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Take care,

-John

Feeling helpless from 1,000 miles away,

-John

We had “walking water” instead of running water, and kerosene lamps provided the lighting. Pots and pans, utensils, a lighter, and headlamps hung from the rafters. We still use the bed, part of which was made from trees I cut nearby. Tree limbs also contributed to the little table for the Coleman stove, shelving, clothes rods, and coat hooks. A plastic sheet sufficed for a door for the first three months, and occasionally a bird would fly and wonder what they’d gotten themselves into.

My adviser’s accountant’s dad (say that 10 times) owned 3,500 acres nearby and we worked out an arrangement. For $100 bucks a month and I could have the run of the property agreeing to keep an eye out for poachers. Rumor had it that he’d ice-picked several poacher’s tires over the years. Can’t say I blame him.

The yurt was about 150 yards from the dirt road, and everything had to be carried in. I once managed to get the car down to the building site while towing a trailer full of lumber, nearly ripping off the exhaust system in the process. The muffler eventually did let go, making my 12-year-old Pontiac sound like it was running hot into turn four at Talladega.

Everything in the yurt was built from scratch. I cobbled up a smoky woodstove with a barrel-stove kit, and about a year later I built a windmill based on some reading at www.Otherpower.com. While the windmill never generated enough electricity to mess with, it was fun to watch it spin in the breeze and predict the weather. Southeastern Ohio is not exactly known for its wind potential.

This cozy little 256- square foot love nest was the most efficient place I’ve ever lived in. Everything was in sight and within arm’s reach. It was like living on a sailboat more than anything else. The yurt and its occupants reacted to all stages of weather. Storms would rush over, making a cacophony until things settled calmed down. Snow would first pile up then slide down the roof in one fell swoop. The three-foot skylight lit up the room up with every full moon.

Living in the straw-bale yurt wasn’t always easy, but it was an experience I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Anyone else live in a funky place like this? Would you go back?

It took us 73 days to paddle 2,350 miles down the Mississippi and Atchafalaya rivers, taking six days off on the process. We didn’t paddle a full day everyday, but even on the days that we got a late start or finished early, we still made some progress downriver.

With that in mind, I’m making a deal with myself to put my time in on getting the book out by the fall. Life happens, but I’m giving myself no more than six days off without touching anything.

I’m also choosing this week to quit drinking soda as well, so this should be interesting.

“Experience is the best teacher, but a fool will learn from no other.”

-Ben Franklin

Packed up most of my stuff last night. I sewed a couple of pieces of new gear, but still taking some old reliables. Still using my 8′x10′ silnylon tarp I thru-hiked with back in 2000, as well as my Patagonia fleece balaclava, alcohol stove, and Marmot Driclime Windshirt. They’re like old buddies of mine.

New stuff to play with includes a silnylon rainjacket and rain kilt, and I’m still getting the feel for the mesh pocket sewn to the back of my homemade backpack. Considering that I’ve been meteorlogically pounded at Grayson Highlands more than once, I’m still taking my regular rainpants and plan to make a poncho out of my plastic raincloth if need be. I’ll post a couple instructions and review of the homemade stuff later on.

I can’t freakin’ wait.

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-Winston Churchill

Amen, and pass the ammo. This book is either going to kill me, or I’m going to kill it. One of us ain’t getting out alive.

-John

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Another ritual is unwrapping of a peppermint patty to finish each day. That’s not to say that I won’t unwrap those tasty treats any other time—I’d eat the whole bag if I knew I wouldn’t be sick as a dog. During my thru-hike I’d have to ration the patties out carefully because I could only carry so many. I would sit on a cold log somewhere and gently peel back the wrapper, savoring the pepperminty scent as it wafted in the air. Slowly, I would eat away those delicious chocolaty edges then woof down the core. No matter how crappy things have been, everything’s all right as long as there’s a patty waiting for me. There’s some serious mojo packed into those things.

Setting up the tent the same way each night is another part of our routine. My watch and headlamp are always wrapped around a water bottle. That bottle gets put next to my sandals. Jess puts her book and glasses in the gear loft and her headlamp stays in the mesh pocket by her head. I sleep on the right side of the tent. She sleeps on the left. This feels all nice and homey, but more importantly it helps to know where your headlamp is when you’ve got to pee in the middle of the night.

Here’s the gist. Runners start at the NC State University Belltower, run 2 miles to the Krispy Kreme, eat a dozen donuts, then run back. In under an hour.

2,400 calories
140 grams of fat
4 miles

It takes a special kind of athlete to pull this off, but NCSU’s Auburn Staples won this year in an incredible 24:32!