Cane and Abled

As I sit with the doors of the Gospel Ship wide open, trying to catch a breeze, Dirk Powell is giving a workshop and playing banjo about 30 yards away. The Gospel Ship is a van that has a stenciled picture of the Carter Family on the bow, also named for one of their songs, and is the tour rig for the Foghorn Stringband and my home base for the last week. If you’re reading this in hopes to hear how my hike on the Pacific Crest Trail is going, go ahead and sneak out of here now, because all I can report on is my journey in healing. No longer can I relate tales of glorious mountains, clear alpine streams, and the cultish family that is the PCT community. Now I can relate tales of sitting still, being patient with myself, and trying to accept the situation I find myself in. Boooooooooring! Don’t feel bad.... go ahead, leave.... inner journeys are dull compared to fantastic tales of climbing mountains at midnight. Still, and all, there is a journey still happening in my life and I’m trying to adjust to it, understand it, and accept it for what it is. I even try to be grateful for it in it’s own right. Dammit.
It turns out that during my 8 day hike from Yosemite to South Lake Tahoe I developed severe tendinitis and fasciitis in my left hip/IT band. All I could really do was take it easy. Yes, apply heat or cold (heat felt better), get acupuncture, try massage, up my magnesium.... all of these were tried coupled with extreme sitting and taking it easy. My gracious hosts in Tahoe made me feel welcome and right at home, but I felt like a useless lump of coal and felt I should move on after nearly 2 weeks in their home. My friend Nadine invited me to fly up to Portland to join her for some music festivals that her band, Foghorn Stringband, would be playing in. Because music is a passion of mine and when I’m not in the backcountry you can often find me at a music festival and because Nadine is one of my favorite people on Earth, I accepted her offer. Warning her that I’d be a useless guest, I got on a plane in Reno and found myself at music central in Oregon.
Over two weeks later, at my 4th festival, I’ve seen hours and hours of live music. From on stage at a festival, to bar gigs, to house concerts and backyard jams all of it has been amazing. Not only have I enjoyed music made by my friends, but made new friends and heard new bands that melted my face, as the kids say. I haven’t been able to dance which is a crying shame, but there is something about a backstage pass at a big festival that makes you feel like one of the cool kids. After being in Portland for a week, I hit the road with the members of Cajun Country Revival for a mini-tour of the Northwest.
While, yes, I’m having the time of my life there is certainly an underlying current of sadness. During a blistering mandolin solo or rousing Cajun version of “Lucille” I may look down at my flip-flop clad foot and suddenly have tears in my eyes. My feet look horrid: the hard-earned calluses that developed over a thousand miles of hiking have dried up and are cracking in an unsightly manner. A small toenail on my left foot completely changed shape and texture and is a constant reminder of my time on the trail. I look at my tiny hooves, their sad shape, and am reminded of all those days on the trail, the painful blisters I endured to get those calluses, and what curiosity must’ve happened over the months of walking to make a nail arch up on itself like that. So while the music rocks and rolls, my mind often wanders back to the trail, to the hot days of the Southern California desert, to the jaw-dropping views in the High Sierras, to the beloved routine of walking, eating, map consulting, and camping everyday and the incredible simplicity of it all. While people around me are dancing and smiling, I’ve secretly shed tears to mourn the end of my Pacific Crest journey. At least for 2012. It’s very confusing to feel so incredibly grateful and happy to be where I am and to also be constantly reminded by my dreadful looking feet that I’m here because I’m not there.
Not having begun the Pacific Crest Trail in any kind of effort to “find myself”, “lose myself”, or “look for meaning” it was a very physical journey for me. The physical demands of the trail, the effect it had on my feet, the knee injury I overcame...it was work every step of the way, as enjoyable as it was. My journey is not over by a long shot, but it has come to a physical halt and is now more about my emotional travels. Of course I’m still on the move, physically, but now I’m focusing more on patience with my body, being at peace with not being able to be on the trail, accepting what I can’t change or hurry. At those times when I am undoubtedly happy and in a good place with friends and amazing music, I’m trying to not focus on why I am here, why I’m not hiking the PCT. Sometimes I’m better at this than others. I also think that mourning the end of my hike and inability to finish this season is just fine. While I don’t dwell on it, I periodically let the tears trickle because the bottom line is that while I know how lucky I am to have amazing second choice options and very supportive friends and family, my dream of thru-hiking the PCT during my 40th year has been aborted.
As far as the hip goes, I’m finally, starting to see progress. It’s honestly been weeks and weeks of pretty severe pain and a goofy looking limp, but things seem to be loosening up in the area. At a festival in Demming, WA, a friend who used to be a Physical Therapist saw my awkward gait and recommended I start using a cane or a crutch so that I could relieve the pressure and pain in the affected hip. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? I picked up a cane at a Walgreen’s and immediately felt far more mobile. I really feel this will quicken the healing process. Plus, the cane is camouflage and now has a Foghorn Stringband sticker on it with their signature skull and crossed banjos, so I think it’s pretty cool. As far as canes go. I’m relieved to be able to move without pain and confident that my recovery is actually going in the right direction.
While my tiny hooves have not been able to aid in my travels, the Gospel Ship has provided my mode of transportation and good times. Being able to travel with friends is a blessing, but having those friends be amazing musicians and performers is beyond lucky. If I can’t be on the trail, I can think of nowhere I’d rather be than sailing on to the next adventure than in the comfy, sometimes crowded, often too warm, good natured, instrument-filled vessel on her way to the next festival.

*Bands you should know: Foghorn Stringband, Cajun Country Revival, The Cactus Blossoms, Kitty, Daisy, & Lewis
Caleb Klauder Country Band, Dirk Powell.
You won't regret it.