Jazz and New Jersey: A Hiker's Perspective
I found myself in a peculiar situation, watching Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade with pizza, ice cream, and a blanket, while my hair was surprisingly clean. This was a remarkable scene for a thru hiker like me. Thanks to the Breezy Acres hostel, we were able to enjoy doing absolutely nothing after the rainstorm at Lehigh Gap put a pause on our hiking plans. It was a moment of pure bliss, where the lack of choices was a welcome relief.
As I sat there, I couldn't help but think about the joy of having a limited selection. In a grocery store, I'd be overwhelmed by the 50 options of granola and the varying grams of protein in each one. But on the trail, I didn't have to worry about that. If it rained, I'd read the only book available, a 1950s sci-fi novel that felt like an intergalactic ride. It was a small paperback, light enough not to bog me down, and perfect for a rainy day.
This experience made me wonder how often we swap possessions instead of piling them on top of each other. How often do we watch a movie with six other hikers because it was either that or another one? Entertainment confined to a single shelf, not a never-ending scroll list of algorithmic guesses. It was a refreshing change from the constant stream of choices we face in our daily lives.
As we made our way to Delaware Water Gap, we heard about a jazz club in town that didn't charge a cover on Thursdays. It was a perfect opportunity to indulge in some live music. After a generous dinner at the local church, we headed to the Deer Head Inn for a night of wine and jazz. The wine was a bit of an attempt to feel distinguished, even though we were dressed in athletic clothing and muddy shoes.
Watching the musicians on stage, I couldn't help but think about the skill and choreography behind their performance. The guitarist's face scrunched and winced with each dissonant note, but he sent a soft smile when the notes found their way back to each other. They worked as a team to put on a performance that felt effortless but appeared complicated. It reminded me of professional wrestling in Pottsville, where people gather to watch others execute a carefully practiced craft.
This experience made me realize that thru hiking is easier than it looks. When non-backpackers gawk at the things that feel second nature to us, I'm reminded that I'm immersed in a very specific subculture. It's not normal to hitchhike, filter water manually, or sleep on the ground. The trail feels like a portal that sucks you in and dunks your head completely under. The 'real world' feels like an old memory, and the old me doesn't feel real.
As we soaked in our last day in Pennsylvania, we went on a wild goose chase to get Dragon new shoes. I managed to squeeze in some guitar time, feeling the emotional wave of leaving a state and moving onto the next. Time keeps passing, and I keep on walking, and then you blink and you're in New Jersey. I sang jazz songs as I walked across the Delaware Water Gap bridge, happily leaving Pennsylvania behind.
This experience made me realize that sometimes, the best things in life are the ones we don't have to choose. The lack of choices can be a blessing, and the trail is a place where we can find freedom within those constraints. It's a place where we can escape the constant stream of choices and just be present in the moment.
