Fear of an Awesome Time

Fear.  It can drive people, and lately it has been more of a part of my own life than I’m accustomed to.

After enduring a couple years of physical problems that doctors couldn’t understand or fix, I wound up with a diagnosis of fibromyalgia; basically, a chronic pain condition in which your nerves are constantly over-reacting and the corresponding chemical changes in your brain lead to other challenges, such as digestive issues, lowered immunity, impeded thinking, and trouble sleeping. I’m just beginning to get my mind around it, let alone to understand how best to manage it.

Last year's holiday stroll on Nantucket was
one of the most fun group trips I've ever taken.

It should sound like a blast: being invited to join a bunch of other couples we’re friends with on a long weekend on Martha’s Vineyard for a Christmas Stroll. We rented out a whole bed & breakfast right on the water, and events will be going on all weekend long. It seems to also offer a nice diversion from my challenges, right? Yet, I’m a little more anxious as the time draws closer, and now am on the eve of our departure with so many thoughts racing through my partially-fogged brain.

What if my feet can’t hold up and I’m in agony but nowhere close to our hotel? What if my back seizes up while watching a parade or street performers? How will my stomach handle it if I can’t bring my refrigerated probiotic that’s helped so much? How much of a price will I pay from cheating more on my militant diet than I’ve done any week in the last nine months? Will I hit an energy wall and need to quit the festivities and go back to my room? Will I drag Sara down with me, ruining her weekend?

Either you conquer fear or it conquers you.

Thoughts such as these can go on and on. If it’s a first thought upon awakening, I can’t stop it. But I also know it’s not best to dwell on it. A particular challenge right now is finding the balancing act between ruminating and assessing the situation and appropriately self-managing: while some meals will be unhealthy, I can eat compliant breakfasts, and with a room fridge, I can bring hard boiled eggs. I can awaken early to ease into the day and enjoy a sunrise. I can hit the gym in the morning to get some endorphins flowing and loosen me up a bit if I'm going to be active. I can bring some healthy snacks on our adventures to nibble compliant, nutritional food if my energy wanes. Since we’re morphing into various groups and offering lunch and dinner as meet-up opportunities, I can integrate a little down time here and there, or get a coffee or tea to get off my feet briefly. I can hang with the group but not be among the last ones going to bed sometime after midnight.

A late-November view of Martha's Vineyard from Cape Cod.

The basic reality won’t change: I’ll be on that island off of Cape Cod for about 72 hours. That time will pass. I will be with Sara and some close friends. There are only a couple of (admittedly big) things up for debate. The first is how I manage myself: do I push myself too hard, or do I push myself to make the most of the adventure while accepting my limits? Do I seek out activities I can handle and advocate for myself, or do I quietly go along with the crowd and white-knuckle my way along unless or until I have a flare-up? The second is what editorial I choose to attach to events: if the weekend is great, have I learned the benefits of acknowledging my limits or of calculatedly pushing myself? Or was I lucky? If the weekend devolves into a struggle, did I see the penalty of not acknowledging limits or not speaking up? Or was the whole thing a stupid idea to begin with?

For now, the piece I believe I can control is articulating and then pursuing my goals: I want to have the best time that my body allows, and to recognize my challenges only to the extent that I can then minimize them by my resulting plans. So I’ll pack food accordingly, scout out potential plans and see were the bigger dangers are, and identify my "safety valves" if I need them. I’ll then try to assume that I’m going to have a great time with great friends, and back off to allow the weekend to unfold in its own organic way. To put it more simply, my goal is perhaps no different than everyone else's: to immerse myself in a great adventure this weekend that evolves into a great memory afterwards.

It's not always a fun reality, but it is a frequent one.

One step at a time,

Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper

A Birthday Wish

I’ve hit that point in life at which I don’t enjoy celebrating my birthday. I’ve also hit that point when most people suggest it’s not that bad, because the alternative is death. Somehow, I don’t find that to be a heartwarming way to embrace my inevitable decline…

When I turned 45 this week, it wasn’t fun. In fact, it was probably a fitting middle-aged birthday: I was forced to work late. My kids wished me a happy birthday, but with the obligatory tone that suggests they’d be much more excited if it were their own event. Sara was out of town because of her own career demands. Life wore me out that day and left me in bed well before ten o’clock. Wow… eesh.

