I just got home from a visit with my good friend Mary. I don’t even remember her snapping this pic, but it resonates. Big time. Is my howl about our seemingly unescapable trap of war, abuse, violence, climate change, and a robot sentience that will change humanity forever? Oh yes, it could be. It could also be an agonizing scream about confronting what my body may or may not be able to do in the future, the ever-present pain, the memory of how I filled my days just a short while ago, and the uncertainty of it all. Or maybe it was just a howl to howl.
We walked that beach for miles and miles. I walked more last week than I have in any of the months since returning from the Camino in September. Mary is a triple crown hiker too. We were supposed to hike the Hayduke Trail together this year, in the before times that is.
Letting go of the before times is proving to be a level of difficulty that I haven’t been able to manage yet. I still keep getting trapped up in what I used to be able to do. In fact, just two years ago in the 8 months before I got injured/sick, I paddle boarded the John Day River, backpacked a 100-mile section of the Idaho Centennial Trail, backpacked around Big Bend National Park for a few days, hiked a loop through the Gila Wilderness along the CDT, created and hiked a short 3-day loop around Smith Rock State Park, skied up to Broken Top to camp/ski over Memorial Day Weekend, packrafted the Umpqua River, hiked the Lost Coast Trail on the NorCal coast, backpacked 60 miles of the PCT again, and day-hiked into the Eagle Cap Wilderness. That year represented my typical outdoor adventure pace. I went hard, but also a bit slower as the years had extracted some toll on my body.
In my struggle to get over the fact that I will never adventure like that again, I’ve been revisiting some of my past exploits. This video that I filmed with Oregon Field Guide in 2017 really sums it up. Establishing the Oregon Desert Trail was the pinnacle of my adventuring, and being able to translate those adventures into something tangible was everything. To create the current version of the route, I packrafted, skied, hiked, navigated, sweated, bled, howled and more…I laughed and glowed, at moments I burst with joy, and at others, cried with fatigue. This movie shows you the reality of the kind of experiences I think we need more of, that I wanted more of.
It was all so good, and I’m glad I could go that hard for so many years before I was struck down.
And that takes me to something my visit with Mary left me with: a reminder of how resilient I am, have been, and continue to be. Two things can be true at the same time: I am damaged, and I am resilient. I choose resilience.
How am I doing? Let’s see. It’s the last day of 2025. It’s the eve-eve of my next PET scan, or the first PET scan since my cancer has been in remission. I’m not doing well. In a way, my remission has been haunting me, especially fiercely the past month or so.
I’ve been dismal and down in this season of laughter and joy, but I’ve been high too…these emotions rollercoaster through me, sometimes on an hourly basis, where I can be delighted and hopeful, followed by a deep sorrow that drips off me and weighs my body in heaviness.
Ask me to my face, and yes, I’m doing fine, “Grateful to be here!” I reply cheerfully. To a few, I’ll say, “I’m struggling,” like when Kirk comes home to find me in tears and just enfolds me in a big hug. To myself, I say, “What is the point?” I’m finding this listlessness is manifesting in me forgetting to take my meds. I’ll have breakfast or lunch and then realize two hours later that my pillbox is still full. I hurriedly eat a handful of nuts or a spoonful of peanut butter to soften the landing of the gel caps on my stomach lining.
I am haunted. Haunted by what these next few scans will reveal.
If the scans show there are no new growths, then I have to accept that the increasing pain and discomfort I’ve been feeling over the last month is either in my imagination or my body still coming to terms with being irreparably damaged.
If the scans show there are new growths, maybe it’s a relief? Then these next months will be a series of appointments, and I don’t need to think too much. I will just need to go with it and renew my low-sugar, low-processed food habits.
It’s like I’m just now figuring out how to live with this disease, and it’s not going smoothly. I know all the tricks and tools: go for a walk, get coffee with a friend, read a book, go to yoga, tell Kirk and my closest friends the truth, take a bath. And it all works, for a short while. It pulls me up and out of the funk, but now it seems my default state is in the muck when before it was in the air, floating on thermals above the fray.
And there has been joy….really, there has been – islands of happiness, or just plain contentedness.
Christmas with my mom and brother.
Dan and I walking along the Lake Martin swamp where we saw a huge gator sunning himself on a log.
