I began my trek up the mountain on Appalachian Way. Bananas, pineapple, and tomato; two liters of water, hammock, and hiking boots; topo map, trek log, and flashlight filled my daypack. I was prepared to mountain bike the first leg and hike the steep ascent to the summit. The forecast was a mid-70, sunny day—no need for any outerwear. I stretched to relieve sore muscles from the previous days’ steep road biking and a mountain hike to three summits. This ascent would culminate the three-day spiritual journey that would end my 21-day fast and close my fifth decade of life. I was on a mission to conquer what I have not accomplished for ten years, summiting a mountain with a 2400-foot ascent to reach a mile high in the sky.
A grey, mountain gravel road led straight up to connect to the Old Mitchell Toll Road—a 45-degree challenge on my mountain bike. I began with a fast start in low gear from the paved trailhead until my knobby tires spun as they spewed loose gravel—I lost momentum immediately. Trekking up the steep gravel road pushing my bike up 500 feet of elevation for three-quarters of a mile was my first encounter of the unexpected. I was out of shape for this grueling start; six years of sitting while writing my trilogy novel was mental exercise with zero cardio fitness. Is it not so when God calls us to get off our butt to follow Him that we are out of shape? One becomes spiritually weak and lacks spiritual fortitude if you do not daily exercise your faith.
When I climb a steep ascent, there are many false summits. “Almost there,” I periodically say aloud to encourage me to keep on truckin’. These “false” summits are resting spots where God provides a time of reflection. Looking back, I see what I conquered. Is this not so as we journey through life, encountering obstacles and taking one step at a time to get through them?
Reaching the ridge, I sighed in awe of the beautiful vista that awaited me.
One will find God on the mountaintop waiting for you to overcome the trial you
face. Yet, He is with you every step of the way in Spirit. “These things I have spoken to you while I am still with you. But the Helper, the
Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things
and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.”1 Jesus
said this to his disciples as he prepared them for his physical departure from this
world. After Jesus died on the cross, rose to life, and then ascended to heaven, His Spirit lives within all who believe in Christ as the only salvation from death to receive eternal life.
Ridge mountain biking is an amazing experience. Periodic breaks in the treeline provide inspiring views. During the 1800's, pioneers made the toll road so that horse drawn wagons could travel through the mountains. I could easily climb what a heavy wagon pulled by muscular steeds could muster. A hunting cabin and a patch of doghouses came into view as I rounded a bend.
I
was in black bear country. During the hunting season, safety regulations
prohibit hikers and bikers on this mountain road. Maximum fine—the death
penalty. Would I encounter a bear? I prayed for safety, protection, and
adventure before beginning my trek. I expected the unexpected.
Traveling
by mountain bike is incredibly fast compared to hiking. Within thirty minutes,
I biked a mile of uphill, rocky terrain to Pot Cove Gap. I rested at a campsite
with a view of Pisgah National Forest, rehydrated and ate a banana. Water and
carbs are essential during an intense calorie burn. I changed into hiking gear and took the short spur to Graybeard Trail, a welcomed flat walk.
The sound of rushing water
within minutes of my entry into the leafed canopy of the forested slope on this
well-worn and wide path soothed my soul—its cascade blocked out distractions
like the white noise of a fan. I
crossed Flat Creek and continued the traversing switchbacks when I heard
voices. Two beautiful college age girls were rounding the bend, the one in
front saying, “And isn’t it wonderful to get out in nature and unplug from
technology?” The other girl walking and staring at her phone didn’t respond—so
much for unplugging.
Rushing water was up ahead; more intense than the stream I crossed earlier. I rounded an outcrop of black granite rock and stopped as Grey Beard Falls came into view.
After a peaceful rest listening to the cascading water, I thought of hanging my hammock for a quick nap. Nature spit on the idea as it began to sprinkle. The light rain felt good as I continued my ascent. What happened to the sunny day forecast? Well, I was in the mountains, and mountain weather is different from that in the valley, particularly near the top, and where I was going—mile high—is shrouded when clouds are low hanging. Mountains receive more rain than valleys as their peaks scrape water from the sky. Within the cool forested canopy, many types of mushrooms grow—jewels of the fertile, black soil.
I
crested what I thought to be the top of a mountain, but looking at my topo map,
it was a shoulder or flat knob. In a small clearing, I found a red shelter on stilts—a
relief, for the rain was now steady.