This year, I felt like I was barely hanging on.
Maybe next year will be different.

It doesn’t take much reflection to conclude that 44 was a rough year. It provided many doctor’s visits, a lot of uncertainty and anxiety, and culminated with a diagnosis of fibromyalgia, which brings with it a lifelong pain management situation. For someone who happily lives a pretty physical life, this sucks. What’s to celebrate? Blowing out the birthday candle, it’s easy to wish for something different, or a return to the life I was enjoying.

Where will life
take me next?

Like New Year’s, a birthday is a chance to take stock of the last year and to ponder what the next year may hold, or to articulate the wishes for the next year.  I don’t know what the year ahead may have in store, but I know that whatever happens, it will unfold at its own pace. Maybe my pain is exacerbated; maybe I have the first day in well over a year in which the pain doesn’t forcibly alter that day’s trajectory. Maybe I can again indulge in some favorite activities; maybe I remain “on the shelf”. Maybe I find some new activities to love; maybe I find myself taking on new ways of challenging myself and being horrified to discover that trying my hand at being a street performer of interpretive dance was an extremely poor self-assessment of my capabilities… OK, maybe I should start smaller.

The point is, life doesn’t allow me to hit a pause button. The band keeps playing, the stone keeps rolling, the wheel keeps turning. It’s fair to need to grieve for a loss, to allow yourself the emotions that come with an involuntary life change – particularly one painfully imposed upon you. But it doesn’t change your reality.

The paths in life are rarely easy. Nevertheless,
you've gotta choose one eventually.

As I begin accumulating some days as a 45-year-old, my more immediate focus is to not waste the time. So, my priority is about allowing myself to process the emotions of a rough situation. But, it’s also to figure out how to maximize my remaining time and capabilities that this stage of my life affords me. I need to pointedly push myself out of my comfort zone and experiment, but not force a lifestyle that isn’t authentic and genuinely fulfilling. While not an easy task, it nevertheless is the task at hand. I believe that whatever your lot in life, the best aspiration and focus is to try to maximize the potential of your situation.

My last year was one spent amidst uncertainty, negativity, repeated setbacks, and stuck in a painful limbo. Given where I landed and the clarity I received, my wish for my next year is to begin climbing out of that hole; to begin to figure out how to be passionately engaged with a life and with relationships that fulfill me, and to allow me to somehow positively impact the lives of those around me.

As a new year of life dawns, it's my wish to live it fully and to squeeze the most out of it.

One step at a time,

Jay Bell

A New Journey

Nature and my feet, AKA Beauty and the Beasts

After well over two years of mounting physical problems, I finally bottomed out but emerged with a diagnosis: fibromyalgia. It’s referred to as chronic pain, but it’s much more: essentially, your body is stuck in a “fight-or-flight” response. Yes, this means nerves are hyper-reactive. But it also means there are changes to your chemical and hormonal levels, how certain parts of your brain functions, and this can have impacts to pain, energy, digestion, immune system, and sleep, which in turn can create all kinds of impacts. So… crap.

I’ve spent the last two to three years as a bit of a physical train wreck, and spent the last few weeks as an emotional one. I have lived physically and loved it. But, in some way, my life will need to change. Maybe much of what I did can be done again, maybe there’s some new passion to replace it with, but after some time to rage and grieve, a few nuggets of clarity emerge.

The outdoors have given me some great family moments.

Hiking, mountain biking, skiing, and all my time outdoors is a way of being connected with Sara, my girls, the world around me, and with myself. At its core, those are my goals and these activities were how I reached those goals. I’ll never stop being someone who loves the outdoors, who craves adventure (hey, I guess I’ve got an excuse for being an adrenaline junkie), who strives to connect deeply with loved ones. But now my challenge becomes figuring out how that will look.

Whatever the specifics may be, the goal remains to live vibrantly.

Sometimes the "cure" seems
worse than the problem.