Brooke and Adryon meeting us for dinner and my first sip of a Red Chair beer in a few years.
Carrie giving me a make-over.
Marina having us over for quiche and cheesecake.
Cross country skiing again.
Kirk bought me new cross-country skis with metal edges for Christmas. They are quite a luxury as I have only ever owned garage-sale skis from decades past. We took them out to our favorite snow park the day after I got home from Louisiana; the sun on my face, and the quiet swooshing of the skis in the tracks were a balm to my overthinking brain.
Before we left the parking lot, I couldn’t seem to remember how my ski boots worked. It had only been two years since I had skied last, but it was like I had never worn these boots before. Turns out I had grabbed Kirk’s boots, which I had in fact, never worn before. Ha! I can still laugh at myself. The skiing was good, until it wasn’t. It turns out that I can’t use my left pole, and I can’t go uphill. The pressure of the poles, especially when trying to climb anything, hurts my left shoulder too much. In fact, four days after the last ski, my neck and shoulders are so sore that I’m taking daily pain meds again. Is this cancer? Or is this skiing for the first time in two years?
Keep going. I just have to tell myself to keep going.
Maybe the pressure valve that is questioning my damaged body will be released after these next scans, and then I can keep going. I have a number of things I want to do in the new year, but am waiting for these scans to make any plans… I want to be grateful, but I am not sure how to feel most days. Sometimes my morning walk will be enough to trick my brain into being hopeful, and I come home and make my smoothie of broccoli sprouts, spinach, ginger root, flax, chia, hemp seeds, nuts, and strawberries, but sometimes the hope masks itself in feeling normal and takes me to the bakery where I stand in line for something sweet.
I investigate other hiking options: llamas! I could hike with llamas! Or do a car-supported hike, as many people do on long trails when they meet friends or family at road crossings, the car filled with camping gear, water, and food. Or I could do another Camino – I’ve already started outlining what the Camino Ingles would look like. Or tap the friends who said the would sherpa for me. Oh, and then there are the carts. I asked Reddit about hiking with carts, and after a lot of “you’re stupid for asking that question,” I got a few helpful replies, but ultimately I think carts work best on pavement, and that’s not the kind of hiking I’m hoping to do right now.
Is this clinging to hiking an unwillingness to give up the last 24 years of my life when hiking was my all and everything? Probably. I was one of those lucky few who found what lit them up inside, who found what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, who found true freedom and purpose in a life lived on trail. I’m not quite willing to give that up, which may be, or probably is, at the root of my despair.
There are many disabled folks who continue to hike: Bill Irwin hiked blind. Wheelchair Bob is out on the PCT all the time, and a local friend, Geoff Babb, even invented the Advenchair, an all-terrain wheelchair, so he could still get around after his stroke. Hiking with a disability takes more time and more effort, but it’s possible. It’s possible. It’s possible.
Oh, the effort though. I’m getting caught up in the effort of doing all the “right” things to help mitigate my body feeling like a 500-pound elephant sinking into the sea. A part of me knows I will get through this, and may even return to my resting disposition in the clouds. A part of me knows letting myself feel the feelings may be the only way through, and a part of me needs to keep finding the effort that leads to small joys.
This isn’t a cry for help, I’ve done that already. This is an effort to be real with you about those “How am I doing?” questions.
I guess the next update will be in the aftermath of my PET scan, brain MRI, and labs. I’ll be a completely different person then.
2025’s Thanksgiving on the River Crew – Cindy, Kirk & Moi (photo courtesy of Cindy)
Kirk and I have had a Thanksgiving tradition of heading to water for the last 10+ years. It probably started because he just loves a flowing river, and even though my river time had been limited before we met, I quickly took to the eddies and riffles as he showed me the ropes of paddling, rafting, and floating downstream.
One of our first trips was a packraft adventure on the North Fork of the John Day River. You can read all about it here:
click for the full post…
We had many other adventures on the water, most frequently coming back to the banks of the Lower Deschutes River as it usually had the most water of any of Oregon’s rivers in late November. We would invite various friends, sometimes it would snow, sometimes it would drop into the single digits, and sometimes those friends never returned for another water-logged Thanksgiving trip…the cold really highlights how a four-day sufferfest can drive people indoors, even if we bring multiple pies.
