2174 miles

In the early afternoon, I arrived at the summit of Springer Mountain with the first drops of rain. I actually did it: I walked from Maine to Georgia! I'm done!

The hardest mile of my whole trip was somewhere between Cooper Gap and Three Forks this morning. The adrenaline of the finish hadn't yet kicked in, I was tense looking at the ominous sky, and I was frustrated with myself because here I had walked the entire length of the AT and these short uphills were still wearing and winding me.

Two days ago, I was walking through a drizzle that was beginning to chill me, through forest that wasn't remarkable. I arrived at the Walasi-Yi hostel, which I discovered was only a basement that reeked of hiker funk and had no natural light. I was tired to the point of sitting there, mind blank, not realizing that I'd only half-taken off my socks. Everyone around me was so ready to be done, and I caved, too, and admitted, So was I.

But this trail has balance. And the next day, when I left to climb Blood Mountain, it was perfect weather for hiking. The trail climbed up smooth rock faces, which reminded me of the trail and summits in Maine. Firework, B, and I took pack-on, sit-down breaks at every one, like Matt and I used to in Maine. We looked out, looked south, and realized the mountains were petering out into flatness. I felt like I had walked to the end of the mountains. Since there was no haze, we saw the skyscrapers of Atlanta, white, almost disappearing into the horizon that was so pale blue it was almost white. It reminded us of New York City from Bear Mountain. The trail smoothed out and encouraged me that day. That night, we looked up from our campfire and saw shooting stars. I tried to describe all this in my journal, and I wrote, Today reminded me why I was out here. I wanted to stay a while longer.

And then today. When the sky opened up and the rain poured out and soaked me coming down from Springer, I was again ecstatic to be done. To not deal with wet gear.