Grapes Upside Down

57. Spaghettis

~Madisen~

Taking my first step on the trail, I experience a brief moment of panic over how absurdly heavy this backpack is. The pack seems to stretch at least a foot above my head, and I can feel the weight compressing each joint and muscle in my body. There is no way I can carry this for six days.

The initial shock dulls within the first mile as I continue moving both legs forward, settling into the sensation of physical tension. I remind myself that every single person on the path is carrying one of these massive backpacks; if they can handle it, so can I.

The landscape around me comes alive as we distance ourselves from the initial launch point, losing sight of all signs of civilization. Jagged gray-white mountains pasted across the sky; sparse, bold trees, wispy and haunting, their foliage growing sideways as if frozen in time by a harsh wind.

Gazing at the majestic views, which hint at an endless, incomprehensible world, my moods spiral erratically in a dozen different directions. I'm soon hurtling into a zone of fear with which I've become overly intimate during the past two months. Overwhelmed, I zoom in my focus, concentrating on the shades, colors and textures of the bushes directly in front of me. Step by step.

It was a mistake coming here. I no longer trust myself to differentiate between terror and exhilaration when I feel that plunging sensation in the pit of my stomach. I'm at the bottom tip of the Earth, utterly exposed, drowning in nature, nowhere to hide, no way to back out.

Step by step; six more days of this. I can handle it.

I stick to myself, warding off a few attempts at conversation from Clara, because I don't think I'll be able to keep my emotions in check if I speak to anyone. And I need all of my energy to breathe and make my feet move forward.

As we trek through a portion of the trail overgrown with scratchy bushes, it begins to sprinkle. I pull on the rain coveralls we purchased in town at the last minute yesterday afternoon, at Noah's insistence.

When he and Raymond began taking inventory of our provisions at the hostel, it became apparent to me that this excursion was no joke; we have each dinner carefully planned and measured so that everyone gets enough fuel. I had to borrow a an undershirt and long underwear made of special material to ensure I stay warm, and the guys bought a portable propane burner to prepare meals.

"This is a hot look." Clara catches up to me, wearing a matching bright yellow rain outfit. Clara's fits like a tent; she's drowning in the jacket, and her pants are covering her boots, essentially dragging on the ground, bell-bottom style.

Clara forces me to stop for a selfie. I giggle for the first time today as we view the photo; my nose is brighter than Rudolf's, and you can barely see Clara's face inside the wide yellow hood swallowing her up. We look utterly ridiculous.

A few holes begin to appear in our plastic pants as they catch in the foliage along the trail. As we stride along, larger raindrops now splatting onto our waterproof fashion statements, we realize that the entire bottom portion of the pants are getting sliced up. Soon, we're cracking up.

"Is that Raymond and Noah up ahead?" Clara asks, voice energetic.

I squint my eyes to analyze the tiny shapes in the distance.

"I think it is! That's Noah's red backpack."

"Hurry up! We have to show them our sweet Patagonia outfits!" Clara begins speed walking, and before we know it, we are both sprinting their direction to catch up, massive backpacks swaying as they threaten to topple us over.

"Raymondcito! Noacito!"

We reach the boys with our entire outfits disintegrating into yellow shreds. Somewhere along the way, I lose a huge chunk of the back of my jacket in the  spikey branches of a bush and have to backtrack, trotting to retrieve my litter. Clara's bottoms have completely split open down the inner seem of each leg, creating a giant, hideous skirt-like garment.