Page 107 of Shared By the Mountain Men

“After our sexual marathon. Doesn’t matter.”

“Marathon?” Noah asked, exchanging a look with Ash.

“You had your turn, so be quiet,” Jack said. He held out the hatchet. “You need a way to protect yourself. And now you can collect your own kindling for campfires. Those campsites charge too much for firewood. Trust me, I would know.”

I accepted the hatchet like it was priceless. “I love it.”

We hugged. It was kind of awkward, I’ll admit. He was still embarrassed about asking me to move to Crested Butte, and I was still confused about how I felt and what I wanted. But the hug was real, and so were the emotions simmering beneath the surface.

“Happy hiking,” they said.

And then they climbed into the Jeep and drove away.

I was all alone again, just like the last time I was here at the trail.

I paid $20 at the office and then carried my pack over to my assigned spot. This was a multi-use campsite, and I was right next to a massive RV with a generator rumbling so loudly that the ground vibrated, and five kids that were running around screaming. I gave the parents a friendly wave, then pitched my tent and inflated Ash’s sleeping pad.

The office was indeed charging way too much for firewood, so I used Jack’s hatchet to collect enough to start my own fire. Then I boiled water for dinner. Tonight I was having spaghetti Bolognese. Noah was right: itdidlook delicious, better than the camping meals I’d had for the first week of my hike.

While waiting for the water to boil, I examined the hatchet. When I turned it over, I noticed that some letters had been carved into the handle and charred black:

MEL

I wondered if he was calling me Mel as a nickname, or if he hadn’t gotten a chance to finish my full name. Either way, I clutched the hatchet to my chest and smiled.

It was a nice goodbye with my three mountain men. Certainly better than how I hadtriedto leave things. It gave me closure. And I really,reallyappreciated how they let me go and respected what I was doing—even if it was kind of ridiculous how they had intercepted my taxi like a CIA kidnapping. I felt good about everything with them.

But how would I feel when I finished my hike in a few weeks?

I crawled into my tent that night still confused about everything that had happened, confused about what my heart wanted and what I would do when all of this was over.

Thankfully, I had a lot of time by myself to figure it out.

50

Melissa

The first day on the trail was straight uphill from the campsite, a harsh reintroduction to my life for the next few weeks. I won’t lie: it kicked my ass. I was huffing and puffing within minutes, and had to take frequent breaks. And the ironic part: this wasn’t even part of the Colorado Trail. This was the off-shoot trail connecting it to the campsite. So it felt like wasted miles.

But eventually, the incline flattened out and I reached a sign identifying my goal:The Colorado Trail. I sat down and ate a celebratory Clif Bar.

Now therealhiking began.

It was a long day, but I had gotten up early. I was refreshed thanks to Ash’s sleeping pad, and my ankle felt pretty good. I was still aware of it, a slight tugging of discomfort every time I stepped forward, but it was manageable.

I got into a groove. The trail followed the spine of the mountains most of the day, which gave me incredible views of the valleys within the San Juan Mountains. I could feel my mind clearing of all stress, forgetting all the worries that had troubled me not only for the past week, but the past few months.

And before the sun set for the day, I reached my planned campsite. I had hiked more than twenty miles, in line with my original aggressive plan.

I was in a daze while I set up my tent. After the climb to start the day, the hike wasn’t that hard. It was certainly easier than it had been a week ago. Maybe I had acclimated to the altitude while spending the week in Crested Butte.

The next day was even better. The trail had some ups and downs along the mountain ridges, but I moved forward with purposeful strides. I wasn’t just running away from my old life. Now I was hikingtowarda new life, whatever that may be. It made all the difference in my attitude about the entire thing. Little annoyances that had bugged me during my first few days of hiking—bugs, muddy patches, sweat—no longer even registered to me.

I reached camp even earlier today, which gave me enough time to take a dip in a little mountain stream. The water was melted run-off from the snow, which meant it wasfreezing, but it was refreshing after a day of hiking.

The days went like that. I woke up, tore down camp, and started moving. My ankle discomfort went away completely. I stopped and savored the incredible views whenever there was a lookout point. Occasionally I saw other hikers, but I was usually alone. Just me and the trail.

My feet were purposeful, but my mind wandered.

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