This year my longtime friend Cindy decided to brave the unknown, and possibly rainy weather to accompany us on our float, and she was rewarded with mild temperatures and minimal splashing as I had asked Kirk to find the smoothest and driest lines through the rapids – my neck and spine still can’t tolerate much jostling.
We launched on Thanksgiving morning and pulled over a few miles later to reheat our feast. I don’t think it was the best of our efforts as my turkey cooking the day before was a bit too zealous and left the meat on the dry side, and we skipped the fancy side-dishes for instant potatoes, stovetop stuffing, canned cranberry sauce, and store-bought pumpkin pie, but it was all gravy. As Edward Abby says, “Hunger is the best sauce,” and the smell of the cooking turkey had started my mouth watering a full day before our dinner.
Dark comes early in late November, but I added some festive cheer with some battery-powered lights and hot cider.
The skies were blue and the nights dark, and we all got a solid 10 hours (or more!) of sleep each night.
It is such a gift to be on the river during this time of year. The blue heron was our steady companion each day on the water, and the sound of the current hushed any background noise that we carried over from day-to-day life.
Carrie and I got out of town last weekend.Did some real pretty walking.
I’ve had some learning moments during my Camino planning.
First, I had intended to wait to book most of my lodging until I got there and discovered how my body was doing, but the scarcity mindset set in, and I became worried that most bookable options would be booked, especially since I’m using a luggage transfer service. So I went ahead and planned out the whole 170 miles and choose mostly hostels (or albergues) with a few hotels here and there so I would be assured a good night’s sleep and some quiet on occasion. But 170 miles in two and half weeks means I’m going to be walking some long days. Can I do it?
Then I went to book the luggage transport service to each spot, figuring the more I did from home, the less I would have to do there when I am faced with my body and the miles, so I looked at three different services: Caminofacil, Tuitrans, and Pilbeo. Many of the places I had booked didn’t show up on their ready made list of delivery spots! Arrrg. One service said I should change my plans to places that did show up on their list, but another said I could contact the lodging, get some info, and pass it back to them, and they would make it happen. So I went with those guys. I went with the flexible peeps who would have my back. And as I worked through the list yesterday, I discovered a lot of my lodging WAS on their list….their list being a hodge podge of addresses and names that sometimes didn’t match the exact title of the hostel, thus the confusion. Whew. It was more work than I had planned, but good to note if you plan to hike the Camino in the future and use luggage transport. Start your booking process with the transportation folks and book from their list.
In other news, I got my chemo port removed this week! Woot! If you haven’t seen a chemo port before, picture a quarter-sized, no, maybe a bit larger… a half-dollar-sized round disk that’s about a quarter inch thick implanted beneath your skin between your collar bone and your breast. It can be on the left or right side; mine was on the right, closer to the lung tumor. It has three raised bumps on the surface, so the skin tightens around it and looks a bit alien. A tube comes off it and is threaded through a vein in your neck so that sometimes people will say, “What’s that in your neck?” When it’s time for chemo, I lather the thing up with lidocaine cream and put a bandage on it before going to the hospital. The lidocaine will numb the skin, and the nurses use a special needle to puncture the skin and port….the three dots guiding them in like the lights on a runway. The tubing is taped to the skin for the multiple courses of drugs that will be injected directly into your vein that day. It saves your arms from being destroyed by the chemo. My chemo was the kind that only needed to be injected once a month, but others get it daily or weekly. So getting this thing removed is a big step towards living with active cancer in my past.
When talking with the doctors during the removal, they asked how long I had had it in, and how long my treatment was. All of their eyes got wide when I said I got the port in January, the chemo lasted until April, and I reached “no evidence of disease” by July. “Wow!” they said. “That’s fast!” I know, I quipped back. “And I had tumors from head to thigh! 27 just in my brain!” It seems surreal to say it even now. How did I get better so fast? Is my body really that responsive to the chemicals and radiation? To the diet changes, supplements, love, and positivity from all of you? I feel like I’m a Radical Remission example, except to get that moniker, you need to have been in remission for three years. I’ve been in remission for one month. I have a ways to go, but I’m off to a good start!
Lets see, what else does the Portugal prep prep look like?
I walked 9 miles the other day, that’s training!
