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Article published Jul 16, 2006 Hiker tackles problems with journey
Rebecca Rule Bookmarks
"Dead Men Hike No Trails" by Rick McKinney; Jigglebox Press; paper; 378 pages; $18.95.
As
Rick McKinney hiked the Appalachian Trail for six months in 2004, he
kept the world (anyone in the world who cared, that is) informed about
his progress - physical and emotional - through postings on his Web
site, Jigglebox.com.
His book "Dead Men Hike No Trails" distills
those postings into, the author explains: "the true yet subjective
story of one man's journey through the tangible forests of Appalachia
and the intangible deep woods of a tormented and beautiful mind."
McKinney,
then 37, took to the trail as an alternative to suicide, a fate that
had recently claimed his best friend. "Dead, so far as we know, is
dead. And dead men hike no trails." Fortified with an array of
medications for "severe chronic depression aggravated by acute anxiety
disorder and periodic suicidal ideation," McKinney put his 35-pound
pack on his back and simply started walking. You can do that on the
Appalachian Trial. You don't need a lot of money or training; you don't
have to be a world-class athlete. Just follow the white blazes, and
they will lead you. Your stamina will build as you go.
My life
is a nightmare, but it is also an ever-changing and fluxing adventure .
. . If I could shut off the stream of ugly images and pain and sorrow
that flood my heart and head like so many radio waves and x-rays and
cell phone wireless words and thoughts flying through the air, if I
could tell all that to go away and leave me in peace, I would. But for
me there is no peace, there is only hope that I can keep a few steps
ahead of the sorrow, far enough ahead to smile and see the beauty
that's out there beyond the cloud of human suffering.
Now let's go climb a mountain or two. Or a bazillion! Georgia, here I come!
Many
begin the AT journey, but few finish, including best-selling author
Bill Bryson, who wrote another book on the Appalachian Trail, "A Walk
in the Woods." I like McKinney's book better.
In fact, I like it
a whole lot. McKinney's voice carries his tale with searing honesty,
unabashed narcissism, equally unabashed self-doubt and a joie de vivre
that, it seems to me, shines especially bright for those of us who live
in the grim land of chronic depression. It's all about contrast. And
Kerouac, Sylvia Plath, Hunter Thompson, Sept. 11, Iraq, tics, rain,
pain, Limbaugh, Brando, Drew Barrymore, Whitman, Bukowski, Thoreau,
Dave Matthews, Jesus Christ. And love. And loneliness. And being a
child of divorce, a prodigal son, a thwarted romantic, a clown, and a
writer who adores women and poetry and alcohol and music.
If
some literature professor asks the question on an exam, "What were the
principal influences of Rick McKinney's writing? Don't believe the
(expletive) about pain and depression. It was music that kept me
writing. And beer."
Long, like the trail itself, nearly 400
dense pages, but never tedious, "Dead Men Hike No Trails" travels the
"green tunnel," up and down 500 mountains, with brief, intense
descriptions of the landscape. Yes, it's 2,000 miles of dirt, rocks,
trees - but the dirt, rocks and trees of, say, Virginia, are a whole
lot different from the dirt, rocks and trees of, say, New Hampshire -
which gets plenty of space in this book. The Whites are tough! (We knew
that.) And it was here McKinney made his "first potentially fatal error
in five months of wilderness existence." The story spans several pages,
but the gist is: Do not leave the trail on the ridge between Lafayette
and Garfield; the woods are thick and confounding, and a man can die
very quickly of exposure at that altitude in September.
Getting
even more play than the landscape and its dangers and wonders are the
people McKinney encounters. Some pass him, some fall behind, some keep
pace a while, some he falls in love with. He's immersed in the peculiar
culture of thruhikers. Who are these people with names like Mouse Bait,
Paradox, Big Chief Paisley Feather, Cyberdine and His Madnesty Lord
Duke Jester Gadget Malcovich Peregrine Jack (aka McKinney)? Why do they
step away from their mainstream lives and spend their days walking? How
do they endure? How does this culture reflect on, for lack of a better
term, ours?
But the main subject of "Dead Men Walk No Trails" is
McKinney himself, the inner struggles that parallel the outer. His
struggles equal, in part and in truth, everybody's struggles.
I
walk north. I walk north until I hurt all over. I walk north for no
good goddamn reason at all. I walk north for me. I walk north because I
feel that I've never really had a triumph my life, nothing to call a
total success. I will succeed, but I will not fuss over every single
white blaze, not even every frikken mile of this ever-expanding trail.
Two thousand miles afoot and the Katahdin summit will sit just fine
with me, thanks.
McKinney's journey transformed him. Physically,
he became thin, hard, strong - a walking machine. Emotionally, he
became strong, too; more self-aware (how could he not?) and, I think,
hopeful. How long will the transformation last? Forever is implied,
hoped for, but who knows? "On the AT," he writes near the end of the
book and the journey, "if I hadn't beaten depression for good, I had at
least learned how to beat it for a while."
This summer, McKinney
is back in New Hampshire, hiking the Whites. Look for him on the trail
- still strong, maybe smiling, moving fast. You can get his book
through Booklocker.com.