As I begin getting educated on this stuff, there’s a bit of a contradiction that I feel: I’m supposed to stop living how I’ve lived but I’m supposed to work to get back as much of what I lost as I can. I know an expert would say it’s more nuanced than that, but it’s how I understand the therapeutic goals as I flail early on in this process.

When I started blogging about my hikes, my goal was not to delve into the topography or detailed explanation of the trail. For me, it was to chronicle how my life and the lives of those around me were unfolding. My stated goal was to hike the 67 New England high summits. But my real goal was to use that writing as a way to focus myself on what was unfolding for and around me over a longer period of time. I was interested to look back 67 months later to see what storyline would emerge. I got halfway through, on track, before coming to a crashing halt. This diagnosis may suck, but if it’s my reality, then the only remaining question is where I go from here.

What the... ?!?! I thought I knew how to navigate life.
But now I'm in uncharted territory...

So, now I see me repurposing this writing: to explore where this new life take me; to find what new adventures await; to see how I continue to bond. I feared that I’d need to reinvent myself. But with more reflection, I think I just need to figure out how I can continue to work at being my best self. I’ll undoubtedly have some trial and error, maybe with some epic fails. I’ll presumably continue to find nature to be soul-nurturing. For all the times I push my daughters out of their comfort zones, it’ll be time for me to model the way, which may be good for some memories to wince or laugh at. And, I’ll likely look back somewhere down the road and find I’ve taken on some surprising new ways of living that I’d never have expected.

If you indulge me the hiking analogy, I’m standing at the trailhead. I can’t see far down the trail and know this will be a challenge. But, as with past hikes, I start by putting one foot in front of another (albeit painfully). Eventually, it’s euphoric to stand on the summit and feel triumphant, proud of the effort, proud of the accomplishment, proud of who I am, and of who I’m with.

... So it's time to start a new journey and see where it leads.

One step at a time,

Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper

67 in 67: North Twin Mountain, Grafton County, NH (summit #31)

Hike: North Twin Mountain

Elevation: 4,760

Date: September 20, 2015

Location: Grafton County, NH

Distance: 8.6 miles

Time: 6:52 (47:54/mile)

Ugh. Blah. Congrats on being wrong, National Weather Service. It wasn’t a sunny start to part two of this unexpected hiking road trip. It was rainy and foggy, with a wet chill in the air. Our hotel window had a view of North Twin, today’s goal. Only, instead of sun and clouds, it was wet and we couldn’t even see the summit. If either of us pushed to cancel the hike, the other probably would’ve agreed to skip it, sleep in, and head home. But instead, we gamely got ready to tackle the mountain.

Sara's expression tells you all you need to know about the weather. Ugh.

We started hiking as the rain picked up, having to use the waterproof jackets. The hoods helped keep us dry but prevented conversation as we trudged along. The out-and-back route involved about two miles of flat terrain with three river crossings, a mile-and-a-half of uphill, a half-mile of steep uphill, and a half-mile of flatter trail to the wooded summit, with a great view shortly before the summit’s cairn.

After the prior day’s ten mile hike up Mount Carrigain left me with a second balky knee, we moved at a slower pace, with the wetness contributing to our slower pace. The stream crossings were running a little higher than normal from the overnight rain, and we needed some care in crossing them. But the flat leg of the hike still allowed for fairly good time. As predicted, the climb started right after the last crossing and we began sweating as we worked our way up the lengthy staircase.

Sara found her route across one of North Twin's three river crossings. Yay!

Luckily, we never noticed the really steep section’s beginning. So, before we knew it, we were close to the levelling off point. Time had passed more quickly than it seemed, and we found ourselves well over three hours into the hike standing on a rocky outcropping with an incredible view. Well, on a sunny day it would be incredible. Like the prior day’s hike. But on this day we were in the middle of a cloud, staring at an impenetrable wall of gray. It was like painting a windowless room all gray and then trying to find something to admire. So we trudged on to the summit, declared summit number 31 of our 67 4,000-foot New England mountains “bagged”, and returned to the alleged view to have lunch.

What a beautiful view... the sunny day before.

