The Buncombe Trail had gotten great reviews, and many had it on their hiking to-do list. It would be easy. A short distance with minimal inclines, if any. But backpacking through a thick forest with little airflow presented a different challenge - sweltering heat with high humidity...and lots of bugs.  

     Since there were only two of us, and I didn’t want the pressure of setting the pace, I insisted my friend lead the way. Little did I know he would be the one constantly plucking thick, sticky spider webbing from his face as the oversized, archaic creatures glared at us for undoing their morning’s work. And we were both blown away as we waded through calf-high grass and realized multitudes of small ticks had quickly attached themselves to his obviously more attractive hairy legs versus my smooth, newly shaven ones. These two situations alone made me determined not to lose my place in line, and I was much obliged to my male trail mate for showing such chivalry with very little complaining.

     If it hadn’t been for his easy-going nature and pleasant conversation, I might have opted to go home. But I had no other agenda, and I still found myself being happier in the outdoors than anywhere else...no matter what the conditions. I had begun to attribute part of that feeling to simplicity. I couldn’t shower or wash my hair, so it stayed braided into neat little pigtails for days. And I was perfectly happy eating tuna from a foil packet. I had no decisions to make, and my mind could wander for hours. It allowed me time for reflection and replenished what was constantly being depleted through my indecisiveness regarding looking for a more rewarding job, finding a new place to live so I could be closer to my children, and deciding once and for all if I really wanted to continue searching for love. I was teetering on the highest ledge of middle age, so I couldn’t wait forever to make a decision on which way to go.

     Throughout the day, I determined the trail was not clearly marked, or maybe it was just me still not knowing how to read a trail map. This was yet another thing I felt grateful for...someone I trusted to get us out of the woods. I had already proved I could lead a hike, and since it was hot, I was putting aside my “I want to figure this out all by myself” attitude for at least this weekend. And water sources (according to my standards) were almost becoming nonexistent. We both had water filtering systems, but I refused to drink water, filtered or not, from a warm and stagnant pool with tadpoles swimming around!

     A short reprieve from the heat soon came as we entered a lush section of the forest. It was such a stark contrast from the rest with its intense color and density, obscuring whatever richness had given it such luster. The tree barks were dark - as if wet from a long soaking summer rain. And perfectly straight, like an artist had simply pulled his paintbrush in one long stroke from the clouds down to the intense green ground cover below. It felt moist and cool here, so we slowed our pace and enjoyed the classic Bob Ross painting.

     We eventually found water that was trickling along at a speed suitable for me to drink and then chose a spot to set up our tents. We gathered what we could to make a fire, only to steer away any bugs that may have followed us down the trail. This was the third adventure I’d taken with my fellow backpacker, so conversations continued to come easy. As total darkness eventually closed in around us, I fell asleep to the sound of his stories...with no fears or worries.  I found comfort in him being just a few feet away.

     Unlike most of our other backpacking trips, there was no rush to get up early the next morning and hit the trail. And with the exception of one distant coyote skirmish, nothing had woken me during the night. I felt rested and prepared for the second day of our journey—realizing this was a good thing as I opened my tent to a wall of thick air the sun had already graciously heated.

     As the day wore on, my friend surmised that if we got off the trail for a little while, it would be a great shortcut and put us on the road in time for a late lunch in Columbia. I was in! He checked the map and then his compass, explaining how the two could work together and knowing I was clueless about directions in any form of the word. We moved off course and quickly arrived at a large but very shallow stream.  The water level was so low that we actually walked down the riverbed for a while. I eagerly but cautiously continued to follow him through the unchartered territory as we traversed the tall grass and clicked our trekking poles to frighten away snakes that were inevitably hiding nearby. Then, just as promised, we were on the Palmetto Trail as the shortcut had lived up to its name—and much closer to our final destination.

     We chose a small pub off the beaten path, and each quickly ordered a burger and a beer. The bartender laughed as we suggested she not get too close to our ‘two-day backpacking’ bodies. It felt great to be so comfortable with myself—a feeling I didn’t experience very often. I can’t remember ever going out in public unbathed...no makeup...dirty hair. But I quickly remembered my fellow backpacker never judged me, nor I he. And we knew we had just accomplished more in one Saturday than anyone else sitting at the bar had probably accomplished all week.

     So I may not have figured out much over the last two days, but I was content knowing at least one thing: If you put me in the middle of nature—in the middle of my life—in the middle of huge decisions...chances are I’ll be just fine. I will always return home with a renewed spirit to work on those ‘middle’ life crises...which I’ve come to realize literally mean I’m already halfway there. And I know I will always have lifelong friends on either side.