Part IV 
Our backpacks are frozen. We awake, hesitantly, to an icy, 17 degree morning, and can hardly believe our eyes as we stare through the semi-dark at our frost-bitten packs glued to the picnic table.
"Did it seem that cold to
you?" I ask Sleepy Time, who yawns and shrugs.
It is day 4 on the Appalachian Trail in the
George Washington National Forest. We are roughly 5 1/2 miles from our next and final destination. We spent our last night on the trail in good fashion: beside a toasty fire with steaming hot chocolate and stories to remember. Other nightly occurrences worth noting consist of the following:
1) Sleepy Time is haunted by a woodland creature, the only vestige of its existence a pair of glowing eyes,
such a
rare occurrence in the dark woods... Startled from time to time, he shines his light from one corner of the forest to the next. Alas, the mysterious beast alludes him!
2) Moses redeems himself by parting the Red Sea. Just kidding. Instead, he cooks our dinner, giving the traditional "shepherd" role new found meaning.
3) I nearly have my head taken off by a swinging bag full of food and compressed gas. In my effort to hang our "bear bag," I manage to create a pendulum of edible - slash - combustible destruction. Out of the dark, the bag rushes at me like a bat out of hell. A mere blur - my life story - flashes before my eyes, and I hit the dirt, the bag swooping overhead. I emerge, soot on my face, but reborn. This one, we soon decide, has the trappings of legend. TRAIL NAMED!
Our first order of business is clear to all. Time is against us, so we run up the trail, anxious to catch the sunrise from the Priest Mountain's exposed summit. We arrive to a pristine abyss of creeping clouds, the sun's lucent, neon glow soaking through the white horizon. Mountaintops emerge from the sea of clouds, rearing their rocky zeniths and ancient crowns. We stand in silence. It seems a fitting climax to our epic adventure, this sunrise of champions.
Now we ready our gear and prepare for the final leg of our journey. Spy Rock awaits. We gather near the shelter for a heroic photo, four mighty adventurers who have traveled over mountains and endured the harsh elements! We are tired and proud, but we are not home just yet... We stand from left to right:
Sleepy Time,
Moses,
Hammerhead, and newly named in light of recent events,
Dodge.
Eager to reach the last mountain, we embark down the trail, our boots crunching through half-thawed ice. Vapor issues from our mouths as we march through the cold. The first mile of our hike consists of mostly downhill terrain, and my knees begin throbbing like the day before, only severely multiplied. I lean on my trekking pole for support and try altering my gate, but the pain shooting through my knee caps is wrenching. Due to my unexpected handicap, it takes longer to reach the Crabtree Meadows fire road than expected. There, we meet Robbie's father, as planned. A history buff (and our shuttle back to our cars), he will hike the next 3.8 miles with us to
Spy Rock, which received its name during the Civil War for the Confederate Troops that used its exposed summit as a lookout post. It is a mountain much revered in Virginia and one we have anxiously awaited.
By now I am concerned about the state of my knees, but I'm too prideful to sit this one out. I take some Aleve and wince through the pain, following my companions up the trail. It only gets worse, though, as we close in on the peak. I worry about the return journey, knowing for every southbound step I take on the Appalachian Trail, I will have to retrace just as many north. After what seems like a painfully long time, we ascend a splinter trail and climb the rocky slope to the top of Spy Rock. And it truly is a sight to behold, a 360 degree vista of the surrounding mountains and valleys. At first, we take it all in, impressed beyond our expectations. At an elevation of 3,701 feet, it is easy to see how the Rebel army would have utilized this spot as a lookout station; the valley lies in plain sight below. While the temperature has risen since daybreak, the winds are fierce on Spy Rock. Strong gusts whip our jackets and numb our faces. No one sits still for long, lest they freeze to the rock face.
It is finally time to leave. The view from Spy Rock is a fitting end to our trip, coupled with the morning's sunrise. But it is a long way to hike for an injured man. My knees are in terrible shape, grinding against the cartilage beneath my knee caps at every gesture. I feel weaker with each step. Like mini bursts of lightning, pain echoes through my joints. Something has got to give, and, today, it is my pride. After sharing my plight with the guys, they promise to get me back safely, and I trust them. They will bend over backwards to help me. Sure enough, the next hour and a half are some of the most painful in my recent memory. At times, it takes Sleepy Time holding me up on one side or Moses offering me his trusty staff so I'll have an extra 'leg' to lean on. With their help, I survive the ordeal.
Four days from the inception of our expedition, we arrive at Reed's Gap in the back of Mr. Heath's pickup truck, exhausted and dirty, but proud and accomplished. It has been a trying adventure. The Appalachian Trail has tested each of us in its own way. When we leave the powerful simplicity of the blue ridge mountains for the hustle and complexity of our modern society, we leave with more than just memories of mountain crests peering through the fog-laden floor of Heaven or ridges sprawling endlessly across the countryside. We leave with a deep appreciation and sense of belonging. These mountains were made for exploring.
And there are many more where they came from...
In case you missed the previous installments to this 4-part series!
Part I,
Part II, &
Part III
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