Alas, some wet wind had kicked in and we found ourselves cold and uncomfortable. We decided to get back below treeline to cut the wind and moisture before breaking for food. I only had one knee brace on as I only had one bad knee until the day before, so I switched it to the other knee as I began my descent.

The wet cold had penetrated us both, but Sara was having a tougher time with it. She had packed in some added layers and stopped to swap out wet clothes for dry. I gave her my gloves to warm her hands because I’m a fantastic hiking partner and an even better guy (if I do say so myself), and in no time she was toasty and comfortable.

We finally found a nice boulder to sit on and eat lunch. But the weather left us wanting to soldier on. My knees had this pre-ache feeling, as if they were just waiting to flare up again. Sara trudged on ahead of me, finding it painful to watch me. I used my hiking poles, limped, alternated which leg I’d use to take initial steps down, took weird lines to keep my legs as comfortably straight as possible, and even walked sideways for a quarter-mile to compensate for the movements that hurt the most. My wipeout protected my knees but left me with a wet derriere. With the weather and distance between us, we walked in much more silence than the day before.

Sara navigated all three river crossings really well. Me? Not quite so lucky (or skilled)!

We moved steadily along, and I found myself excited when we finally arrived at the first return crossing of the river. It meant we’d flattened out and my knees would be fine. We focused and found good routes across the river.

Arriving at the second crossing, I remembered a blogger I read the night before, who fell in on this crossing, with onlookers witnessing his fiasco. I used extra care as I worked my way along, but nevertheless slipped myself, and immersed my left leg. I hate-hate-hate wet shoes, with squishiness on every stride. I found myself stuck, on all fours, except for the wet one thrashing in the air as if I were a bucking bronco. But luckily my waterproof boot and the gator to keep my lower legs dry actually kept my foot almost completely dry. Sara laughed but luckily just missed capturing the fall on camera. She used to be more nervous on downhills and water crossings, but has grown a confidence that matches her skills, as evidenced by her effortless crossing and dry clothes.

We finished off the hike at a fast clip and without further incident. After high-fives, changing into dry clothes, cranking the pickup’s heater, and grabbing drinks at a convenience store, we headed home. Not every hike can be beautiful or phenomenal. But hikers hike, and we’ve now hiked 31 summits. We might have one hiking weekend left in the season, and are finding glad we made the most of our spontaneous trip into the Whites!

See you on the trail,

Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper

67 in 67: Mount Carrigain, Grafton County, NH (summit #30)

Hike: Mount Carrigain

Elevation: 4,682

Date: September 19, 2015

Location: Grafton County, NH

Distance: 10.0 miles

Time: 7:16 (43:36/mile)

Due to some unexpected events, Sara and I found ourselves with a completely free weekend with a beautiful forecast. So, clearly there was only one solution: road trip!

Good view of North Twin from the motel!

In our quest to summit all 67 4,000-foot mountains in New England over 67 months, we’ve accumulated a few loose ends. We wanted to cross a couple of single-summit hikes off the list. North Twin was orphaned from its South Twin summit during our Labor Day Weekend hike with the girls across Galehead, South Twin, and Zealand.  Mount Carrigain just sort of hangs out there, all by its lonesome. So this formed our itinerary for the weekend. We’d start with Carrigain, the longer, tougher hike, and follow it up with North Twin before heading home.

Sara helpfully pointed out the extremely large map. It was too big to fit in
my pocket, so we stuck with the small, folded paper version we'd brought.

There aren’t a lot of hotels in the North Twin area, even less that have a refrigerator or microwave. By process of elimination, we found a place, the Profile Deluxe Motel; despite being a 60-year-old motel, it’s clearly been upgraded while retaining a nostalgic vibe, and it turned out to be inexpensive but with some great touches. We set ourselves up Friday night, and Saturday morning we found ourselves at a crowded trailhead at 9:00 a.m.

The first couple miles of the ten-mile, out-and-back hike were easy, and we chatted across a mix of topics as we made good time. Then Carrigain began rising significantly from its immediate surroundings. It became an ongoing climb until we were half a mile from the five-mile halfway point. At that point, the trail opened up and we began to get great views. Two weeks earlier, we’ hiked the north side of the Pemigewasset Wilderness with the girls, and had views that were amazing, at times with Carrigain at the southern end. Most of the amazing views we normally have still include condos or towns dotting the landscape. But in the Pemi, the landscape is pure wilderness; nothing but nature. Now, we began seeing across it to our prior hike.