How about my current iteration of a gear list:
In the roller carry-on (transported each day)
Neck pillow (for the plane – that red-eye on the way over will be killer)
Inflatable pillow (for the hostels – works well to get proper neck alignment at night)
Rainpants (in suitcase when not raining – I usually wear a trash-bag rain skirt, but I figured this was front-country the whole time, I’ll be more civilized!)
Altras (I’ve never really worn them before, but they are light and I don’t need the ruggedness of my usual Oboz)
Orthotics (In case you didn’t know, I’m old)
Socks
Warm hat (in suitcase when not cold)
Mittens (in suitcase when not cold)
So there you have it folks! Next up: more walking.
Kirk and I took a day hike up to the base of 3 Finger Jack last weekend. It may look extreme, but this point is only 2ish miles from the trailhead! The worst part was driving up the washboarded dirt road, which was much harder on my neck than the hike.
I mentioned my intention to hike some of the Camino de Santiago thru Portugal in one of my last posts, and now, buoyed by all the good health news, I’m making it happen…and all of a sudden, the trip is soon, very soon (like September soon!)
I’ll be writing here daily while I walk, and now my time is filled with logistics like:
Whats up with the whole luggage transport system? Since my back/neck/shoulders still can’t support a pack I’ll be paying to have my roller carry-on bag transported each day. There are several companies that offer the service, and you only need to book 48 hours in advance, so that leaves room for serendipity…especially important because I don’t know how many miles per day my body will tolerate yet.
How do I book hostels, hotels, or auberges? Fortunately, many of these lodging options leave half their beds open for first-come walkers….In the day and age of cell phones and reservations, that is amazing, and again leaves some time for the hike to evolve as I see how the miles are feeling. I do have the first three nights booked, though.
Visa? Not needed
Money? Debit and credit cards will work, although I’ve had to check the international fees for both…since my trip is relatively short, just a few weeks, it sounds like getting cash from ATMs along the way will be an advisable way to go
Gear? I’m experimenting with a few different lumbar packs to carry things like a raincoat, umbrella, snacks, and water…I used the Gossamer Gear Piku this past weekend on a day hike, and loved how light it was, although the larger capacity (nine liters) means I can still put too much weight in it, like I did for a walk around town this week 😬. I have a Mountainsmith lumbar pack on order to try, although it comes off the shelf much heavier at 1.56 lbs vs the Piku at 8.9 oz.
Blogging? I thought I would bring my Surface tablet with keyboard to write at cafes along the way, but on my hike around town, it seemed heavy in the pack…I could just type on my phone like I do on regular backcountry hikes…we’ll see. I’ll take some more hikes with it and decide later.
Language? I’ve been taking some Portuguese lessons on Duolingo, but a big portion of the way will be in Spain (about 100 miles vs 70ish in Portugal), and I don’t have time to get good at two languages. Anyway, I hear English is pretty prevalent, and I can always rely on Google translate.
Sleeping? Since I’ll be in a bed each night and can transport whatever fits in my roller carry-on, I’m planning to bring my 40-degree feathered friends quilt, an inflatable pillow, and a silk liner for the beds. I hear i will need to be alert for bed bugs, so I am getting versed I need what to look for.
Food? It will be quite an urban experience, so I’ll have cafes and restaurants all along the way. I will also probably take advantage of grocery stores and hostel kitchens to buy and make my own meals…as for eating restrictions, I’m going to be a bit looser with my diet and eat what is fresh and authentic…I want to immerse myself in the experience, and if that means an occasional glass of wine or pastry with lunch, so be it!
Navigation? I bought the Wise Pilgrim guidebook and app, and I also made my own data book in miles vs kilometers, and have the route uploaded onto Caltopo, which I’ll use on my phone too.
There will be other questions that come up as I’m putting this trip together, and I’ll probably post once or twice more to share that with you. I’ll also post my gear list and anything else you might find interesting. Have other questions? Leave a note in the comments!
I see this as the first of many Camino-style hikes I plan to take since my body is different now, and as I’ve mentioned to some of you, I see developing these type of hiking opportunities for the less-able bodied or people who simply want to eat good food and sleep in beds as a potential pivot for my business once I’m able to start working again. Exciting!
I grew up listening to this song by the Scorpions, and it still brings a pang of longing and sadness, and is it hope? And I didn’t know the full undercurrents of the song at the time, but its wistful tone certainly resonated with me.
