Ten Mountain Men’s Baby by Nicole Casey
Ryker
When I looked out at the mountains in the distance, instinctively, I reached out as if to touch them. I nearly lost my balance, like I was being pulled, literally, to them. I laughed at myself, adjusted my backpack, and headed for the trail’s entrance.
A small, unimposing stone arch marked the starting point. Beside it, a wooden sign gave hikers their first indications. A middle-aged couple was standing before the sign, reading it. I glanced over their shoulders. The information was the same I had gleaned from the articles and guidebooks I’d spent the last few days perusing. I took a step back and faced the arch. Nothing was imposing about it, physically, only what it represented.
I rolled my head, rolled my shoulders, and approached the arch, feeling a strange mix of apprehension and eagerness.
The middle-aged couple turned around. “Hello, there,” said the man.
I had a lump in my throat and could only respond with a smile and a nod. I stopped, thinking to let them pass before I did.
“Oh, no,” said the man. “We’re not ready to get going just yet. Building up the courage.”
From their expressions, I could see that the strange sensation I was feeling, they were feeling it, too. I cleared my throat. “I figured I’d just build up the courage on the way.”
The man chuckled. “That’s as good a plan as any, I reckon.” He pulled on the bill of his baseball cap. “Best of luck to you.”
“Thank you.”
The couple walked away.
It was just me and the arch.
I stepped up to it. I touched it. The stones felt like stones, nothing supernatural, no mystical force inhabited me—at least none that I could detect. I took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Well, here goes.”
I passed through the arch and didn’t look back.
* * *
For the first few miles, I kept up a rather quick pace. I had nearly twenty miles to cover before reaching Suches, Georgia—my first stop on the trail—and I planned on making it there by evening—in time to enjoy a hearty meal at a local eatery.
I knew that the hike would give me time and space to think. What I hadn’t counted on, though, was just how many of my thoughts strayed toward Lucy. I thought I was over her: over and done with. Walking in on her and another man should have marked a clean split between us. I sincerely thought it had. But as the miles accumulated, so did my rationalizations, not only for what she did but how I’d reacted. I hadn’t made much of a fuss—it hadn’t been the first time a girlfriend had cheated on me. I hadn’t gotten particularly upset or lost my temper. If anything—and alone on the trail, I could finally admit it to myself—I had been more than slightly aroused.
That was not a realization that sat well with me. I’d had such a difficult time maintaining a relationship—mostly because the women I’d dated simply didn’t want a long-term commitment—but to think I might have some “unorthodox” kink that didn’t bode well for making future attempts at a relationship any easier.
I dealt with the physical wear on my body from hours and hours of hiking, no problem; I had expected that, trained for that, and I was prepared. The mental toll of my berating myself for the failure with Lucy and my “unusual” sexual predilection, however, was more of a challenge to deal with—that I hadn’t expected.
I arrived in Suches beat up and exhausted, not necessarily physically, but mentally and emotionally. That much alone time, for some people, might be therapeutic, but I found it to have the opposite effect on me.
A few more days of being alone with my thoughts and I’ll be ready for the nuthouse.
I went straight for the hotel I’d booked, hoping a hot shower and a hot meal would set me straight.
“Well, hello, there.” A diminutive older lady, white hair perfectly tied in a bun, wearing a faded-blue dress that might have been, many years ago, made for a ball or a fancy gala, greeted me with familiarity and enthusiasm I took as genuine.
“Hello,” I said. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”
“I bet you’ve come from far away and have walked many miles to get here.”
I took off my backpack and let it fall to the floor. I mustered up enough willpower not to let myself crumple to the floor along with it. “What gave it away?”
She tapped her nose with an index finger. “I’ve got a nose.”
“Yeah, I definitely need a shower.”
“Oh, no.” She chuckled and swatted my comment down with a wave. “It’s just an expression. In truth, the only thing I’m smelling is cinnamon.” She pointed to the open doorway behind her. “I’ve got some tea brewing.” She leaned over the counter and whispered, “I bet you could use a cup.”
Before I could respond, she turned from me, stuck her head around the open doorway, and called out, “Harold. We got a guest. Won’t you bring us some tea?” She turned to me. “We make the best tea in Georgia. One cup and you’ll be right as rain.” She winked and stepped up to the reception counter.
I also approached the counter. “Thank you. The name’s Dennison. Ryker Dennison. I booked online.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ryker. I’m Judy. You’ll be meeting Harold in just a minute.” She looked back over her shoulder and called out, “Harold.”
“Coming,” he called back. “Hold your horses.”
In all honesty, I didn’t want any tea. I didn’t want to sit down and have a chat with Judy and Harold. I simply wanted a hot shower and a meal. But, at the same time, I knew I had embarked on this thru-hike to learn new things, to experience new things, and to gain a deeper understanding of what I’d already experienced in my life. Tea with Judy and Harold was my first real lesson. Whatever I planned to accomplish during the hike: whether that be the volunteer work along with the many stops, finding out more about my roots, possibly the identity of my parents, or simply getting a shower and a hot meal, the people would have to come first. Nothing could be accomplished without first getting to know the people and sharing a cordial moment.
“There are two kinds of hikers,” Harold said to me, “those who come on the trail to discover themselves and those who come on the trail to get away from the selves they discovered.”
I nodded. “Well, actually, I came on the trail, in part, to discover who my family is.”
Both Harold and Judy leaned back and raised their brows.
“You see, I was adopted in North Carolina, in the mountains.” I shrugged. “I don’t know much more than that. But I was hoping that if I came here to look around, ask around… Who knows? Maybe I will find something out about my roots.”
Harold nodded. “There are three kinds of hikers: those who come on the trail to lose themselves, those who come on the trail to find themselves, and those who come on the trail to find their families.”
I pointed at him. “The third one.”
Harold raised his cup of tea. “Well, Ryker, I wish you the best of success with that.”
“Thank you.”
“And, who knows?” said Judy. “You could find your family. And you might find much more than that on the trail.”