The views from Carrigain's Signal Ridge begin to show a slew of summits in the Pemigewasset Wilderness.

When we finally hit the summit and found a fire tower, we were able to sit on the platform and see for miles as we snacked. We spread out our map and Sara began pointing out the summits we’d already crossed off the list, as well as some in our future.

 

Looking back from the summit at the trail across Signal Ridge that would return us to the parking lot. 

The hikes we’ve done and those remaining were part of a meandering conversation that, for the first time, touched on what we might do after our “New England 67” personal challenge. We explored the idea of a hiking bucket list; no lengthy challenge but maybe a series of particularly interesting hikes, such as a Pemi death march across a slew of summits; a winter overnight hike; a week-long hike including stays at all of the AMC’s high mountain huts; a group hike with a couple of friends’ families… the topic made for an interesting distraction from the grind, and to think about how hiking might look after May of 2018. And then…

My knee flared up on the descent. Not my occasionally gimpy left knee. No, that would be predictable and mitigated by the knee brace I’d bought. Nope. Life throws you curves, and sometimes you get plunked by those pitches. At first I thought I was imagining things. But as it kept worsening, I soon realized my right knee was doing the same thing my left normally does. Seriously, this is ridiculous. I’m already trying to protect two bad feet, a bad knee, using hiking poles. Does it count if I just parachute to the summit, plant a “Jay was here!” flag, take a picture, and get airlifted out? I used to hate the uphill grind. Now it’s the only reliable part. It’s as if I’m part of some cosmic experiment, and I can only imagine what’s next: “let’s see what happens this time if we… dislocate his kneecap!” “How about now he rips his groin muscle off the bone?” By the end of the descent I could barely walk. Then I had a 1.7 (allegedly) flat hike back to the parking lot on the final trail.

Early signs of Autumn. Boo...

When we hit that trail intersection, we saw a guy sitting there. It turns out we saw him at the summit with friends, and he’d sped past them on the way down. He was waiting for them, as they were about fifteen minutes behind us. Sanjay had recently come to the U.S., was working on his doctorate from Dartmouth, and this was his first summit. One of the friends Sanjay was accompanying was finishing his forty-seventh New Hampshire summit, leaving just Mount Washington the following weekend before finishing all that were in New Hampshire. It was refreshing to see someone so excited by life, finding new ways to explore the world around him and making the most of his experience. He was so enthusiastic and optimistic that we couldn’t help but wish him all the best.

Fabyan's Restaurant at Bretton Woods was the
perfect apres-hike spot to enjoy a last touch
of summer and some laughs with Sara!

After lingering in a pleasant conversation, we headed on. Every little descent led to bone-on-bone shooting pains up my leg. Sara let me set the pace, but as we neared the end of the trail we heard some hikers approaching us. She noted them and we got a bit competitive, making a dash for the finish line. We had a great but stupid pace for the final stretch, bursting back into the parking lot and high-fiving each other before I limped to the truck.

We felt we’d earned a reward, and knew we’d pass Fabyan’s restaurant on the way back, across from the Bretton Woods ski resort. It appeared to be a good place, named after one of the prominent historical figures in the area and converted from a former train depot but retain that old-time feel. Although we hadn’t brought a change of clothes, Sara had some layers she hadn’t used that she could change into. I had to resort to hanging my sweaty, wet hiking shirt off the back of the truck to at least be air dried by the time we hit the restaurant. We sat outside, enjoying some great food and view, soaking in one of the last summer-like days of the season.

 

Another summit,
another problem.

That evening, as we laid in the hotel room, my legs a sore mess, we were still happy. We’d hit our thirtieth summit and had some great conversation along the way. My knee pain had subsided once we hit flatter terrain and then finished hiking, leaving me comfortable trying for a hike the next day. We knew the season was nearing an end, but had picked up some hiking momentum and now felt a renewed connection to the mountains. All in all, it’s hard to call this a bad day!