And I have been facing so much change recently, it’s hard to get my bearings. Especially in the month or so since the news of my promising scans…it seems I’m on the verge of seeing a life for myself again, but of course I’ve still been living a life…but you know what I mean. I’ve had to live in the present for the past six months, so much so that looking beyond the next week or few weeks just didn’t seem possible. But all this word salad is to say the only constant is change and I’m grateful that I’ve had such a secure base of loved ones that have provided enough stability that I can weather the winds of change with a bit of grace. It’s like I’m a blade of grass, blowing in the wind. Sometimes the wind is whipping me around, bending me almost to the ground and roughing me up, but you all keep me grounded, set in place, so that the wind can try and rip me up, but it can’t. My roots are too deep.
Woo, can you tell it’s 3am and I’m back in my early morning writing phase? 😄
I’m sure you are all eager to hear about the big birthday party bash…it was fabulous! I think almost 50 people came out to Amber’s place in Corvallis. People brought flowers and snacks, fresh strawberries from nearby farms, and so much joy. It was such a lovely gathering….even though something got to me. It might have been a bad sandwich, or the heat, or some pain I’ve been having in my left shoulder, but I vomited several times on Saturday and it aggravated my throat enough that I lost my voice, and it left me with barely a whisper. Really, it left me mostly listening to everyone around me chatting about adventures past, present, and future. And so much serendipity happened! Dr. Grant, a hiker I had met at the Cascade Ruck last year came, and just happened to be heading down to hike the Bigfoot Trail, and wouldn’t you know it, Fireweed, who is on the Bigfoot Trail board and was planning on giving her a ride to the trail was also up for the party and the two met for the first time. Dr. Grant even got a ride down from the party on Sunday to start hiking the trail. And Anne, Amber’s wife, connected with my good friend Sage when I remembered they were both from the same very small northern Californian town…so small that of course their paths had crossed many years ago when both lived there, yet they were meeting at the party, of all places, years later.
The magic of people, good people, is a big part of what is keeping me going. Such kind and generous people. Sue, a volunteer that I’ve had on a couple of ONDA volunteer trips, came as she lived in Corvallis, and wrote to me later and said “I knew no one, except you, when I showed up. Yet— I knew immediately this is “our community”. You, your life, your work, brings out the good in people —- just like the mountains, the rivers, the oceans, as we traverse this earthly landscape.” That is just everything. My heart is full.
Sue!
So yes, I was sick and it lingered the next day, but we ate bagels and drank coffee in the shade of Amber and Anne’s giant sequoia tree in her yard, playing “move with the shade” as the morning sun shifted in the hot day.
Nemo and Pouch (my PCT 2006 besties) won the award for having traveled the farthest…from upstate NY! Just for the weekend!
We called ourselves “Team Primary” in the North Cascades on the PCT because we were in blue, yellow, and red rain jackets half the time.
There were so many people I hadn’t seen in ages who came out. I couldn’t have asked for a better party. I hope to have many, many more. Some suggested it be an annual thing! Who wants to host next time?
And of course, Amber’s Nomadic Pizza was a huge hit. She and our friend Megan sweated for hours slinging pies for us in the hot, hot wood-fired food cart, and it was so delicious. (Amber can cater private events like my party…please book her if you have something coming up!)
The pizza guru, Amber
This week has been one full of doctor’s appointments and hanging with my little brother Dan. He just bought a new car and wanted to stretch its legs and see me too. Dan is in the Air Force based in San Antonio, so he drove three days up, arriving just in time to go out to dinner with Kirk and me on my actual birthday (Monday, June 9….the best day of the year!).
He took me to meet my new oncologist and to wrap up with my old one. He took me to get more labs done and along with another MRI. We took walks along the river and drove up to the mountains for an afternoon, too. It was a chill but wonderful visit. Thanks Dan!
Doing the tourist thing in Bend.
I have more appointments before I head out again to visit my parents next week. All three of my brothers will be down there too, so it will be another busy week. My dad’s Alzheimer’s is progressing, and his time is limited, so I’m glad we are all able to gather together.
So even though my prospects of health continue to improve, I’m still caught living in the moment, paying attention to each day as it comes. The peonies that I got for my birthday are a good reminder of that…each day they open a little more, changing ever so slightly, but changing, so that it’s worth stopping and appreciating them in each slight phase. Sure, I could think ahead to when they are dead and gone, but why do that when they are vibrant and alive and in front of me now? Enjoy them. Enjoy this. Enjoy the moment.
