few other cars parked, and a group of four women were gathered for a hike. Two yellow labs romped around them. Snix bounced off to sniff and circle with them while I made sure I had everything ready. Since the mess in Cumberland in November, I’ve made a point of carrying a knife, a first-aid kit, more food, water purification tablets, and a charger for my phone. I’ve also switched from an Apple Watch to a Garmin Instinct whose GPS and fitness tracking I trust more. Even for hikes in less remote areas, going out prepared for just about anything certainly helps with managing my PTSD.
Over the past year, I’ve come to appreciate and understand the power of the outdoors on my mental and physical health. In fact, when my nephrologist asked me incredulously what had worked best for my ability to lose weight and reverse serious health conditions, I told him trails were the secret. He said there had been research about the effects of “earthing” on people, and he also acknowledged that there wasn’t much money to be made off nature as a remedy.
Indeed, my near-weekly hikes were about more than feeling better. I came to see them as part of an overall training strategy. Hiking eight or more miles with two thousand feet of elevation change at radically higher altitudes than Richmond built leg and core strength and stamina for races while also giving me a chance to clear my head and scream if I wanted to.
And scream, I do. After the first mile and a half on the latest hike, I felt the tensions and anxieties of dealing with the pandemic and all of its attendant changes give way a little. I felt my shoulders drop and my chest loosen. I sat by a stream and focused on my breathing while Snickers drank from the clear water, and I let out a yawp. I shook my hands out and felt the tension in my back release. I bellowed, sounding my barbaric yawp again.
We continued along the stream until the trail turned back up the canyon toward Torry Ridge. This is where the wrinkle comes in.
Reaching the top, we were at a little over three miles into the hike. The trail hit a T-intersection. Left took us up toward the next ridge, and right took us back toward the gap. Rather than confirming the route, I was on autopilot and turned right. A mile later, we came to another intersection, one that took us back to the parking lot or down toward the lake. I checked the map on my phone and saw exactly what I didn’t want to see: we had cut off the majority of the loop. It was almost one, I was getting hungry, and I was worried about Snickers. After taking a minute to beat myself up for a stupid mistake, we headed west toward Sherando Lake where I could judge whether to finish the loop with the added mileage or break my personal rule against doing out-and-backs.
Our pace was solid, and we reached the lake in a little less than an hour. We’d done a total of six and a half miles with twelve hundred feet of elevation change so far. I was feeling good, and Snickers seemed to be holding up well. After a quick lunch of a bagel with cream cheese, dried apricots, and beef sticks, I looked at what continuing the trail involved, which is what my stubborn soul wanted. Finishing the loop would add seven miles which didn’t bother me, but I was worried about pushing Snickers too much. The real deciding factor, however, was that we had a big climb in front of us if we continued the loop — nine hundred feet elevation in eight-tenths of a mile, a fifty-degree angle of ascent.
I glanced at Snix and thought about my own stamina. I knew I could handle it, and I thought he might be up for it. I took a sip of the homemade kombucha that had become part of my hiking regimen and watched the ripples on the lower lake for a minute before saying, “We’re gonna head back, pup.”
Heading back meant we would still hit my original goal of nine miles, while also getting back on the road at a reasonable time for the drive back. It also meant not worrying about ending up with a gimpy sidekick by the end. Two-out-of-three goals for the day, I figured, was just the right ratio for the day. There would be time for more later, and keeping Snickers healthy was more important than pushing myself harder every time.
That realization played through my mind as we hiked back. I’d pushed myself a great deal in my weight loss and fitness journey, and while I’d been lucky not to suffer too many overuse injuries, I gotten some good perspective in the first month of the Slowdown about ways to pace myself in general, and this Earth Day was the perfect chance to practice those lessons.
