I have often talked about the need to hike your own hike. That is a hiker motto reminding people not to compare oneself to others in terms of speed and so many other factors.

When I hiked the Appalachian Trail, both times in the 1980s, I was kind of a purist, following every blaze. On the Pacific Crest Trail, also in the 1980s, that was impossible to do. Many blazes were under snow or nonexistent and I often had to rely on map and compass to find my way. It was a thrill every week or two to actually find a Pacific Crest Trail sign and know I really was on the trail. When I did the Continental Divide Trail, it was common knowledge that to some extent it was a make your own adventure trail. Because of water scarcity in the desert, deep snow in the mountains, violent afternoon thunderstorms, rockslides, uncrossable rivers, cow paths often leading hikers astray, blown down trees blocking the trail for miles, a lack of marked trail in places, and especially wildfires, it was acceptable to make whatever detours necessary. My goal for the CDT was to make sure I had a continuous set of footsteps from the Mexican border to the Canadian border, even if they weren’t all on official trail. I failed this in one place where I was pulled off the trail by a sheriff because of a quickly moving fire. I talk about this in my book Meeting Mary Badass, which should be out in the next week or two.

On the Florida Trail, some people did what is called aqua blazing, paddling down a section of river that paralleled the trail. Two other people carried heavy skateboards which they used for road walks.

I didn’t want to keep going on the North Country Trail with my burnt foot the way it was. I suspected I should give it a break, and this was confirmed when I sent some photos to my burn surgeon. He replied by telling me how to keep it covered and suggested I cut back on miles for a little while until the skin healed more. I wasn’t quite ready to quit, and just as I had done on the Florida Trail when I had a stress fracture in my foot, I tried to step back and think outside of the box for ways to be able to continue. On the Florida Trail I was able to hike 750 miles on crutches in an orthopedic boot, but I knew crutches wouldn’t work on the North Country Trail. And since there was a 106 mile section of trail coming up that was mostly road interspersed with a few small sections of trail, I thought a bike would be the answer.

When Jan offered to lend me one of her bikes, I jumped at the chance, realizing that once again the Trail was providing what I needed when I needed it. When I set out, I planned to ride the road sections. I would lock up the bike and walk the trail sections either as an out and back or as a loop depending on which section it was. I could take pressure off my foot, but still be making progress under my own power.

I was so happy as I sat out on the bike, crossing into Minnesota moving my body without the excruciating pain it had been in for weeks. But little did I know what the trail was going to throw at me.

For starters, it was once again in the 90s and with the long ride back from Jan’s house to Abercrombie, I didn’t get riding until after 8:30 in the morning. On top of that, the air was quite smoky from the wildfires in both the boundary waters and Canada. I would be breathing that in as I rode and wasn’t sure how that would affect my newly diagnosed burn pit asthma, which I acquired from breathing in the smoke of my burning boot when the insole exploded. The third strike against me that morning was that I had a pretty stiff headwind which I ended up riding in all day.

Nevertheless I was so immersed in happiness coming out of a tiny village called Kent, that when I hit a road sign saying road closed, I assumed I had to stay on the open road and went flying by on the bike. A few miles later, I had the niggling feeling I should check the trail map and discovered I was supposed to have gone down the closed road. I wasn’t too dismayed having to backtrack those 2 miles, especially since I now had a slight downhill and the wind at my back. I was grateful to be doing those 4 unnecessary miles on a bike rather then on foot.

When I got to the road closed sign, I talked with the construction workers. One was adamant I could not go through. She wanted me to do a really long detour that would not allow me to get to the road I was supposed to be on, which I could see was sandwiched right between the two road closed signs, just across the bridge they were working on.

I babbled on a bit about what I was trying to accomplish and about my hurt foot. I promised I would walk my bike across the bridge and stay well away from where they were working. Then I hopped off the bike and pushed it across before they had a chance to do too much thinking. Just across the bridge I turned right and soon met my next challenge of the day.

Although the bike had a somewhat wider tire on it, it still was not a gravel bike. This next road was a somewhat rough gravel road. Nevertheless, I got comfortable wobbling along and made my way down the road for a few miles before it crossed a paved road. The road I was on quickly deteriorated and turned to more of a sand road. The tires began to sink in over an inch and I was weaving all over trying to remain upright. At the point the bike slowly fell over, I knew I would have to walk for part of it until I found better road surface to ride on.

Eventually, the road did improve, and I was able to once again pedal. By now, I was wheezing from the smoke. After I first left in the morning, the smoke got quite a bit worse, but by afternoon it was starting to clear so I figured I could keep going on. I was still fighting a strong headwind and thought how ironic it was that the last few days hiking in the 90s, when I would’ve welcomed a breeze, there had been no wind. But now that I was on a bike, I was not thrilled to have a steady headwind. Still I took it in stride because peddling was definitely easier on my foot.

I crawled the last of the 41 miles into Fergus Falls, stopping often to give my sore butt and cramping legs a break. I had expected this and was grateful for the bike shorts and gloves that Jim and Jan lent me. But even with all the challenges of the day, I felt happy to have been able to have moved forward without being in extreme pain.

When I reached Fergus Falls, I popped into the Union Bar and Eatery and asked if they had any ice cream. Not only did they have ice cream, they had freshly made strawberry rhubarb ice cream and the young guy who owns the shop insisted on giving me some for free.

After eating my celebratory ice cream, I went outside and met Michelle Olsen, who is a Trail Angel. Both she and Gail hiked together a lot and both have completed all of North Dakota. Michelle has also completed the NCT in Minnesota and Wisconsin. I have been looking forward to meeting Michelle since I first connected with her via Facebook before I left Vermont. The description of my time with her and her husband Dave, which lasted for a number of days, will have to wait for the next blog installment.

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