Reflexions

By design, I had planned to put a few days of rest between the first six hikes and the final major summit to the top of Maine’s mile-high Mount Katahdin (the Appalachian Trail’s northern terminus). The plan included heading to Maine to stay with my good friends — and Maine natives — Ernie and Christine Nichols, who live in Tennessee during the school year, but have the great foresight and wisdom to escape the heat and humidity of the South by moving to their “camp” (that’s Maine-speak for lake house) on Sebago Lake for the summers. It’s a beautiful place, on a beautiful lake, with a not-so-bad view (that last bit is what is known as New England understatement). They’re wonderful hosts, and my stay included great dinners with family and friends, a day-tour of Christine’s hometown of Portland, and relaxing lake time.

The ensuing three days also saw my leg injury first get a little better, but then get steadily worse, to the point where walking and sleeping was a challenge. We all pondered whether it made sense to do the hike, or perhaps put it off for next summer (you know, “live to fight another day” and all that…um, stuff). I went in for an x-ray, which confirmed Sarah’s and Christie’s earlier diagnosis (way to go ladies!). The doctor in Maine prescribed heat, elevation, mucho ibuprofen, and no strenuous activity.

I didn’t tell the doctor about my dilemma with Mount Katahdin, which was now weighing very heavily on my mind.