“LISTEN, PRETTY BOY, I KNOW YOU. You are the most well-groomed, metrosexual black man in New York City. You, in the woods, without your mirror, your beauty products, and your designer clothes for more than a few days. Please!”
This was one of the reactions I got from friends and family members when I told them that I was going to hike the entire 2,190-miles of the Appalachian Trail. My friend’s case against such an ambitious feat was strong. I had never hiked a day in my life, I had never camped out or pitched a tent, heck, when I finally started my thru-hike at Amicalola Falls State Park in Georgia, I didn’t even know how to use the gear I was carrying. The water filter, the mini stove, and tent were necessities, but useless in my hands. My rationale was weak against the people who cared for me and knew better than I did that I was not prepared for such a journey into the unknown.
However, it was too late; the idea was embedded into my brain. Changing my mind was not going to happen; inspired thoughts invoked a challenge in me that refused to go away. It’s a simple way of thinking, yet at times, not so simple to follow through on.
This is characteristic of who I have been from a young age. For example, when I was eight years old, I thought it would be a novel idea if I jumped off the roof of our two-story apartment building, wearing a homemade parachute, put together with cotton twine that I would tie at each corner of a white bed sheet. I made parachutes for my toy soldiers before and they worked perfectly, so of course I thought I could easily construct one for myself. With a few design adjustments, it would work like a charm.
The only problem I thought I had was lack of access to the roof from our apartment, unless…I made a ladder that would somehow hook to the edge of the roof placed just over our open living room window. In need of tools, I went through my mother’s so-called toolbox. The box contained a small hammer, rusty nails, a dull wood chisel, a miniature precision screwdriver kit, tatting needles, a pocket knife, thread, a roll of stainless-steel wire, tattered cloth, pieces of small wood, and various other items that were useless to everyone except my mother and that puppet maker Geppetto.
I grabbed the hammer and the chisel, and then ran outside in search of wood pallets that would help me up onto the top of our apartment building, so I could turn around and jump right off the roof. This was my fail-safe plan…well, until my mother walked in during my ladder construction.
“¡Ah, Dios mío! ¿Derick, qué estás haciendo?” is something I’ve heard her say throughout my childhood. It was Saturday. She was working overtime and so was I because I lost track of time and was busted. Normally Mom’s supportive of my creativity (or at least able to tolerate most of my zany ideas), but not when it covers her living room floor with nails and broken pieces of wood. I explained my grand plan to my mother as she looked down at me with her hands on her hips. I thought she would find my ingenuity endearing and ask if she could watch. I was sorely mistaken.
For years, the thought of soaring through the air with a parachute I was sure to make never left my mind. Except for my better understanding of weight and the drag principle of a parachute, not much has changed. If it seems like a good idea to me, it will not go away unless I do something about it or a better idea replaces it.
When I decided to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail, I was not concerned that I had never hiked before. I wasn’t concerned that I didn’t know if I liked hiking. It was a challenge. It was extreme enough that it dared me; I was convinced it was something I had to do. Just the same, a part of me wondered, like that eight-year-old Derick, was I leaping into danger?
They say ignorance is bliss, well that may have been the case for me. I think back at not only my lack of experience, but my lack of knowledge. How I thought I could do an extreme activity like hiking the A.T. without the correct preparation, still baffles me. While I would not recommend anyone starting the way I did, if there’s a strong passion and a vision that takes you there, then anyone has the ability to follow it to the end. Vision, determination, and the fate of the right circumstances will take you as far as your dreams.
Don’t hold your ambitions back. I did an unlikely activity by disregarding any doubts I (or my friends) had about a city dweller with zero experience and with an appearance that did not match the average Appalachian Trail hiker. I stepped out of my comfort zone, into a place with no street signs, no bodegas, and nowhere to swipe my metro card. I wasn’t in NYC anymore, so what was I to do? Well, I did the only thing I could do, I took a step toward the unknown, toward something that could change my way of living and my relationship with the great outdoors. My unlikely adventure took me through the Appalachian Trail, and it has continued to carry me farther into parts untraveled by this New Yorker.
May your vision and determination carry you through your greatest journey.
