Sitting in a hotel room in Skykomish, Washington waiting for the cafe downstairs to open to have my last, civilized breakfast before finishing the last 187 miles of the trail.

Yup, that is all that is left. A mere 187 miles. Granted, we are all pretty well burned out on hiking at this point, so these last eight days or so feel like quite the exhausting hurdle. Does not especially help that the distance as the crow flies is substantially less than the distance we are hiking thanks to copious amounts of up and down. I particularly enjoyed Hermes/Luke's description of it.

But, it just over a week I will be a true thru-hiker. All of my steps have connected and I can walk proud. Or pass out on a couch proud, which seems slightly more likely for that first week back.

While I would not say I am apprehensive or unsettled about returning to civilization and no longer hiking, I cannot say it fills me with joy or elation. Part of me is not ready to go back. The trail has a simplicity and authenticity about it. Your days are spent focusing on getting the miles done, feeding yourself, resting, recovering, and finding the will power to do it all again the next day. No doubt it is monotonous, even with the glorious terrain and immense ecosystems we have crossed. And yet, for these past five months, it was a purer life. Whenever the complications of the frontcountry (play on backcountry, you see) intruded it was often unpleasant and rude.

Return we must though. I have already had a phone interview for a job with the Appalachian Mountain Club in New Hampshire for this autumn/winter and I am intending to return to school next summer (Organic Chemistry! Woo!) with the goal of finishing my pre-medicine prerequisites. Part of me is going to be rather wistful these next few months. Looking out the window of some warm home or building, daydreaming about my time on the trail.