And I Would Walk 500 Miles

Wake up, check phone, make coffee, decide where to go hang out / work / explore for the day, drive, check phone again to see if any world-changing events have happened in the last hour (you never know these days), make breakfast, get out computer and work / research next adventure / waste time, run errands, snack, exercise, check phone again… you get the idea.

Even in a van, life can be busy. Yes, much of that busyness is self-imposed, but it’s sort of human nature to fill one’s time with productive (or seemingly productive) activities. At least, it is for this human. The hustle and bustle of everyday life still hums along in the background, ever looking for ways to draw you into its powerful and addicting current.

While vanlife certainly makes it easier to get away from the noise, it always creeps back in before long. Work beckons, social obligations lurk, and my schedule is typically filled to the point where I don’t get more than a few days at a time “off the grid”. Truly disconnecting is hard for me to do. If this sounds like the opposite of what living in a van should be, it’s because it is.

While there are aspects of life in Little E that are incredible, there are also large parts of it that aren’t so different from my former life in Wisconsin. Parts that leave me yearning for something truly different. Something more connected to the natural world, and less to the manmade one.

Enter thru-hiking. Wikipedia defines thru-hiking as completing a long-distance trail end-to-end within one hiking season. I first realized this was a thing in Middle School when a teacher mentioned the 2,200 mile Appalachian Trail. Why in the world would anyone want to do that, I wondered. It’s funny how questions can answer themselves.

I practically grew up outside, and we did our fair share of camping when I was a kid, but I didn’t truly get into hiking and backpacking until I was an adult. And to this day, I think the maximum number of consecutive nights I’ve spent in the backcountry is 2. Suffice to say I’m not a super hardcore outdoorsman. But I do enjoy it, a lot. Every time I get out, I’m struck by the serenity that comes with being in the heart of nature. Completely removed from the distraction of man’s constructs. Free to fully embrace and appreciate the wonders of the planet we call home.

Much like vanlife, thru-hiking has gained widespread notoriety in the past few years. Thanks to cultural references like the film Wild, the Pacific Crest Trail is now a household name. Not one to miss a bandwagon, I’ve been following this trend and wondering what all the fuss is about. Last year I was briefly thrust into the thru-hiking world. I liked what I saw, and I wanted more.

But I don’t have the time to hike one of the big three trails this year (okay, I could make time, but there are other things I’ve committed to and want to do that would make that pretty difficult). Also, what if I really don’t like living in a tent and having little to occupy my time for months on end other than walk, eat, and think? Commitment is hard, living in a van doesn’t help.

Luckily one need not sign up for thousands of miles and months of walking to experience what thru-hiking is all about. There are numerous shorter trails throughout the country (and world) that can be tackled in weeks rather than months. These gateway drugs of the hiking world offer all the solitude and scenery of their longer brethren, without quite the commitment.

I’ve had my eye on the 485 mile Colorado Trail (surprise surprise) for several months. Winding through the rugged Rockies from Denver to Durango, this route follows the much longer and increasingly popular Continental Divide Trail for a good portion of its length. It is said to be one of the more scenic trails out there, and anyone who has spent time in the area will know why.

So I’ve been daydreaming, accumulating bits of intel here and there, pondering what it would take.

Trail distance: 485 miles (let’s just call it 500, there will be side trips)

Time to complete: 4-6 weeks

Permit needed: no

Hiking season: July-September

Weather: most of it

But I’m well aware that without solid plans, daydreams remain daydreams. What’s that saying, one of these days is none of these days? So I looked at my calendar and thought about where it could fit. There were a few things to work around: some quick house remodeling in June, my brother’s wedding in August, the snowpack on the northern half of the trail, draught and fire season on the southern half. I talked to my brother and got his blessing to not come back to help with wedding prep until mid-July. This leaves a 4-5 week window from early June into July. It’s been a low snow year, so I’m optimistic I’ll be able to start a little earlier than normal. I took a deep breath and put it on my calendar, and we all know once it’s on the calendar it’s real.

So now I’m in prep mode. Researching gear, studying maps, monitoring the snowmelt. It doesn’t take much time to figure out that weight is a big factor in overall comfort level and enjoyment. My gear collection is perfectly good, but it’s a far cry from the ultralight items you’ll find many hikers carrying these days.

While perusing REI a few weeks ago, I bought a pack scale. A warning to any hikers out there: don’t buy a scale unless you’re also prepared to buy a bunch of new gear! Excited and scared to find out how mine stacked up, I weighed my Big 4 – Pack, Tent, Sleeping Bag, and Pad. A good ultralight weight for these is around 4-6 lbs. Mine came in at almost 14 lbs. Yikes.

So I started playing the gear game, looking at where I could cut weight for reasonable cost. After purchasing a few select items, I’m down to about 9.5 lbs. Better, but still not great. I gathered everything I plan to take and measured my Base Weight (everything in your pack minus food and water) at around 17 lbs. Not bad, but a far cry from the 7-9 lbs of some extremists. You have to draw the line somewhere though, and I’m comfortable carrying a little extra weight for my first hike. After all, it’s not about the gear, it’s about the experience.

Packing list mostly sorted out, I picked a scenic hike in the desert and headed out for a test night. Carrying enough water for two days put my total pack weight at about 30 lbs, roughly the max I expect to carry on the trail. I’ll be honest, it felt heavy. But as the miles passed, the load of my pack seemed to fade. The pounds on my back dwarfed by the immeasurable mass of the towering rock faces above. My body happy to do a little extra work in exchange for the primal feeling of being out in the wilderness.

I found a suitable spot for the night and set up camp, trying to imagine what it will feel like for this to be the norm in a few weeks. Nothing but rocks, dirt, and nature’s myriad creations for 360 degrees. No human sounds to be heard aside from my own. The moon and some unknown planet hovering low in the darkening sky. Reminders of how intricately connected to the natural world we are, that are so often lost in everyday life.

After a quick dinner of Ramen (not exactly looking forward to that being a staple in my diet again), I climbed into my tent – sans rainfly – and watched the stars emerge before drifting off. Yes, I think I’ll be able to get used to this routine.

While I do very much enjoy the days when I wake up outside, my concerns limited to where I’m getting water and what direction I’m walking, I don’t know whether I’ll still appreciate it when it’s the same simple tasks, day in day out, for weeks on end. I do enjoy variety, after all.

Will the monotony be too much? Will it get too lonely out there? Will my body hold up? Will I love it and want it to never end? Only time will tell.

Truth be told I’m not quite sure what to expect, but whatever it is I’m ready to jump in and find out.