Go Forth and Seek Your Fortune!

I will never see Wayne again. I am sure of this. I cannot find a circumstance that would bring me back to the side of the road of US 421 in rural North Carolina and even if I were to return, I doubt that it would result in my crossing paths with Wayne. Though I won't see Wayne again, I certainly won't forget his kindness.
The afternoon sun combined with the humidity and the weight of my pack almost brought me to my knees. After a sleepless night camped next to the highway with the lullaby of 18 wheelers whizzing by a few feet from my blistered feet, the hours of hiking along the shadeless road, our water long drank, refills miles away we were hitting rock bottom. We hadn't spoken a word in hours and that had only been quarrelling. We were only able to walk 20 minutes at a time before having to rest. My brain had started to panic. We had gotten ourselves into real trouble. Behind the eight ball, the heat now radiating off of the road baking us from above and below we needed help.
I initially thought we were in for trouble when the blue late model Silverado pulled off of the road and onto the dirt path we were walking on. We were in no shape to defend ourselves and we were in an area where the odds of the driver being armed were far greater than not. The truck pulled closer to us, stopped like deer in the headlights, exhausted, tongues ajar, the window was cranked down and a human paw was thrust out, holding out a Gatorade. I could see it was still cold by the condensation on it. A second later a bottle of water was hanging out of the truck, connected to the Good Samaritan, Wayne. "I thought you boys could use some of this." he said. We needed it more than he could have known. After giving us the much needed liquid he invited us into the cab of his truck to sit in the AC for a few minutes. We were far too dehydrated and exhausted to display our gratitude and the gravity of our situation to Wayne. I hope our silence was more of a sign of our need than our distrust. I am certain that Wayne's act of kindness got me through the worst physical day of my life.

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Thirteen miles behind us and three to go until we could sleep our shadows had disappeared with the sun overhead, we were behind schedule. We had left well before dawn to avoid the heat but our tardiness meant the last leg of the day’s hike would be hot. We had just entered the town limits of Fuquay Varina and cars were passing too close for comfort. A white compact veered off the road to a vacant parking lot across the street from us and a young woman leapt out and started at us like a mother chasing down a child who had forgotten their lunch. We were too tired to react and just stared as she dodged traffic. In her hands was a large Ziploc of cookies which she jammed into my hands while she blurted that she had seen us on the news and supported our hike. She mentioned being late to something and was gone as soon as she came. What she doesn't know is that the hour before she gave us the cookies two of us had received slight injuries and moral was pretty low because we had discovered a miscalculation that meant we had more miles to walk than we had originally thought. This gift from a stranger renewed our sense of purpose and catapulted us through the rest of our mileage that the day. And although the cookies weren't the best I ever tasted, I can't think of a batch I have more appreciated.

Waking up to a beautiful morning in Wrightsville Beach, showering one last time and making last minute preparations I feel excited to start our journey. 170 miles to hike, think of all of the great conversation that lies ahead. Strapping the last of our gear to our packs the news reporter pulls up with her whole family to film us leave - it's her birthday and we are the last thing keeping her from celebrating. Getting only a few steps another reporter shows and we have to recreate the leaving scene, only to discover that the camera is broken. We agree to meet the guy later and be interviewed after some progress. It is getting hotter, and humid, and hotter. By the time the third reporter comes by we have already drank our entire water rations for the day. We stop for lunch and I have to take my knife to my foot in four places to drain the fluid filling my blisters. After a long rest we press on. Standing in front of the giant draw bridge with no sidewalk we decide there is no other way to cross the Cape Fear River, but I am not happy about this. Two bridges later and moral in the dumps we press on a few more miles and find a place to camp under a tree by the side of the road (421). Sleep comes around five in the morning when I am finally exhausted enough to ignore the 18 wheelers barreling by a few feet from our tent.

Waking after only an hour and half of restless sleep I realize I have over packed and we (read Joney) have Grossly Underestimated what we are in for. But with miles to go before we sleep and civilization at our backs, we hike. It is getting hotter, and humid, and hotter. The hours pass and not a word is spoken. Speaking only leads to quarrelling and I am not myself in this heat. I can hear my complaining but cannot stop the torrent. It is a great credit to Joney that he didn't hit me for my foul attitude. It must have been the heat that saved me. We get into some trouble have passed up on refilling our water supplies at a creek and now that the hottest part of the day is setting in we are low on water. As the day turns from broil to bake from the heat thrown off of the pavement we have slowed to a hobble. A truck loaded with caged beagles pulls off the road and deliverance music starts to play in my head. Wayne, who turns out to be our guardian angel, having seen us on the news has brought us water and Gatorade. In that moment, his act of kindness means more to me than any other gift I have ever received. Our relief is short lived and his departure leaves us alone and struggling with the weight of this trip and our packs. By the end of the day we are unwelcomed guests sitting in front of the last gas station/source of water within a days hike. My feet are in need of attention and our arranged gear drop is going to put us over the limit. We simply cannot walk with any more weight on our backs. With the gravity of all this I decide to abandon the hike for a few days to resupply our fuel and first aid kit as well as do some work to avoid carrying my computer and have my feet tended to.

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Having left the hike I am finding it very difficult to motivate myself to rejoin it. Life in civilization is so much sweeter than I had remembered. My feet, although still ailing, are getting better. My problem clearly lies in that my desire to join this trip was as the opportunity to pal around with my old roommates before I move, but two weeks of hiking on the side of the road, without speaking because it is too hot to speak is not any fun. Two weeks is a long time to not have any fun. A trip of this magnitude is a test of mental strength and one needs strong resolve to cross the finish line - a promise that finishing will be meaningful. I have neither the resolve nor the sense of purpose. I am willing to take the hit to my pride that leaving delivers because I think there is wisdom and humility in admitting when you are in over your head and making the decision to get out while your feet and spirit are still intact. To rejoin or not to rejoin?

Having graduated from such a wonderful university, which provided me with countless memories of good friends and good times, leaves me feeling a need to pay my respects, in some way, to my alma mater. What better way to honor the halls of where I explored economics, history, art, beer and girls than to follow in the footsteps of its first student, literally? So with good intentions and a great deal of nervousness I am recreating Hinton James' semi-historic hike from Wilmington to Chapel Hill - the coast to the piedmont. 170 miles, no shade, no trail, just a few friends and masochistic bend. Blisters be damned.

www.hjwalk.com