See you on the trail,

Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper

67 in 67, Best hike ever? Galehead, South Twin, and Zealand Mountains, New Hampshire (summits #27-29)

Hike #27: Galehead Hut to Zealand Hut

Elevation: 4,024 (Mount Galehead); 4,902 (South Twin Mountain); 4,260 (Zealand Mountain)      

Date: September 5-7, 2015

Location: Grafton County, NH

Distance: 15.7 miles

Time: 13:02 (49:48/mile)

Day 1: 5.6 miles in 4:04; Day 2: 7.2 miles in 7:24; Day 3: 2.9 miles in 1:34)

As a dad, I want the best for my girls, see them as wonderful, and worry about them. As a divorced dad, I worry about maximizing my time with them, and about giving them enough guidance and support for them to have the skills and tools to achieve the lives they want and deserve.

Prior to our Labor Day Weekend hut-to-hut hike in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, I knew they weren’t excited. They were surprised when I acknowledged it and said I didn’t care. But I explained that the biggest goal is to put them in a challenging, stressful situation and to make them work at managing through it. They can decide the whole trip is miserable, cry, and trudge slowly along. But it will only make it more miserable with more hours hiking then it has to be. The alternative is differentiating between the parts that suck and the parts that can be joyous. They understood the point but questioned why they couldn’t just have one awful day instead of three. Now that they’re getting older, I can be more candid with them. The good news, I replied, is that it’s only three days long. I’ve had a couple of different things going on that has made the last month blow, with the potential of another ten months of stress. It didn’t excite them to become a grown-up, but was honest.

Hiking's version of the pre-game experience.

We drove up that Friday, contending with traffic and spread across two cars because of needing to car cache since the hike wasn’t a loop. It gave a chance for Sara and I to each have some solo time with each girl and see how their school year was starting off. They were a bit wound up, chattering and enjoying settling into the hotel that night, near the start of our hike.

The next morning led me to need to reiterate my points to my oldest daughter, who was miserable at the thought of the hike. We spoke earnestly, and I didn’t chastise her for her tears. But the message was still clear: feel how you feel, but if the event is still going to occur, you have a choice on the storyline. It’s fair to acknowledge the tough parts but important to practice letting go of that negativity when better moments present themselves.

Trailside yoga!

The first leg of the hike started gradually, which presented a chance to settle in. We moved at a steady pace, until late in the hike when there was a steeper climb, essentially climbing a staircase for about forty minutes. But then it levelled out for the final stretch to AMC’s Galehead Hut. We’d started after a group of varsity boys from a nearby private school. We’d caught them, leapfrogging but now moved past them and hustled to finish first. The girls had noted the techniques they’d use this hike to help manage their mindset, and this was yet another way to distract themselves. It also was a source of pride and high-fives as we checked into the hut. The girls were happy to get settled in bunk beds in one of the bunk rooms, as Sara and I bagged the Galehead summit a half-mile away. We returned to find the girls content and a bit tired, but happy to hang in the dining area at one of the long tables, playing cards, reading maps, snacking, and chatting. After a delicious dinner, we took in the beautiful view into the Pemigewasset wilderness from outside the hut. 

Admiring the view from Galehead's summit, on the north side of the Pemigewasset Wilderness

Group hugs at sunset outside of the Galehead Hut!

A colorful sunset and gentle breeze was nice before the falling temperature drove us back inside. Secret surprises such as the choose-your-own-adventure book that Sara packed in helped keep the girls interested and engaged, before they excitedly snuggled into their sleeping bags. The girls had managed themselves well, containing their dislike mostly to the staircase section of the hike and chafed shoulders from their packs.

The real challenge was the second day of the hike: over seven miles across their first two four-thousand-foot summits and a couple thousand feet of elevation gain; all during a hot, sunny day. But both girls showed me something they don’t often demonstrate: true strength. This was a rugged hike regardless of age, with a serious climb in the first mile. 

South Twin's 4,902-foot summit offered amazing views!

The girls bagged their first summit!

