Dispatches from the AMC 150 Relay: One Month In

I have a very normal job… I am following the volunteers of AMC’s 150th Anniversary Relay as they hike, bike, and paddle their way from Virginia to Maine, a journey that is over 2,000 miles.

As I write this, I am in an empty campground along the Delaware River in a folding chair that I got off the curb last night. Today’s cyclists followed a ‘gravel’ trail up the Delaware River. Unlike the backroads of Iowa, where I once resided, this path isn’t covered in white limestone but is, rather, the old path where mules once pulled barges along the canal. Just off this trail, I found myself in Lumberville getting lunch with the day’s relay riders.

We met at a small-town general store, where I got a roasted beef loin sandwich with caramelized onions and goat cheese—well worth the price I paid. Between bites, I was regaled with stories of past trips and old friends questioning the accuracy of their buddy’s stories. One woman asked her husband, “Do you remember when that woman in our group went skinny-dipping while backpacking?” Her husband responded, sharing how he was sitting next to her when she casually started to disrobe. He said, “I remember I didn’t know where to look, and I didn’t have my glasses on, so I wasn’t really sure what was happening.” He leaned over to me and said, “I’ve got contacts now, so I don’t miss anything anymore.”

I am one month into this six-month journey, and I have more memories and stories than I know what to do with. The typical demographic of mid-week activities is the retired population, and this demographic holds a lot of wisdom. I will share some wisdom that I have gleaned here.

The Appalachian Trail (AT) backpacking section in Virginia started at a beautiful B&B. The couple that runs the place heard about the relay and volunteered to host. They let people stay the night, stage cars, and they even put out tea and sweets for everyone in the morning. I was supposed to do a ‘short’ interview with them, but their stories were too enticing to stop. Senator of Virginia, Tim Kaine, hiked this section of the AT and stayed in their house. They told me how they got a call from a restricted phone number asking if there was room for the night. They also told me how he got his trail name, “Dog Bowl.” I’m going to keep that story to myself and let your mind wander and ponder.

One beautiful spring day, as the relay made its way toward DC, I got stranded next to alfalfa fields and grazing horses in the Virginian countryside. I wish I was stranded under better circumstances. A motorcyclist was killed. The parking lot where I was had a blind turn to get to it. No cars were allowed out as the police recorded evidence and attempted resuscitation. No ambulance was called. Some people walked up the road to see what was going on—mostly dads doing that dad thing—watching with their hands perched on their hips, telling people, “You don’t want to see.” After a few hours, we were let through, silently passing the draped white sheet and broken glass. One of the day’s riders knew the biker from the community.

Further down the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal, which once connected commerce between the two regions, I found myself at the junction with the Potomac River. The canal starts at the Potomac River, where there is a gate to control water—a water gate—after which the Watergate Hotel is named, and the namesake of the Nixon Watergate scandal.

The following day, the relay walked through DC, and I found myself parking at the Watergate Hotel and renting an electric scooter. I scooted through DC to the Lincoln Memorial, where a walk began toward the Capitol. Not a march! Just a walk.

This was quite the change of pace, to quote AMC’s CEO, Nicole Zussman: “Being in the halls of Capitol Hill—it’s something else.” Two weeks prior, I was a backcountry caretaker in New Hampshire, skiing for work. I felt out of place as I filmed senators and congressmen.

I found myself more in my element when we left the city. The section between DC and Baltimore was less urban, but still densely populated.

Just outside of Baltimore, I found myself staying at a hotel across from a Northrop Grumman Corporation campus. A 10-foot barbed-wire fence and roaming armed guards watched me pick up my Afghani kebabs across from their compound. A bold rental decision from that restaurant owner.

I have eaten a lot of takeout on this journey and have treasured the home-cooked meals I’ve been offered. The community that I continue to find along the way is truly inspirational. Communities to which I am only tangentially related adopt me for a short time. They share with me their community, home, trails, and excitement. The joy they express is contagious. They rant about their favorite hikes, how long they have been visiting those lands, the politics of change, how the weather is affecting usage, etc.

Staying with an AMC member, I learned that Bradley Cooper lives close by—something I doubt I would have learned at a hotel. This host was particularly notable, not because she knows where Bradley Cooper lives, but because she was a previous AT thru-hiker. Racking up the on-trail miles on my journey north, I’m inspired by the stories of those who have done the same. She gave me a tour of her home and made me feel comfortable in a way that only a thru-hiker could.

When you hike a long trail like the Appalachian Trail, you encounter ‘Trail Magic/Trail Angels’—people who open their homes to you, sharing their food, showers, and stories.

She granted me permission to do whatever I wanted and made it clear that it came with no judgment—just a shared understanding that her home was mine as long as I needed it. It was clear that she learned the art of hosting strangers by being the stranger, and by having been hosted by many trail angels before.

I hope I can gain some wisdom and knowledge from my trail angels as this journey continues.

One month, 471 miles done—five months, 1,629 miles to go.

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