Did those few weeks even happen? The few weeks where Kirk and I lounged on beach chairs under thatched shade and watched waves the color of turquoise gently touch the white sand shore?
We went deep into sleepy vacation mode, and it now all seems like a quick dream.
And it’s June all of a sudden! Otherwise known as birthday month 🙂
Let the wild ruckus begin!
I have a feeling it will be similar to the birthday I celebrated on the PCT in 2006 at Walker Pass…
NEMO and I doing our last few miles into Walker Pass.Everyone around me wore birthday hats that day!Billgoat!The amazing Scott Williamson on his first successful PCT yo yo in 2006NEMO knit me this hat!Party time!
So many wonderful people are arriving this weekend for my party at Amber’s place, it’s going to be so much fun. She will be slinging her scrumptious wood-fired pizzas and I’m excited to be immersed in my most treasured place: among dear friends!
Back in the real world I got a news update that had me in a great mood. Apparently exercise is ‘better than drugs’ to stop cancer returning after treatment. That’s just the news I needed to hear. I need to ramp up my miles if I want to hike some of the Camino this fall. My default state lately has been resting as I’m still dealing with neck, shoulder, and body soreness every day….but now I have more motivation to walk despite the aches.
“Patients who began a structured exercise regime… had a 37% lower risk of death and a 28% lower risk of recurrent or new cancers developing, compared with patients who received only health advice, the trial found…Their weekly target was the equivalent of three to four walks of between 45 and 60 minutes, but patients could choose how they got more active. Some went kayaking or skiing, for instance.”
I mean, it’s like the world is begging me to keep hiking.
I still am getting caught up in the surprise of it all. That my life is 100% different than it was a year ago.
A year ago Kirk and I spent Memorial Day snow camping and ski touring up our local back-yard mountain, Broken Top. We skied in with heavy packs and plenty of snacks for several days…a prospect I can’t even imagine right now.
A year ago I was strategizing which trails to hike next and how to improve those trails through resource development…a la my trails consulting business.
A year ago I was hosting several conversations a month at Intentional Hiking, trying to encourage the trails community to take a more active role in the world we are hiking through.
Today, that is all gone. Well, not gone exactly; the trick now is to find out how to live what life I have now to the fullest, not knowing how much time I have left. Some argue we should always live this way….but I do know inside and and out that walking and hiking will still take center stage in whatever way I choose to live now.
When I was growing up, I believed the world was magical and filled with wonder and surprise. A childhood spent in nature only confirmed it. And then there were the movies and books I read. I already mentioned the all powerful Wizard of Oz, but this past week I’ve been going down the rabbit hole of all the childhood delights: Alice in Wonderland, The Neverending Story, The Last Unicorn, Mary Poppins, The Princess Bride, and most of them hold up. Screen time back in the day wasn’t like it is now. I would watch these once a year, or once we got a VCR, maybe monthly, because most of my time was spent outside…my mom would push me and my three brothers outside, and I am so grateful for that now.
Do I still believe in magic and majestic adventures?? I will admit that the wind has been taken out of my sails these past eight months (eight months of sickness so far!!!), but the magic has shown up in many of my relationships with you, and I find I’m so rich in amazing people in my life.
And now that things are about to change, I can dive back into the wonder and awe that nature brings into my life. My hiking will be different now, but I know it will continue to bring complete strangers into my life and that they will quickly become great friends. And it doesn’t even have to be a thru-hike. I had an incredibly moving walk this weekend. Of course, spring had a lot to do with it, Bend is practically bursting at the seams with flowers and birds, and green everywhere….which is saying something for the desert. My walk helped to wipe the darkness from the corners of my mind. A darkness that was dragging me down to its sleepy hopelessness. (That reminds me of another movie: Legend, the 1985 version with a young Tom Cruise!) I took a walk and had some fantastic laughs with friends, and the world became whole and hopeful and wonderful again. Even if this is my last spring, this feeling is life, and I’m quite in love with it all. A walk is the engine for all the feels.
But thru-hiking, man, it just doesn’t get much better than that, and finding a good hiking partner that helps you see color is a real gift.
Check out this video I made of a short thru-hike of the Sunshine Coast Trail with Nemo back in 2018.
