Her Beautiful Mind Read online

  I find myself sandwiched between the two men. When I step to one side to let No Filter pass me—proper etiquette for slower hikers—he waves me on, telling me he always brings up the rear.

  “I’ve been following Curly’s ass for more miles than I care to think about. It’ll be a nice change to have a different one to stare at; although, I have to say Daniel does have a very fine butt.”

  He laughs when I involuntarily glance toward Curly, who is quickly disappearing down the trail ahead of us. “Told you so.”

  Shaking my head at his nonsense, I turn and begin heading up the trail. We hike in silence for some time, but something he said keeps mulling over in my head. Finally, I stop and turn back to him.

  “We’re less than fifty miles from Springer. How could you have been following Curly Dan for more miles than you care to think about, if that’s where you started?”

  “Ah, who says we started hiking at Springer?” he questions me teasingly. “Sorry,” he adds at my answering frown. “Actually, you could probably say this journey started about five years ago at Campo.”

  “Campo, on the PCT?” I ask, referring to the small border town where the Pacific Crest Trail begins its trek from Mexico to Canada. “You and Curly hiked the PCT?”

  “Yes.” No Filter chuckles at my astonished question. “And then we went to Montana and hiked south to Crazy Cook Monument in New Mexico on the Continental Divide Trail.”

  “Oh … my … God,” I whisper, staring at him in absolute awe. “The PCT, the CDT, and now the AT—you and Curly are triple crowners.”

  “Well, we have to get to Katahdin first,” he agrees with a chuckle. “But, yes, eventually, we’ll be triple crowners.”

  “Wow,” I murmur, shaking my head in disbelief. “You have been following that ass for a lot of miles. Almost 8,000 by the time you’re finished,” I add, calculating the distance they will have to walk. “You two are like hiking royalty.”

  No Filter grins broadly at me. “It’s no big deal, girl. Just one step at a time; one step at a time.”

  “But it is kind of a big deal,” I argue. “Just the two of you hiking so far, having to get along, the resupplies, the logistics, it’s … well, it’s an amazing feat.”

  No Filter glances away from me, his normally pleasant expression morphing into one of sadness. Shifting his feet nervously, he looks back at me, studying my face intently.

  “Did I say something wrong?” I ask. “I’m sorry if—”

  “No, no,” he interrupts. “We, uh … there used to be three of us.” Sighing, he reaches up to run his fingers through his nonexistent hair, chuckling when he remembers he’s bald. “Sorry, can’t seem to kick the nervous habit. Anyway,” he begins again, “I met Daniel and Jeffrey during the PCT kickoff party at Lake Morena. We were all so different, but we clicked, you know. We became friends, hiking buddies, and then … ah … partners.”

  He hesitates, watching me for some type of reaction, but I smile, nodding at him to continue. Motioning toward a couple of trailside boulders, No Filter invites me to sit beside him, saying it’s time for a snack break. We rummage through our food bags, grinning at each other when we both pull out a Snickers bar. While we eat and drink, No Filter continues his story.

  “We were the Three Amigos, the Three Musketeers, the Three Stooges. We were brothers-in-backpacks, lovers, family. I’ve never been ashamed of my sexuality, never tried to hide it or pretend to be something I’m not, but for all my bluntness and lack of filter, I keep some things to myself. Jeffrey was openly gay, sometimes almost flamboyantly so. He was out and proud.” A big grin splits No Filter’s face as he reminisces. “Dear Lord, but he was one crazy dude.

  “He’d strut down the trail like he was on a catwalk, greeting people we met with this high, falsetto voice calling everyone ‘darling’ and ‘sugar’ just to see their reaction. He loved ridges and rock falls. He used to skip and hop across them, sometimes doing pirouettes on the tallest rocks, laughing when Daniel and I would yell at him to be careful. Sometimes, he would sing. He’d belt out show tunes at the top of his voice as he hiked. He was so full of life and joy … you know. I called him Rock Dancer, and he loved it.”

  No Filter stares off into the forest around us for a long moment before shifting his focus back to me. “Sorry,” he says. “My mouth is running again. I shouldn’t burden you with this story.”

