AT day 77: Windwhippin Cats/Carters/Moriah

Mother/son zero day: Artist’s Bluff

AT day 76: Presidential slackpack

AT day 75: slacker slack packin

AT day 74: Pink blaze

It’s time to do something good for my feet. What can you do for little broken bones in your foot? Not a heck of a lot. I played competitive hockey until I was 26. I was a shot blocking defenseman that took pride in eating pucks. (I hold the record for most games played in school history cause I refused to leave). Things have never been great down there 

20 miles in, my crocodile tears came to life and I could barely stand up. Currently in a boutique inn for the night, which costs a quarter of my monthly rent. (you’re not that special, Pawling. cutesy town though) I have 100 day sabbatical from work and things seem like they’re quickly slipping away. My mom is likely going to pick me up tomorrow (god bless her soul). I’m gutted, but happy to be where I’m at compared to front-manning the solo sob fest on trail this afternoon. please say this ain’t over

On a brighter note, my friend Costa and I rendezvoused for the first time since southern Virginia. 32 days ago. Never been more psyched to see a long lost friend who’s been nipping at my tail since Harper’s Ferry. What a trail, what a world

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Christopher Walkin

AT Day 55: real tears

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AT day 77: Windwhippin Cats/Carters/Moriah

Mother/son zero day: Artist’s Bluff

AT day 76: Presidential slackpack

AT day 75: slacker slack packin

AT day 74: Pink blaze

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