This sums up the feeling fairly well:
Will I carry a pack again in the wilderness? Will I be able to immerse myself in the far backcountry for weeks at a time? I don’t know, but I do know I have to make peace with this new body, or this new reality. And work? What the heck am I going to do if the focus of my business before was hiking a long trail to evaluate how to make it better, safer, easier for hikers to be successful? To make new trail resources and help a trail organization communicate with their hikers? Maybe I can help develop more hut-to-hut or bnb-to-bnb type trails in the US (Europe is spoiled for them) since those might be the only trails I can hike for a while. Maybe I’ll revamp the National Recreation Trails designation (something I’ve been wanting to do for years now! And a post for another day).
The news I got this week has helped fuel these thoughts. I know, I know, you will say I buried the lead, but I had my scans this week and met with my oncologist, and…it’s working! I’m officially in maintenance mode!! That means no more chemo for now. He said my body was chemo-d out…and man, do I feel it. I am still so tired. I have no appetite, I’m still losing weight and am quite nauseous, but the farther away I get from chemo, the more my body should find its equilibrium. The treatments have been working and he said I’m responding really well to the Tegresso and chemo…the combo helped to knock the tumors back a bit, and some of my brain ones are completely gone! I mean, I still have tumors, and might the rest of my life, but they are in check now. I’ll continue with the daily targeted med indefinitely and hope that I can regain my strength. This is a life-long disease, but I can see a life again.
There were tears of happiness yesterday when I heard the news….I’m bursting with the news.
So, things are happening this May! I’ll be on the road a lot, and you might not hear from me for a while. I have some nature bathing to do, visiting family to do, and even a spot of vacation with Kirk…he has dealt with so much these past eight months. I hope you all have a Kirk in your lives who is there for you when something completely unexpected and wild is thrown at you like this was.
Don’t worry, I will still keep blogging…it’s my way of processing this whole thing, and has been the way I’ve been sharing my hikes with you for over 20 years now. You could fall down the rabbit hole of my hiking journals for weeks and months if you explore some of my past hikes in this blog. And there will be future hikes, I can just feel it. And I still have more I want to explore…more memories and past lives, it’s fun to rummage around in my youth to tease out the elements that have led me to where I am today.
Should I be writing updates when things are heavy and dark? Maybe that’s exactly when I should be writing updates.
I learned yesterday that a friend from college’s husband, who has stage 4 lung cancer with the EGFR 20 mutation (mine is EGFR 19) is not doing well and has moved into hospice. OMG, I keep thinking this is something I will move past, but it’s claiming people I know!
And some family members are really not doing well.
And more hair is falling out.
And my pet’s heads are falling off.
(Sorry, that’s a Dumb and Dumber movie quote that my highschool friends and I used to reference incessantly)
The gravity of my situation has been feeling so heavy lately. This last round of chemo really got me for some reason. I’m much more nauseous that I’ve been since the first round and can’t walk as far…and I am still struggling to eat enough to keep my energy levels up.
Enough! Chin up!
I keep hearing positivity is the key, but do I have to be positive every freaking minute? Can I feel the weight of this and cry and rage every once in a while? Of course. There are no rules, but are there? There are so many books that I’ve been reading about how to live with cancer, how to eat with cancer, how to survive cancer, and there seem to be rules….but they are different for everyone, so we can’t tell you exactly what they are, but know that if you don’t follow them it won’t be good, or might not. We don’t really know why some people make it out and some don’t. So do the right thing, we just don’t know exactly what the right thing FOR YOU is, so figure it out.
Ahhhhhhhh!
I know my body is fighting. Is that why my hair is falling out now, and I have no appetite? Or is that the poison of chemo working its way through all the cells in my body? Or is that the cancer advancing?
How about some good news? I made it to Madison after spending all day sick in bed the day before my flight. I even looked at flying out a day or two later, but ticket prices were RIDICULOUS to reschedule, so I put on my big girl pants, packed a puke bag, and hoped for the best.
I had a delicious breakfast where I felt like a normal person. Normal!
