EASE ON DOWN THE ROAD

Eleven years ago I went to hike the AT. Three days later, I stopped. Another three days later – and 11 years ago today – I checked into Millinocket Medical. I had suffered kidney failure. But it got better…

This is a reprint of my hiking experience, by semi-popular request – well, by me, to give myself a week off. We’re at a family wedding in CA, hence the delay in posting.

Originally published in “Nephrology Unchained”, the August, 1950 swimsuit edition

I’m not really an outdoorsman, but I’ve always wanted to be one with nature, so I bought an ax, beef jerky and a Maine-English phrase book, and went to hike the Appalachian Trail (or the AT, as we hikers call it).

A good friend had been hiking it in 3 week ‘sections’ (or sectioning as we hikers call it), and I was joining for his final 100 miles, culminating at Mount Katahdin. 

The final stretch in Maine is the “100 mile wilderness” – a sign at the entrance says “Relinquish all hope, ye who enter here”, which once was a joke about marriage – but the promise of cocktails at the end was too tempting, so I eagerly joined. 4 of us were hiking together, going mano a Maine.

I imagined smooth trails where we would link arms and “ease on down the road”, like in the  “Hike Maine” brochure, but the trail was basically tree roots and rock faces, making one wonder why we hikers call it a trail, and whether cash strapped Maine had sold the actual trail to the Chinese.

I fell early and often. Passing hiker’s mouths fell open and they’d ask “What happened to him?” but one was prior to my first fall, so it might have been my haircut. My trail name was “Contusion”, and I made a decent amount of money charging hikersby to see the more spectacular bruises. Oddly, one of them formed a map of the AT.

Trail names are a hiking tradition; you can’t choose your name, it must be ‘given’. My name shifted daily, from “Contusion”, to “This was a bad idea” to “Can I have your baseball cards if you don’t make it?”

By lunch day one I knew I wasn’t a hiker, but the lure of cocktails at the end remained powerful, so I soldiered on. By lunch day 2 we decided to get me back to the start, as I had eaten all the beef jerky. The member of our party with a Maine ax permit was my escort.

The return trip knocked years off Purgatory/Limbo. I chanted “I do believe in spooks” incessantly, but to no avail. On the plus side, the Winged Monkeys never appeared.

There are a number of foods which I gagged down during the slog; I may never eat Northern Italian cuisine again.

Back at the beginning, I knew something was wrong when I couldn’t yodel. At the Eastern Maine Medical Center (or EMMC as we kidney patients call it), I learned I’d suffered kidney failure – a perfect medical storm of extreme dehydration, excessive ibuprofen and creepy banjo music.

A few rounds of dialysis fixed it and I was sent home. The staff was great, and presented me a 10% discount coupon for my next visit.

EMMC is a teaching hospital involving the surrounding community. They have a Maine Black Bear nursing program, where bears are given basic nursing training. One of them removed my catheter, which was a memory maker. Needless to say, we’ve kept in touch.

After a few weeks my kidney function returned to normal. A lot of my other organs ain’t what they used to be, but that might just be age and lack of use.

Hiking is off my bucket list. But the experience ended happily on two fronts:

Our litigation succeeded. I sued Maine, Arthur Treacher, and the estate of Daniel Boone, founder of the AT, and was awarded a year’s supply of maple syrup body wash.

My screenplay based upon this experience, the “Death of Hope”, has been optioned by Sony Pictures. I will be played by the exhumed remains of Bing Crosby, while Gentle Ben’s grandson will play the nurse trainee.

What did I learn? Besides ‘to never hike again’, I learned that to be truly safe, only trust sports that can be paired with beer: Grilling, motocross, and bowling.

But after reading about a bowler who nearly lost his hand in the bowling ball return, who knows.

I guess My Captor is right – the only truly safe activity is sitting on the couch. But I can’t get used to wearing a helmet…