Over the day, my oldest routinely pushed the pace. She was strong, she effortlessly navigated rockier sections, and seemed downright fast for the first few hours before slowing down to being merely quick later on. But she chatted amicably, occasionally slowed or waited for the rest of the group, and happily paired off with whomever would join her at the front of the line. At the end of the hike, seven hours in, she was passing other groups of experienced hikers. My younger daughter was slower, but tried to keep up as best as she could, and maintained a good attitude even though she was so worn out that she couldn’t even walk straight by the end of the hike.  It’s one of the best displays of perseverance and toughness I’ve ever seen from them. Afterwards, they found some rewards at the Zealand Hut.

Yep. We've gotta hike a bunch of that.

Waterfall at the end of the hike? Score! We're having fun now!

Right by the hut was a waterfall that leveled out before another big drop-off. With the sun still shining down, we soaked sore feet and legs in the chilly water, washed grime off of ourselves, dried off on warm rocks, chatted, laughed, explored, and admired the view. 

After dinner, wearing glowstick necklaces, we all climbed into the side-by-side third story bunk beds that Sara and I were in, with half-walls sealing these two beds off from the rest of the room. The girls laughed and lost themselves in the simple joy of mad libs, and later enjoyed the three story bunk beds as they nestled into beds again, glow sticks casting faint light as they quickly fell asleep.

Triple bunk beds at AMC's Zealand Hut meant three times the fun at the end of the day.

The final day was easy. Three miles used to seem far too long to them but now it represented a short walk. Packs didn’t seem as heavy. And with most of this leg being flat trails, they found it easy, with a chance to chat and see some of the mountains they’d hiked.

The girls are walking out over much easier (but still picturesque) terrain.

Stopping for lunch partway home, they noted that they could feel pride in their accomplishment. They could see how the miserable parts could be compartmentalized and not affect the whole trip. They could appreciate how they persevered. They also lost themselves in the experience, never complaining about needing iPhones or lamenting not being with their friends. The lessons we attempted to teach did register. But, for me, there were memorable moments, too: the group excitement of finally solving the choose-your-own-adventure mystery of the Lost Jewels of Nabooti; Sarah’s stuffed animal taking credit for bagging Zealand’s summit; the girls chilling out on their first 4,000-foot summit, answering questions from Appalachian Trail through-hikers about state capitols; Sydney’s commanding pace for hours; Sarah’s eternal good spirits; Sydney’s laughter at the waterfall; the excitement of triple bunk beds. It’s a rush of memories competing in my head that leave me with an emotional crash going back to work, but one that wonderfully combined tough parenting and a great experience.

See you on the trail,

Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper

Sara's secret surprise for one daughter
summed up a major lesson from the hike!

67 in 67: The Osceolas, Lincoln, New Hampshire (summits #25-26)

Hike #26: The Osceolas

Elevation: 4,315 (Mount Osceola); 4,156 (East Osceola)

Date: August 10, 2015

Location: Lincoln, NH

Distance: 8.4 miles

Time: 6:53 (49:10/mile)

“You put your right foot up, you put your right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

Two days earlier, Sara and I hiked a hard ten miles across the two Kinsman summits in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.  By the end, I could barely walk; my feet held up well, for the first time in well over a year. But my left knee flared up badly. One day earlier, the skies opened up and dumped over an inch of rain. Since we were staying at a hotel, we poked around town and rested our tired, hurting bodies.

As our last hiking day dawned, I knew in the first few steps out of bed that my knee still wasn’t right. Anxious and pissed, I was unsure if I’d have a chance to return this hiking season. I was twelve summits behind schedule in my goal of hiking all 67 4,000-foot New England summits over 67 months, and my body failed me enough in the last year.

I didn’t talk much as we quickly packed up. We prepared as if we would go hiking, but I wasn’t sure if I’d even set foot on a mountain. After eating a quiet breakfast and checking out, I limped to the truck and we climbed in. Sara turned to me and I explained that I truly didn’t know what I was capable of accomplishing, but needed to try. Sara was great about going with the flow and not remotely acknowledging me being the anchor on her own hiking goals.

Sara, navigating the rocky sections better than me
(and looking more fashionable in her sweaty band!)

