Climbing Katahdin was just what I needed to get into my own groove, instead of simply feeling miserable biking alone. It was a fresh start, something completely different than the way we traveled together. Imagine, taking a day off to climb a mountain!

I was up at five am for a good early start on the mountain. It was sad and slow, though, breaking camp alone. Taking the tent down seemed awkward and laborious with only one set of hands. I took a pole out on one side and looked up to see if Sara had finished her side, only to realize I was on my own. But the focus of climbing a mountain kept me from any real sadness.

I was up early enough to be only the second registered hiker of the day, according to the self-registration box at the base of the trail. I caught that couple early, though, and had the mountain to myself. It was a cool misty day, perfect for solitary fall hiking. I did not stop to rest much, I just walked steadily through the mist and silence. At one point a peak appeared far above me to the left, poking just above the clouds. It disappeared back into the mist before I even looked away, so I put my head down and continued the meditative walking. I stopped to talk to a couple guys who had camped just above treeline, and when we looked back we suddenly saw through the mist to a ravine far below. The trees were a beautiful mix of deciduous yellow, evergreen, and a few bright patches of red among them. Even this was soon covered by the mist again.

The rocky upper part of the mountain was beautiful. On a clear day, mountain tops are grand and majestic. On misty days, they are close and intimate, otherworldly. I kept my eyes on the trail and walked from cairn to cairn, alone in the mountain world. I reached the top still early in the morning. It felt good to be alone on top of a mountain at the beginning of this solo part of the trip. I was not alone for long, though. In my short time at the top, I watched ten people finish the Appalachian Trail. I watched them closely, knowing the feelings they were experiencing, especially those who had done it with somebody. I wanted badly to let them know I was not just a regular hiker, that this is a turning point in my journey as well, but I could not intrude on their moment. Instead I simply watched them, happy for them, feeling for their sadness and confusion that it was all over.

The walk down was silent and reflective. In the parking lot I spoke with a woman I had seen at the top, about our respective trips. She asked if I had been alone, and I told her that I had a partner until yesterday. She understood well; she had done 1000 miles with a guy she met along the way, until they had to split up because of different schedules. All of this makes me want to do the AT someday.