Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [119]
Mahoosuc Arm battered our already fatigued bodies. Traversing the ascent took everything out of us that hadn’t already been extracted by the rocks below. There was no walking; instead I placed two palms out on the trail and pawed my way to the top. The incline was torturous, my quads and calves were screaming, and my arms were sore from pulling myself up on the roots and rocks. The only thing that kept me moving was the ominous dark clouds that were beginning to gather above us.
We made it up the arm and to Speck Pond Shelter just before the rain started. I collapsed on the floorboards.
“Well, guys, you want to wait out the storm here and then keep hiking?” asked Nightwalker.
Mooch and I just looked at each other. I knew by the look in his eyes that we were on the same page.
“I can’t hike anymore today,” I said.
“Neither can I,” Mooch echoed.
“But we’ve only come nine miles,” Nightwalker said.
It was true—demoralizing but true. It was 3:00 PM, and we had been hiking for eight hours, but we had only covered nine miles. However, those nine miles were more difficult than most of the thirty-mile days I had done in Virginia.
“Nightwalker, you can go ahead, but I’m done.”
“Toast,” Mooch agreed.
“well, let’s just see how we feel after the rain passes.”
I was more exhausted than I had ever been in my life, and Nightwalker wasn’t making it any better. Without any further conversation, I pulled out my sleeping bag and curled up inside it for a three-hour nap. When I awoke, I heard the boys eating dinner. It had stopped raining, but there was still thunder rumbling in the distance. I pulled out my food bag, made myself a cheese burrito, then after finishing the meal with cookies and water, I went back to sleep for another two hours.
It was twilight when I woke up again, and the boys were both reading. I took out my journal, scribbled a quick entry, brushed my teeth, then went back to bed. I woke up at 7:00 the next morning, and I was still exhausted. I had gotten fifteen hours of sleep, and I felt like I could sleep fifteen more. Getting out of my sleeping bag and starting to hike was the last thing I wanted to do.
Out of the three of us, I felt the worst and was having the hardest time. Or so I thought.
“I’m quitting,” Mooch told me, as the two of us descended Old Speck Mountain together.
“You’re what?” I asked.
“I’m getting a ride at the next road and going home.”
“Mooch, we’re in Maine. We are almost there. What are you thinking?”
“Almost there? There are two hundred and eighty miles of trail in Maine, and so far they’ve been harder than New Hampshire. I can’t do it anymore; my body physically cannot do it. I can’t keep up with Nightwalker, and I feel like I’m holding you up. I just want to quit.”
With Mooch it was sometimes hard to tell whether he was joking or being serious, because he was almost always joking. But at that moment his tone wasn’t sarcastic; he sounded pitiful, and I was ninety percent sure he was serious. The worst part was, we were approaching Grafton Notch, and there was a road there. I tried to buy some time.
“You can’t quit,” I said. “Nightwalker is several miles ahead of us; you can’t quit without talking to him first.”
“Nightwalker has you, he’ll be fine.”
“No he won’t. And neither will I. I need you to stay.”
I did need Mooch. I needed him to make me laugh, to sing to me, and to hike with me. I probably spent twice as much time hiking with Mooch as I did with Nightwalker. Things between Nightwalker and me were great, I liked him more and more every day, but they were also uncertain. Mooch was my rock. I never worried about our friendship.
We came to the parking lot beside the road. Mooch hiked toward a pickup truck with a white-haired man standing beside it. I grabbed the back of his pack to try and stop him, but he managed to drag both of us closer to the truck.
“Hey, you guys want to slackpack?” asked the white-haired man.
“Slackpack?” Mooch