Sensei

Cowboy camping is a real treat. My camp is nestled around large boulders, protecting me from the wind above. My fellow campers chose a spot for their tent above and I can hear their tents wave in the wind. The stars are so easy to watch as they glisten over me. From my vantage point, I can see miles away into the valley below. I watch individual clouds roll through the sky. Some look harmless, and threatening at the same time. Rumors are a bit of rain will come in the early morning. It makes me paranoid that I’m cowboy camping, but I like risk. We’ll see what happens. 

I wake to clouds playfully dancing around and past the twinkling stars. Nothing to worry about as I go back to a peaceful night of sleep. Possibly the first without 30mph winds. I notice it isn’t terribly cold. I check my small thermometer to see it’s only 57. No wonder I’m sweating inside my quilt. The sweat is slippery as my skin moves against itself while I get up to pee. 

Hours later, I wake again. Stark and dark, the clouds have moved in. The condensation of the night tickles my quilt. The ticking noise alerts me and makes me quickly rise. While it isn’t raining, it is misting and I assume it will get worse. Hastily, I pack in the moonless morning. My red light headlamp assures me my neighboring campers aren’t woken. 

I check my food supply.  3 small That’s It, 1 Nature’s Valley bar, 2 Mom’s Pie cookies, and a handful of Pop’d Skittles. Huh. I ration my food for the next 8 miles, as that’s when I will find the glorious Paradise Valley Cafe. My watch says 6am. Time to go. 

I ascend up a cloud soaked hill. I can hear a gathering of dwellings wake up as the local dogs start to bark, and the lone rooster is crowing. Their farm lights glow in the distance like little ground-stars. 

The day wakes while the sun rises and burns a little of those pesky clouds. No rain for today and that’s fine by me. 

Someone with a heavy pack is hiking in front of me. I can see the indentation of their footstep in the sandy gravel path I’m following. I can feel their weight as I pass the fossilized records of their journey. It must be a burden to carry all that weight. 

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The reality of this trail is setting in. I understand that within two weeks it will truly set in. And from there, whomever is left will be rewarded with hardened skin, muscles, and mental clarity.

All we talk about now is who has what injury and how to deal with it correctly. These realities include bloody blisters, overused ankle muscles, pulled back muscles, debilitating Achilles tendon issues, heat rash, poison oak rash, and for some, death. 

Ian, 43, died of a heart attack at mile 141. I met and talked with him a few times. We had laughs and bonded over the fact my oldest is named Ian. He was a sweet and jolly man. 

Mile 141 was a very, very, exposed ascent. The trail had no shade for miles. The sun was relenting. There was a no-joke climb where the trail was skirting a cliff. The ground was sometimes slippery and uncomfortable with rocks and gravel. There was absolutely no way EMTs could get to him. I thought of him constantly as I hiked from mile 139-142.  

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I have been my normal self while on trail. This includes me being appropriately helpful when the opportunity strikes. I always lead with kindness and humbleness with a sprinkle, and dash, of honesty. I get this from my parents. Thank you Mom and Dad! You are both wonderful role models. 

I have taught people how to properly hike up and down hills. I have taught those around me how to deal with the desert. I have helped people with their gear. And yes, as any humble teacher, I have learned from others. 

While teaching Kelly from Seattle, and Issac from Virginia, how to deal with the dry relentlessness of the desert, Kelly mentioned how good of a teacher I am (she is one by trade). We talked about other examples of me helping along the trail. Kelly exclaimed “you are full of wonderful nuggets. I wonder if we can fit that into a trail name.”  Issac perked up and said, “He’s more like a Sensei, patient and quiet, waiting for his moment to help.” We were all very excited about this. And so it had to be done. 

After accepting this trail name I asked them both, “I would very much like to memorialize this into a knighting ceremony. Would you be willing to do so tonight at camp?”  They both replied with an enthusiastic, “YES.” And so it would be done. 

At camp that night, about 10 people were around. My tramily, and several others I had known were there for the ceremony. Issac created a circle in the sandy dirt. I kneeled inside, while Issac held his hiking pole high and proclaimed, “Do you Simeon Seth Miller accept the name Sensei?” “Yes,” as Issac lowered his hiking pole onto both my shoulders, one after the other. Kelly encircled me with a lit lighter. I stood up and took my bow. And it was done.

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A big thank you to Noah, Margaux, and especially Kim and Jenn. I have listened to your teachings and have embodied them fully on this trail. Because of my education, I have consistently listened to my body in ways others aren’t or can’t. I firmly believe this is why I have no serious injuries. 

Just yesterday my right ankle started flaring up. I was going too fast and for too long, thinking I had broken to the next level of hiking. Clearly, I have not. Thankfully I am taking my zero day and have booked a massage to help work out the nastiness inside my muscles. 

Your teachings have also enhanced my already large curiosity of the world. I like noticing and this trip is rife with it. I am hearing, seeing, and smelling much more on my morning walks. That is when the trail is most peaceful, when others are still packing up. I can see individual pieces of dew droplets on flowers as I pass. Sometime I hear the quiet barks of the nearby foxes. And the smells of mountain sage in the morning are heavenly.

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Words can not express how I feel when reading the comments on this blog. Thank you to Jenn, Courtney, Noah, Sherry, Mark, Adrienne, Phil, Zack, Kim, and Debi for your support. It is bringing me a newfound happiness to see folks from all facets of my life support me in the simplest of ways. Thank you for bringing me tears of joy and a special strength to each of my steps. I encourage anyone reading to leave even something as small as a “Hello.” I truly appreciate you.