It’s official. My 2020 hiking season is a wash. Unlike last year, my personal plans didn’t involve completing another thru-hike of one the big three trails (PCT, CDT, AT). I really hoped to tackle several medium-distance trails in the US and abroad instead. And the trek I was most excited for this year was the Lycian Way, a rugged 330-mile trail along Turkey’s coast.
My hiking partner and I spent six months solidifying our plans, researching the trail, and getting everything coordinated for our April 2020 trip. But, as news of the coronavirus outbreak in Asia and Europe became more prevalent, I had a sneaking suspicion that our plans to fly to Turkey might be in jeopardy. I was keeping a close eye on the situation, but there was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I read another news article about the situation.
THE FATEFUL TEXT MESSAGE
Our plans seemed to be in real peril by early March. That’s when the U.S. announced its plan to limit travel coming from European countries. I texted my hiking partner (who lives in Germany) about my fears. If the U.S. was shutting down foreign travel, it couldn’t be long before other nations would follow suit, right?
All I could do was wait. And worry.
My 2020 hiking dreams officially fell apart in the early hours of March 14th. I was awakened to a series of text messages dinging on my phone. The first one was in Turkish, and it was followed just moments later by a second one in English. It was the announcement from Turkish Airlines. My flights had been “rescheduled.”
This little euphemism crushed me emotionally. I knew what it really meant. Flights were being cancelled for weeks, possibly months. My hike of the Lycian Way was now off. I couldn’t even get to the trailhead. And before long, I was staring out my window and trying to navigate my way through the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and, finally, acceptance.
ON TO PLAN B
After a bit of wallowing, I picked myself up and and decided to enact Plan B. I’d already contemplated this turn of events many times over the past few days. And, I thought I’d come up with a reasonable alternative. If I couldn’t get to Europe for this hike, perhaps I could just transition to a domestic hike in March/April instead. All my preparation these past 6 months wouldn’t have to be lost. I would just need to pivot.
I was already contemplating an autumn thru-hike of the Arizona Trail (AZT). Perhaps I could just rearrange my plans and go in spring instead. I didn’t even have to complete the entire 800 miles of the AZT. Three or four weeks would be enough to keep me from being overwrought with disappointment over my inability to hike in Turkey.
Within days though, the Arizona Trail Association posted a notice on their website. They were recommending all hikers reconsider their thru-hiking plans while this virus was spreading. Anyone who got sick with Covid-19 might be stuck in a remote area without access to the medical care they needed. Shuttle services and trail angels along the trail would be less available as people engaged in social (and physical) distancing. Very few people would be inclined to pick up hitchhikers as the virus spread. And small gateway towns might shut down indefinitely, leaving hikers without any opportunity to resupply.
I soon realized it was all too risky. Plan B was untenable. I wouldn’t be hiking any trails this spring. And this realization was breaking my heart.
HOMELESS?
Over the next week, Americans began to realize how serious the spread of this virus could potentially become. People started hoarding food and household supplies. Our government officials were issuing ‘Stay at Home’ orders. For someone like me, who is nomadic and living in an RV full-time, this month became a really uncertain and stressful time. After all, we didn’t have a stationary house or apartment.
As the chaos started to ramp up, we were enjoying our stay at a state campground in Austin, Texas. One evening, the head ranger came knocking and informed us that he’d decided to close the entire park, beginning at noon the following day. Although we had camping reservations there months in advance, the situation had now changed. There were simply too many visitors trying to enter the park each day. Everyone wanted some fresh air an open space to roam in after being trapped indoors and going stir crazy.
The ranger calmly explained that his park staff could no longer manage the daily crowds. So, he’d reluctantly made the decision to close the park and its campground. And with that announcement, he wished us good luck before wandering off to deliver the same message to each of our neighbors.
My angst about this pandemic was no longer about my recreational hiking plans. It was now anxiety about our living situation. Where were going to go? Our future reservations for the remainder of March and April were down on the Texas coast. Unfortunately, those beach locations were seeing floods of people flocking to them too. Campgrounds were shutting their doors to inbound campers (even for people like us with reservations) and/or shutting down operations completely. We were about to be homeless!
We somberly drove to Houston, where we had family, and were lucky enough to find a RV park with long-term vacancy nearby. Our new ‘home’ wasn’t much more than a glorified parking lot with RVs lined up next to each other. There were no trails, just lots of asphalt and a tiny patch of grass. Instead of the sounds of nature, we had to the adjacent road with its loud road traffic all hours of day and night. This was NOT how I’d envisioned my outdoor life, but at least we were healthy and had somewhere to hunker down until this passed.
SALVAGING THE MAYHEM
As the calendar slowly turned from March to April, waves of sadness spread over me. I was doing my best to remain sane and bury my grief. I checked out e-books from the library and I read voraciously. I binge-watched “The Tiger King” and laughed at online memes mocking some of the silliness in the documentary.
None of those diversions could replace the joy of hiking, though. Before long, I realized I needed to focus on using this empty void to my advantage. So, I set out to make a to-do list.
At the top of that list, was this blog. Although it’s just a passion project, I have been sporadic about writing lately. More importantly, I still haven’t posted my trail journal from my 2019 Appalachian Trail thru-hike. So, I dug out the yellow moleskine journal that I carried the entire way from Georgia to Maine, and I began to review all my daily entries in it. Then I started organizing all my digital photos from my trail.
If I can’t get outdoors, I can at least re-live the nostalgia of a thru-hike, right? And I could use this idle time to transfer my handwritten AT trail journal into online blog entries (instead of procrastinating over the massive task like I’ve been doing all fall and winter).
So, for the next few weeks that little project will be my purpose. I won’t shed any more tears about waylaid plans or what could have been. I won’t waste my days watching Netflix or YouTube. Instead, I will organize, write, and be productive. I will spend time with my family and appreciate our current health. Because, eventually, this fiasco will pass, and I want to be mentally ready to get back out there and hike when it does! Being hikertrash is a state of mind, whether you are on the trail or not.
Interested in reading more?
I’ll be posting entries about my 2019 AT thru-hike as quickly as I can. To read my AT trail journal, click HERE. In the meantime, you can also check out the following hiking adventures: