Trail Magic: A Journey About Starting in One Place and Ending in Another

By Robin Barret Bledsoe

This is a story about starting in one place and ending in another. When military spouse Robin Bledsoe conceived the idea of making 203 hikes in Virginia's Appalachian mountains to honor the 203 soldiers from her state who had fallen in the line of duty since September 11, 2001, she had no idea the impact this undertaking would have on her life. Beginning as a novice hiker and unprepared for what awaited her, Bledsoe matured into a seasoned, prepared and enthusiastic hiker. She met many people who became integral parts of her life, and she had unforgettable adventures on the trails. More importantly, however, she deepened her sense of gratitude for the freedoms these fallen heroes fought and died to protect. What started as a way to honor these brave men and women became a life-changing and life-enriching experience for Bledsoe, and her lively account of these hikes allows us to experience these adventures with her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483564890

Book preview

TRAILS

PROLOGUE

This is a journey about starting in one place and ending in another. We all have one personally defining journey inside us. The key is to recognize it and make a firm commitment to travel it. The type of journey you travel depends on you, of course. The most challenging parts of the journey are not the physical or mental obstacles, but the willingness to embrace where the journey leads you.

The following pages will tell you about some of the more memorable trails I traveled while hiking in memory of Virginia fallen military heroes. Each trail taught me something unique. The trails I wrote about and the trails I did not write about, left a special place in my heart. Both combined for a total of 208 tributes on 200 trails for almost 900 miles. I learned more about my own inner and physical strengths than I could have ever imagined, ultimately leading me on an extraordinary personal journey.

This is my journey. And what a journey it was.

AUGUST 2013

Imagine being full of anticipation about what is inside the immense forest facing you. Once inside, a spectacular view of the wonders in life is effortlessly in front of you, just waiting to be embraced. Trail Magic, Robin Barret Bledsoe

COLD MOUNTAIN AND MOUNT PLEASANT

The sun wasn’t up yet as we drove along the narrow gravel road to the trailhead. Where in the hell are we and why did I make this hiking commitment? I thought to myself. Jesus, Bobby, slow down! I scolded as he hit a pothole in the gravel road. My husband seemed to forever be in a hurry. I wiped spilled coffee off my right leg and again questioned what I was thinking when I decided to hike 203 different trails in honor of Virginia’s fallen military. It seemed like a great idea after learning that 203 brave Virginians made the ultimate sacrifice post-September 11, 2001.

I literally Googled my way into this journey. A month earlier I was sitting at my desk doing research for what can only be called a meaningless job, when I accidentally landed on the Washington Post’s Faces of the Fallen website. Talk about being hit in the face with a bucket of cold water. There in front of me were some of the 6,000 plus faces and names of Americans who lost their lives in the ongoing conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq. I felt as a military spouse I should have made a point of knowing about the losses in my own state. After wallowing in a sufficient amount of self-imposed guilt, I decided then and there that I was going to do something to rectify my unforgivable oversight. I sat at my desk pondering what I could do in a meaningful way to recognize these heroes. The more I thought about it, I realized the timing could not be better. I was working part time and could devote four days a week to whatever I decided to do.

The rest is history, as they say. I decided to hike an individual trail for each of the 203 soldiers. I chose hiking because I love the outdoors and had always wanted to hike some of the more challenging trails in the Shenandoah Valley. Being in complete denial, I decided to overlook that I had no experience in hiking, zero experience with reading a map, and I am 55 years old. I was determined to do this.

So here I was, holding on for dear life as Bobby navigated the road to my inaugural hike. To say I was apprehensive would be an understatement. I had found doing most outdoor activities with Bobby frustrating, mainly because he is good at absolutely everything he does. I am the exact opposite. I struggle with everything and never considered myself accomplished at anything. I did, however, win a Gold Medal at the Tri-State singing competition in 9th grade. It’s been downhill ever since. It’s terrible to think I might have peaked at age 15. In any event, I just try harder than most to make sure I get the job done, which of course was my plan with this journey. Hiking with Bobby was certain to reinforce my inadequacies, but I needed him to navigate and to keep me from giving up.

We finally arrived at the Hog Camp Gap trailhead and I must admit I was shocked to see two other cars already parked and the occupants nowhere in sight. I gathered my gear, such as it was, and placed the small American flag in my backpack. I planned on placing a flag somewhere along the trail to memorialize the hike. I also had a white ribbon attached with the soldier’s name on it.

After checking our backpacks one last time we started our hike to Cold Mountain Summit on the Old Hotel Trail. It is believed the Old Hotel Trail was once used by stagecoaches and was named after a doctor who built a home on the trail. Because the doctor was known for his parties and overnight guests, his home was called The Hotel and the route to it The Hotel Trail. Thankfully the trail was relatively flat as it wound through a combination of oak and pine trees. The fresh evergreen scent brought back memories of my college days at the University of Washington in Seattle. Ponderosa pine and Sitka spruce trees are prominent in the Puget Sound area, making the heavy scent so prevalent you can almost feel it on your skin. At times the scent was intoxicating, especially after the frequent rain showers that the Pacific Northwest is known for.

My confidence increased as I cruised through my first two miles. I wondered if maybe I was worrying for nothing. This wasn’t so bad. Feeling pretty proud, I smiled to myself in a self-assured way and picked up my pace. I concluded the 25 miles a week on the trails in my favorite park, Freedom Park in James City County, had more than prepared me for this adventure. Yes indeed, I was a hiker!

We cleared the forest and came out in an open grassy area that led to a very steep incline, and all indications were that this was our route. Ok, I thought, it’s just a steep hill. I am a hiker now so no worries, I can do this. I started up the incline, which seemed to get steeper with each step. Holy hell! I muttered. Within five minutes of walking up the incline my heart started racing and I swear my feet transformed into those of Bilbo Baggins: big, heavy, and awkward. I used my poles to pull myself up and to steady each labored step. What the heck? I said to Bobby. Surely this was not what the majority of the trails were going to be like. If so I might as well give up now. Tears started to fill my eyes as my legs ached and my breathing was no longer something I could take for granted. I remember thinking I was going to fail before the first trail was completed. Twenty minutes ago I was a HIKER, for gosh sakes, and now I was moving in slow motion with Bilbo Baggins feet!

I looked at Bobby and just knew he was responsible for my struggle. I’m sure he selected the hardest route possible. I can’t do this; it’s too steep and too hard I said.

Bobby stated, Just put one foot in front of the other.

I glared at him and said, I know I must do that, you fool, but how am I going to do that when my legs are on fire and I can’t breathe?

Bobby asked me if I was done complaining, which infuriated me even more. Obviously I had to calm down, as it took way too much energy to remain angry with the man. Bobby just stared at me and said, Suit yourself and started up the hill.

Oh hell no was all I could sputter. I was not going to be left behind. Begrudgingly, I did exactly what he said to do. Slowly and methodically, with my head down, I put one Bilbo Baggins foot in front of the other and reminded myself over and over why I was hiking in the first place.

After what felt like an eternity, I made it to the junction of the Old Hotel Trail and the Appalachian Trail, otherwise known as the Appalachian National Scenic Trail and fondly called the AT. Relieved to be at a stopping point, I sat down harder than I meant to on a log, causing the weight of my backpack to pull me backwards and off the log. My Bilbo Baggins feet went up in the air, and my head and shoulders landed in the dirt and leaves. Just perfect was all I could think.

The remainder of the hike was on the AT. The AT spans over 2,000 miles, beginning in Georgia and ending in Maine. I had never been on the AT before and for reasons I cannot explain, I felt a mild sense of accomplishment in doing so.

The trail to Cold Mountain Summit was filled with one stunning view after another, and as promised, at roughly 4,000 feet we arrived at the summit to find a vast meadow that provided a 360-degree view, along with an abundance of purple and white Blazing Stars. The flowers moved in perfect rhythm with the warm breeze that flowed across the meadow. It was a sight I will never forget. Several large rock formations flanked the meadow, leading me to wonder how something so big arrived at that final resting place.

I found the perfect spot to place the small flag and ribbon which had Captain Brandon Cyr’s name handwritten on it. Captain Cyr was killed when the MC-12 aircraft he was traveling in crashed in Afghanistan on April 27, 2013. He was 28 years old. The name on the ribbon I held instantly became a real person, a young American who gave in the purest form a person can give; he volunteered. He volunteered to serve his country, regardless of where or when, or the conditions he was asked to do it in. That to me is powerful and selfless. The reality that a young man with his own hopes and dreams died, never to complete his journey, was heartbreaking.

As I placed Captain Cyr’s tribute flag and ribbon in the ground, I quietly thanked him for his service. At that moment in time, in that spot on Cold Mountain, on that day in August, I felt an energy like nothing I had ever experienced. I knew then I was exactly where I was supposed to be and that I was doing what I was intended to do. Understanding this changed the prism through which I viewed my journey from that moment on.

The meadow at the summit was truly beautiful. It reminded me of the scene from The Sound of Music where Julie Andrews starts singing in an open meadow with the Alps in the background. As I stood in the middle of the meadow, enjoying every part of the view I could, a sense of pure joy ran through my body, bringing a crooked smile to my face. I raised my arms up toward the deep blue sky and spun around in circles. After rendering myself sufficiently dizzy I stopped and looked for Bobby. I found him already heading toward the trail that would ultimately lead us back to Hog Camp Gap. After one more look at the scenery, I tightened the straps on my backpack and headed for the return trail. Maybe there was hope I actually could complete this journey; after all, I completed my first tribute. Only 202 more to go.

After a much-appreciated lunch break, we headed up another trail with the intent of reaching both the East and West Summits of Mount Pleasant, at an elevation of 4,071 feet. I could say I am not sure how or why I allowed myself to be convinced that making two hikes totaling over 10 miles for my first mountain hiking adventure was a good idea. To be honest, I really wanted to end on a high note after finishing the Cold Mountain hike. But after three decades of marriage I do know why I agreed to the additional hike. I learned many years ago that Bobby and I view personal accomplishments differently. Early in our marriage, and thanks to family friends, we had the opportunity to stay free of charge in Dillon, Colorado during the ski season and took full advantage of it. As a young military family it was the only way we could afford to ski in some of Colorado’s most popular ski resorts. The differences as to how Bobby and I approached skiing were evident almost immediately. He believed while at a ski resort the main goal was to ski as many runs as many times as possible. I, on the other hand, preferred a less intense pace and, while completely self-imposed, usually felt that I was somehow an underachiever because of it.

Because I refused to feel like an underachiever today, I slowly got myself ready for the next hike. My common sense told me I was too tired, yet my desire to prove to myself I could do the hike overrode my reservations.

The Mount Pleasant hike was a longer and steeper climb than Cold Mountain. It also offered my introduction to switchbacks. I was told switchbacks derived their name many years ago from railroad engineers who used them as a mechanism for trains to ascend and descend safely over steep mountain passes. As I continued on the trail and tried not to think about how tired I was, I concluded the term switchback can be applied to our journey through life. You walk forward up a steep hill and reach a level area, only to turn and walk up the same steep hill in the opposite direction. Amazingly, you still reach the top of the hill, and just as in hiking, we eventually get where we are going in spite of the changes in direction.

As the afternoon progressed and we continued our climb, I became more and more discouraged. I was really tired and I had no idea where I was. I was totally dependent on Bobby as far as navigating the trail, with only myself to blame, of course. I made a mental