And I made it. Travel day wasn’t too bad after all, and I had a wonderful dinner catching up with Jasmine. We laughed over the “turkey vultures” bit (see the last blog if you don’t know what I’m talking about) and remembered that it really was “pig vultures”. We were trying to get under our little brothers’ skin after all. “Pig Vultures!” we would screech as we peddled away down the country roads. They would circle and circle the intersection on their bmx bikes, hurling insults back at us as we laughed hysterically and coasted down the hill on our bikes, giddy with freedom.
Jasmine!
It was fun to tell stories, and apparently, we lived about a mile from the Ice Age Trail…I knew we were close, but not that close!!! A national scenic trail was evolving in my backyard and I didn’t even know it existed! It was designated as an NST in 1980, I was three, so yes, it was most definitely there. I have to hike it. I have to live long enough to hike it. And Jasmine’s mom still lives in the house I know so well, she can be my trail angel! She just doesn’t know it yet. In fact, I have a friend thru-hiking it right now, and he calls it a pub crawl, so maybe I can arrange for some of my gear to be transferred from town to town so I don’t have to carry much, and there isn’t much elevation gain, so maybe this is a trail I can hike in my cancer years??
Whitney and I went out for dinner with Luke last night, the executive director of the Ice Age Trail, and we talked a lot about it. That’s the magic of these trail conferences: you get to meet the people that do the thing! And that thing is trails, which I love so much!
Jasmine also told me that she remembered that I was very philosophical when I was growing up, and remembered lots of deep conversations that we had during sleepovers. While dealing with a bout of nausea in the hotel room yesterday, I did finish watching Wicked online, the prequel to the Wizard of Oz. Then I had to watch the Wizard of Oz of course, and was immediately reminded of its influence in my life growing up.
Gotta love the saltines!!
Back then we just had a TV with a few channels. It was even before the VCR days. The Wizard of Oz would come on once a year around Easter (wait a minute….Easter is this week, in real life!). The story of a long walk, meeting kind strangers you ended up loving and having good and scary adventures with, must have planted the seed for what would become my thru-hiking life. That and the Ice Age Trail in my backyard (right by Fountain Lake where we spent sooooo many days swimming) and my dreamy philosophical nature.
Check out this map:
The x is where I lived, the circle is where Jasmine lived, and the + is where our other friend Katie lived. My freaking back yard!!!
I feel down, but then I start thinking about how many trails there are left to hike, how many places to see and people to meet, and I get excited again. And sure, I probably won’t be hiking the Hayduke Trail that I had planned to do in 2026, and the Great Divide Trail in 2027 for my 50th birthday, but there are plenty of other trails where I don’t have to carry 7 days of food and 8 liters of water on my back that can be added to my list.
Location: Will send address once you register to attend.
Contribution: Suggested $20 donation per person to cover costs, any additional funds raised will be donated to Renee’s cancer fund (cash is great, we’ll also have venmo info available at event if you wish to donate that way).
Camping: see below.
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Festivities will start around 3pm. Amber will be slinging pizzas from her wood-fired food cart, Nomadic Pizza, from 5-7pm, and we’ll have a keg, wine, non-alcoholic drinks, and other snacks available.
A porta-potty will be on site for use. And if you plan on camping or coming back in the morning (see below for more camping deets), we’ll have coffee and bagels on Sunday. If you do stay overnight please plan on helping us clean up with a departure time by 10am.
Please bring:–
a snack/side-dish to share (afternoon snacks, desserts, late night snacks)
camp chair
mug/cup for beverages
a musical instrument (if you play!)
good vibes
yard games
Other notes:–
Please leave pets at home for the party, FYI – Amber does have a dog.
Your $20 will help us fund the pizza party and any left over $ will go to Renee’s cancer fund.
Space for camping at Amber’s house is limited depending on interest, please plan on tent only camping (for about 20-30 tents), or you can sleep in your car. Her address will be sent after registration along with some other lodging options (there is no real space for RVs but there is a near-by park & lots of hotel/air bnb options in the area too.) We suggest setting up your tent later in the evening so there is room for yard games and dancing and general merriment.
Amber only lives about 2 miles from downtown Corvallis – you could walk or bike to the party if you plan to stay in town!
If you are interested in helping out, we could use a few extra folks to help us with some logistics on Sat & Sun. Bellow there is a spot where you can indicate your interest and we’ll be in touch! Things like picking up the keg, helping direct parking, picking up coffee Sun morning, etc. (Oh, does someone want to make a birthday cake???)
She-ra Hikes 