  “No, it’s okay. What … May I ask what happened?”

  With another sigh, he begins the rest of his story.

  “Well, we finished the PCT together, and it was such an amazing adventure we decided to do the CDT. So, we moved to Portland, worked and saved our money for a year, and then went to Canada and started hiking south through Montana. One weekend, we left the trail to resupply in this little mountain town in New Mexico. We checked into a hotel, cleaned up, and went for hamburgers and beer at a local hangout. Rock Dancer was his usual crazy self, maybe even more so because of the negative reactions he got from some of the locals.

  “Anyway, the next day, the sheriff gave us a ride back to the trail, which was basically a dirt road at that point, and told us to keep going south. We’d been hiking for several miles when we heard a vehicle behind us. Curly and I were ahead and off to one side talking about something or other and not paying a lot of attention. Rock Dancer was behind us. I remember he was belting out Smash Mouth’s All Star, dancing down the middle of the road and singing about being a shooting star when the sound got louder. We turned in time to see an old, dirt-covered truck speed up and head straight toward Jeffrey.”

  No Filter’s eyes flick back to me when I gasp. “Oh, no.”

  He nods, sorrow filling his eyes. “He tried to get out of the way, but it was too late. They never swerved or tried to miss him. They didn’t stop, either, but barreled on by us yelling ‘fucking faggots’ and disappeared down the dirt road in a cloud of dust. It took hours to get help, and by then, it was too late. It was a senseless, stupid murder, all because he was gay.”

  He leans forward, elbows on knees, resting his head in his hands. His voice breaks with anger and pain, and he takes several shuddering breaths before he speaks again. “Curly says I blame myself for not paying enough attention to our surroundings. But I have to think if we’d all been a bit more aware of what was going on, Rock Dancer would be doing this hike with us.”

  For a few long moments, we sit silently, each of us lost in our thoughts. I struggle to think of something to say to ease the pain of those memories. I’ve only known No Filter for a few hours, but he’s already a friend. Before I can speak, however, he straightens, swallows roughly, and then turns to me with a sad smile.

  “It took a few months, but we went back to the same spot, erected a small monument to Jeffrey, and then Daniel and I finished the CDT. Doing the AT and becoming triple crowners was always Rock Dancer’s dream, so we’re doing this in his honor. We’re carrying a small rock with his name engraved on it. When we reach the sign on top of Katahdin, we’ll leave it there.”

  “Oh, I like that, and I hope I can be there when you leave it.” I smile back at him. “Do you mind if I ask you one more question though?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “The bald head. Curly said you guys shaved your heads on top of Springer. Was that for Rock Dancer, too?”

  This time No Filter’s laughter fills the woods around us. “No,” he finally manages to answer. “No, it was payment for a dare Curly lost. It’s a pretty good tale. Come on,” he says, getting up. “I’ll tell you as we hike.”

  Grabbing his arm, I stop him before he goes any farther. “Thank you for sharing your story. I want you to know your secrets are safe with me. I’m not a big talker, and I would never break your trust.”

  He nods back at me, smiling in agreement. “I know. And I want you to know your secrets are safe with me, too, RAW.”

  “RAW? What do you mean?�
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  The mischief is back in his eyes as No Filter smirks at me. “RAW,” he answers. “Really Angry Woman. Go on.” He waves at me, shooing me up the trail and laughing at my dumbfounded look as I realize he is referring to my anonymous entry in the shelter register. “Move it, hikergurrrl,” he growls, deliberately drawing out the “ur” sound. “Curly Dan is so far ahead of us, he’ll think we’ve fallen off the trail or something.”

  Shaking my head at his silliness and still trying to figure out how he knew I was the one writing the entries, I turn and begin climbing the winding trail in front of me. I can hear No Filter chuckling behind me. When I peek over my shoulder to see what is going on, he just smiles at me. “Nice ass,” he says.

  His chuckles turn into a full belly laugh when I raise my middle finger and flip him off.

  Chapter 12

  And into the Forest I Go

  Date: Monday, March 17

  Starting Location: Blue Mountain Shelter

  Destination: Deep Gap Shelter

  Total Trip Miles: 63.3

  I’ve never really backpacked with a companion before; actually, I’ve never done any long-distance, multi-day hiking before this last minute, spur-of-the-moment trip. Liam and I spent hours roaming and exploring the woods around Gran’s cabin, camping out overnight when the mood struck us, and swimming in the creek when we needed to cool off. Occasionally, Hudson and I would day hike at nearby state parks. One summer, he took Susan, Oliver, David, and me on a working vacation at his family’s cabin in Maine. We planned and brainstormed in the morning, swam, fished, and hiked in the afternoons.

  When we visited Georgia for Liam and Emma’s wedding, we hiked part of the AT approach trail at Amicalola Falls State Park to view the famous waterfalls. At one point, we sat on a viewing bench, and I pointed out where the Appalachian Trail started at the top of the mountain towering above us. But this is the first time I’ve backpacked with anyone, and I’m surprised to find I like it a lot. Or maybe it’s the person I’m hiking with.

  No Filter keeps me entertained with stories about the PCT. I listen to him describe encountering Mojave green rattlesnakes while crossing the desert sections, post holing in the deep Sierra snow fields, and scrambling over the rocky crags of Washington. The three of them became well known on the trail for their practical jokes, their ridiculous dares, and their crazy pranks. I understand why they earned their Three Stooges nickname.

  The trail also helps the morning pass quickly. Since leaving the shelter, we’ve been steadily dropping in elevation as we hike toward Unicoi Gap. At one point, we pass over a narrow ridgeline and descend into a small, sheltered hollow. No Filter almost runs into me when I suddenly stop in the middle of the trail, staring at the scene before me. We’ve left winter and entered spring.

  The dirt path in front of me and the tree trunks lining it are the only shades of brown I can see … everything else is green. Emerald, chartreuse, jade, citron, lime, the words tumble around in my head as I gaze at this beautiful place. Ahead, the trail weaves a serpentine path through tall oaks and small shrubs before disappearing from view in the thick woods at the other end of the narrow vale. Thick grass edges the dirt walkway, and the verdant green of new leaves covers every twig, branch, and treetop. Directly in front of us, a majestic, ancient oak tree spreads its gnarled limbs into a woven roof overhead. Halfway up its wide trunk is a white blaze, a two-by-four inch painted stripe proudly proclaiming to everyone who is privileged to pass by that this is the Appalachian Trail, the famous granddaddy of all the long-distance hiking trails.

  Early morning fog still lingers in this secluded hollow. The mist captures the sun’s rays, transforming them into an otherworldly luminescence that spreads its glow over every leaf, twig, branch, and blade until the very air seems to pulse with the promise of new life. It’s quiet. A hushed silence, broken only by an occasional rustle of leaves or chirp of a hidden bird, steals the breath from my lungs as I stare at this gift before me. I can feel No Filter behind me, but he makes no sound as we stand frozen in awe.

  A slight movement behind the old oak catches my eye, and I wonder what could be hiding there. For a moment, I consider fairies, wood nymphs, or unicorns—anything seems possible in this magical place. My inner scientist rolls its eyes at this ridiculous thought, but for the briefest second, something in me yearns for the mystical to appear.

  It’s a doe that emerges from behind the trunk. Stepping timidly on her graceful legs, she watches us warily with her curious eyes. She pauses in the middle of the trail and flicks her ears before looking over her shoulder toward the oak behind her where a soft rustling of dry leaves indicates something else is hidden there.

  I’m holding my breath, anxiously waiting to see what could be following her. It’s six to eight weeks too early for does to start dropping their young, but nature never operates on a strict timetable, and it’s indeed a small, spotted fawn that toddles on shaking legs toward its mother. It can’t be more than a few hours old. Its legs still tremble, and it can barely keep its balance as it slowly stumbles to its mother’s side. It nudges at her belly, looking for a meal, but she steps away before giving its face a careful grooming with her tongue. Then, pushing it with her head, they amble off into the underbrush. Before disappearing from view, the two turn to gaze at us one more time.

  For a brief moment, we’re four living things accepting each other without fear or threat, all part of the beauty of nature and the cycle of life. Two more steps and they’re gone, quietly blending into the foliage as though they were never there.

  Only after they’ve completely disappeared do I turn to look at No Filter. His face radiates pure joy as he grins down at me before mumbling something. “What?” I ask.

  “My favorite John Muir quote,” he explains, nodding toward the wonderland in front of us. “And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.”

  His words repeat on a loop in my head as we resume our walk toward Unicoi Gap.

  Chapter 13

  To Lose My Mind

  Date: Monday, March 17

  Starting Location: Blue Mountain Shelter

  Destination: Deep Gap Shelter

  Total Trip Miles: 63.3

  We catch up to Curly Dan at the parking area where the AT crosses state highway 75. Once again, trail magic in the form of bottled apple juice and individual bags of mixed nuts is waiting for us on one of the nearby picnic tables. Before we can drop our packs and join him, he’s already talking about the hidden hollow.

  “Did you see?” he questions. “And the light and the fog making everything glow,” he exclaims. Excited, he can barely get one thought out before he’s moving on to another.

  No Filter eases onto the bench across from him, laughing at his friend’s enthusiasm. They both begin to discuss what they saw and how they felt, so in tune with each other they finish the other’s sentences. At one point, Dan reaches across and grabs No Filter’s hand and apologizes for not waiting on him because they could have seen it together. There’s so much love and affection in the gesture and in the look they give each other that I have to glance away, suddenly overcome with the longing to share this hike with someone I love.

  My thoughts are interrupted by Curly Dan when he asks if I need to go into town to resupply. He has The Hiker’s Handbook open in front of him, and he and No Filter are discussing the trail ahead of us and their food situation. From this road crossing, it’s possible to catch a ride into Helen or Hiawassee, Georgia. A town resupply usually involves a night in a motel room, a chance to do laundry, and the opportunity to buy food for the next section of your hike. But I still have enough food for at least another day. When I tell him this, we all agree to wait until we reach the next road crossing at Dicks Creek Gap. It’s another sixteen miles farther on the trail. If we spend tonight at Deep Gap Shelter, we’ll have an easy three-mile hike to the gap where US Highway 76 crosses the AT.
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br />   Decision made, No Filter digs into the trail magic, passing bottles of juice and bags of nuts to each of us as Curly Dan reads descriptions of the trail ahead from the handbook. Twenty minutes later, we dump our trash, shoulder our backpacks, and prepare to leave. Dan takes the lead, I fall in behind him, and No Filter brings up the rear. And as simple as that, I become part of their group. Strangers only hours ago, they’ve become trail friends and hiking buddies. It feels right. It feels comfortable. I cross the road with a smile on my face.

  As usual after a road crossing, the trail climbs, and climbs, and climbs. We take it easy, ambling along at a comfortable pace. If I’m slowing them down, they don’t mention it. Conversation flows, each of us sharing stories about ourselves. I say very little about my adult life, only mentioning I’m taking a break from post-graduate work at MIT.

  Although No Filter has somehow figured out I’m the one writing the anonymous journal entries—or at least he thinks he has—I’m not ready to share how long I’ve been at MIT or that my published papers on Chaos Theory have already earned me a PhD. Instead, I share my knowledge of the flora surrounding us. I point out the differences between scarlet oaks and blackjack oaks, shortleaf pines and Virginia pines.

  We spy a few dogwoods that have burst into flower on the sunnier south-facing slopes, and we walk through a rhododendron tunnel so thick with the shiny, leathery evergreen leaves they block out the sunlight above us. In two or three months, they’ll be covered in showy clusters of pink and purple flowers.

  As the temperature rises, we’re treated to the buzzing of bees, a swarm of bright butterflies erupting from a bush as we pass, and even a few pesky gnats we have to brush away from our noses and mouths. But perhaps the best of all is the red eft No Filter almost steps on. His surprised yelp has us turning back toward him only to see him bent over examining the immature newt. Against the dark browns and grays of the forest floor, its bright orange-red body seems to glow. We watch until it wiggles away, searching for its dinner of insects and worms.