The metal roof thudded with raindrops from clouds just a hundred feet above me. The rectangular abode could sleep six in hammocks. Ahhh, maybe now the hammock would come in handy for a nap, the rain peppering the roof to coax me to sleep. I made a quick entry in my trek log, and then the rain stopped. On second thought, it would be better to head to the top while I had a reprieve from this unexpected weather. Recall Episode 15: Seven Sisters – You will find God in the unexpected. I strapped on my daypack and headed towards the door. The clouds unloaded a downpour thundering the roof. Ping . . . Ping-ping . . . Ping-ping-ping-ping-ping-ping! Hail peppered the tin roof with the blast of an Uzi. As suddenly as it started, it stopped.
Swinging
open the tight-sprung half-door to the shelter, I stepped down onto wet steps.
For a second, I felt suspended in the air as I looked down—I was falling. As a
rock climber, I am used to using all fours—hands and feet—for balance, but
there was nothing to grab onto. Thud! Uggh! I lay motionless on the saturated
hard packed earth for a moment waiting for the pain. There was none, but I
could feel my catatonic muscles tighten around my ribcage. I groaned as I
pressed my dead weight from the soggy ground—an exposed root had bruised my ribs.
Hoping that this was the worst of my trek, I recalled that I prayed for adventure
before I left. Okay, so my deep breathing as I continued the steep ascent would
remind me that I didn’t sprain an ankle or break a bone, just a sharp pain
directly below my heart. The path to Walker’s Knob Overlook was narrow and
thickly bordered with rhododendron and mountain laurel, the most prominent
plants in this part of the Allegheny Mountains. Just a step stone climb above
the vegetation, I was on granite rock in awe of the 270-degree vista.
The
wind blustered and low hanging clouds moved towards me as I stood on the edge of the outcrop. A fall would crash me into hundreds of feet of near vertical vegetation. A grey beard shrouded the mountaintop. Soon, I would be walking in the clouds to Grey Beard's summit.
The
ascent to the summit was certainly the road less traveled—in places no wider
than a footprint—but there would be no footprints here as stones and tree
roots laid a wet web of treacherous climbing.
Grey Beard’s summit is a pinnacle—no more than a twenty-foot circle of scrub trees, rhododendron, and a body's length of exposed rock. A lone, small boulder was the only place to sit. Surrounded by wisps of airy dew, visibility was no more than twenty feet. Raindrops graced my bald head, but they weren’t falling, they just appeared. Joyous that I had just experienced a lifetime, memorable, panoramic view while on Walker’s Knob, I attempted to take one last photo. Ugh! No more film, or rather, no more storage. Oh
well, all of us have seen clouds—but few have a picture of them while in the clouds,
and I missed my opportunity to share that moment with you.
I
checked the time—six hours climbing by bike and hike. I calculated two hours by
foot down and thirty minutes to bike to the trailhead. I found the last banana
in my pocket smashed from the fall. So, I devoured the pineapple cubes and
tomato quarters. I would need the energy for the descent. I left the summit and the disenchanted quest for a glorious panoramic memory after only fifteen minutes in the dreary, blustering setting. I left behind on that mountaintop what was most crucial to my ascent. I left behind ten
years of mountain climbing. What I mean is, I left behind ten years of trying in my own strength to
reach the top in life, to overcome adversity, to bridge a broken relationship,
and to become the man God destined me to be.
Although a descent is much faster and lighter hiking, it works the muscles of the front set of quads and those of the shin—the same as those used on the upstroke of pedaling. The point is that God made all things good, and you must use all of yourself to receive the full blessings of your Creator. My descent was without much to describe as my eyes were focused down to place my steps. And that’s where the drama followed. Four slips and one that brought me down nearly impaled my ribs on a triangular, vertical two-foot rock. Instead, I grabbed it to prevent continuing a headfirst dive off the trail. Was it because I was about to turn sixty that I kept falling, or was it because I hadn’t physically trekked challenging terrain for ten years? Spiritually and emotionally, I definitely had. I’m betting on the latter—my three days of adventure have stoked my passion for continuing to explore new adventures. The best is yet to come.
Post
Script: My hike descent took exactly two hours and the harrowing bike descent
took thirty minutes—Go figure!
References:
1.
John 14:25-26 ESV
Trek
date: 08.21.16
Location:
Montreat, NC – Grey Beard Mountain
Praise
to my Father in heaven for the experiences He has blessed me with.
Copyright
2016 ©
Jeff Cambridge
