Earlier this fall, I spent five fabulous weeks hiking the Appalachian Trail with my two sons, Ryan and Alexander. And during that period of time, I experienced a bit of a transformation. Amazingly, I went into the forest as Hugh, the overweight, middle-aged IT manager – and emerged five weeks later as Hugh, the (slightly less) overweight, middle-aged “After Fifty Adventure Man”!
The truth of the matter is that walking one hundred seventy-one miles of the Appalachian Trail can help a person do many things. The hike can help you lose weight. It can help you get in the best shape of your life. It can clear your mind and help you resolve your problems. By separating you from the consumer-driven world of city life and connecting you with the spiritual wonderland found under the forest canopy, it can help you gain a new perspective – one that will make you question everything from your work to your friendships. It can even help bring you closer to those you love.
And, I believe, hiking the Appalachian Trail can help make you a better man.
While, yes, it is true that I lost a respectable fifteen pounds and did get in the best shape of my life – and, yes, I was able to clear my mind of all the clutter and stress that had accumulated in my world – by the time I left the Trail, I was still (only slightly less) overweight and still (very) middle aged.
But somewhere between the start of the approach trail at Amicalola Falls State Park and mile one hundred sixty-three at Fontana Dam a transformation of sorts took place – and I became a different man.
This difference is not obvious in photos. Although you may be able to see that I acquired a thinner face and a brighter smile over the weeks on the Trail, the real difference is deeper down. The real difference is that I finally became the me I have always dreamed of being.
On the last day of our journey, as Alex and I sat in the lobby of the Fontana Village Resort sipping whiskey and celebrating our hike, I realized that in my heart I was no longer the burdened and burdensome man I was as we approached the Trail. I was a different kind of guy. A fellow I really liked. Someone I would enjoy being with. A guy who would be fun to talk with at a party. A guy I’d like to hang out with around a fire.
Only a handful of weeks before, I had stepped into the woods as a bona fide stressed-out Fat Boy. Then, through some immaculate stroke of luck – or maybe divine intervention – I managed to complete a feat of walking that, to me, bordered on the insane. And emerged from it as the fun-loving, life-affirming After Fifty Adventure Man.
To Alexander’s surprise, I started laughing so hard I spilled some of the sweet brown whiskey from my cup, as I realized that this – who I was at that very moment – this was the guy I had been wanting to become. I may have even been this guy at some previous period in my life – before life’s stresses and expectations and a heap of my own self-induced aspirations moved me so far away from that nice fellow that the only thing I had left for him was a grimace. No longer even a smile.
But on that late October afternoon, seated before a roaring fire, a plate of warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies by my side, a glistening glass of Crown Royal in my right hand, and my son at my left, I recognized him. That guy. The best me I could be. To get to him, though, had taken more sweat and ache than I could have ever imagined. In fact, had I known how much exertion hiking that section of the Appalachian Trail would take before hand, I most likely would have stayed home. But I hadn’t stayed home. I’d walked and sweated – and even hallucinated now and again – and I had made it.
My prize? I got to meet this new/old me, Mr. After Fifty Adventure Man.
And believe me, I have been looking for him for a while. I last searched for him on a two-thousand-mile bike ride from St. Augustine, Florida, to Taos, New Mexico, the summer of 2010, the year I turned fifty four. For that journey, something grabbed a hold of me and forced me to put my world on pause, while I got on top of a bike and started pedaling. It was a power that I was unable to deny, just like the one that placed me on the Appalachian Trail this September.
There seems to be a pattern emerging. I may not see the entire picture nor understand its implications for my life, but I do believe the spirit of the After Fifty Adventure Man is hard upon me.
The thing is, of course, the After Fifty Adventure Man (or Woman) lives inside all of us who have completed our first fifty years on this planet. The After Fifty Adventurer is an aspect of our real selves that is hidden so deep inside our stressed-out, over-responsible, overburdened, over-it-all civilized society personas that he (or she) may never be allowed out to play. Unless, say, one of our kids grabs us and drags us down the Appalachian Trail behind them.
Just last week, I hosted two cyclists traveling from their home in British Columbia to Patagonia, near the tip of South America. It will be a journey that will take them another year and a half, maybe two. They mentioned in passing that it would be great if I could ride with them. I did not let on that they were speaking directly to the spirit of the After Fifty Adventure Man, but later that night, when I lay in bed, I could see myself atop my Surly bicycle winding my way through Central and South America, stopping at every town along the road to meet the local people, eat their food, and listen to their stories.
But I am not getting any younger. The truth of that fact greets me in the bathroom mirror each and every morning. So the question is this: Do I continue down the old road of expectation and false responsibilities? Or do I allow myself the freedom to live life while I can still participate in a new adventure?
Frankly, I am always torn about such things. For now, I have returned home to my quiet life in St. Augustine, Florida, where I have been filling my days applying for jobs and tending to my garden. Secretly, I am already thinking about a new exploit. Whether that means picking up where Alexander and I left off, or heading down a new trail, I am not entirely certain.
Any suggestions?
Hugh
TeatimeOnTheAT 
Yes, become a travel writer.
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