We arrived at the trailhead, strapped on our packs, set up our hiking poles, and set off, along with a couple of groups repairing sections of trails. One set up to work a section shortly in from the parking lot and another practically sprinted by us to work farther up the trail.

I shouldn’t hike. But I was going to give it what I could. I quickly adopted a strategy to use my right foot to initiate any step up or down or for longer strides. I’d also use hiking poles to distribute weight and to support my left foot when my right couldn’t step first.

“You put your right foot up, you put your right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

Unlike the Kinsman hike, we chatted very little, checking in on each other periodically. Our pace wasn’t strong, but at least it was steady. After an hour, I began to believe I could reach the summit. If successful, I could hike out regardless of the pain, and claim success at knocking another mountain off the list. But adding the second Osceola summit increases the distance by about 30%, which seemed to be pushing my luck.

A big rule for survivalists is to be willing to adapt to changing circumstances. Obstinately pushing on to tackle two summits in this condition is stupid. Actually, one summit is stupid. Two becomes moronic and potentially dangerous.  So I began thinking about how only hitting one summit becomes a silver lining. Deliberately losing myself in thought, I soldiered on.

“You put your right foot up, you put your right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

Mt. Osceola's summit offers plenty of room to rest and enjoy incredible views.

"The Chimney", between the two peaks of Osceola,
is more free climb than hiking, and a ton of fun!

After clearly gaining height and levelling out, I knew we were approaching the summit. We came onto a rocky clearing with gorgeous views and a chance for Sara to see which summits she could identify. We snacked as I pondered my next move. There was a chilly breeze and a threat of afternoon thunderstorms, reinforced by a storm cloud suddenly coming into view nearby. While it began seeming likely it would just miss us, it was still time to move. Stubbornly and stupidly, I pushed on and Sara didn’t challenge me.

We descended toward a col between the two summits, which is hardest on my knee. We then hit “The Chimney”, which is a chute of rock forcing a free climb down. We passed poles to each other, and tried to not be unnerved. After high-fives upon successfully reaching the bottom, we continued on. Sara and I agreed that if I had a flare-up in the near future, I could hike out the shorter trail straight ahead while she would retrace her steps, get the truck, and drive around the mountains to pick me up. Despite the ridiculous decision-making involved and the slower pace, we eventually found ourselves on the second summit. We now had two summits under our belts and were halfway done. But the hike back to the original summit began to create some twinges, and I resumed my focus.

Yeah, we bagged that peak!

“You put your right foot up, you put your right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

Admiring the view from the top of the world.

Sweating from exertion, we emerged again onto the open summit, took in the view and some food, but tried not to rest for too long. Sara’s water had leaked so she now was in short supply. I began rationing mine, too, in case she needed it, although she never uttered a complaint. The hike back to the trailhead broke into stages for me, and I used landmarks to remind myself that I was closing in on the finish line. But the pain continued to grow, the pace continued to slow, and my focused efforts at hiking on one foot began to get sloppy.

“You put your right foot up, you put your right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

Time to put these summits in the "done" column,
even if Sara still looks fresh!

As we leveled out near the end of the hike, I knew I’d shortly start to rest and recover. I’d sandwiched four summits and almost 19 miles of hiking around a day of downpours, rest, and reconnecting with Sara. I also knew I’d been a fool to have taken these chances, and Sara hadn’t policed me. As a team, we probably egged each other on more than supported each other, Sara deferring to my judgment and happy to hike both mountains; me stubborn, loathe to disappoint her, and a typical guy who’d rather suck it up and risk bigger problems than use his words. There’s a lesson here about improving our group decision-making, but at least we survived. I do also feel some pride over the perseverance this took, and adapting my approach to be successful. While I can often ruminate when in a bad place, this time I managed myself well, even if it were an odd technique: any time I felt negative thoughts creeping in, I repeated my saying, from start to finish. And no matter how childish the saying, or how fleeting the negative thought, or how many hundreds of times I recited the lines, I kept going.

“You put your right foot up, you put your right foot down. You pick your right foot up and you hike it all about. You do the hikey-pikey then you hike yourself back down. That’s what it’s all about!”

See you on the trail,

Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper