Mile 978. I smell the barn.

I smell the barn.

I learned of this expression first-hand when my family and I rode trail horses through cowboy country somewhere deep in the heart of Colorado.   It was a well-organized family event simulating the days when cowboys rode their horses all day to wrangle cattle and settle the land.   Covered wagons carrying all the supplies for supper rode ahead; while the rest of us followed a well-worn path around the rugged terrain – down a trench, across a creek, around a bend, and among the tumble weed.    We stopped for an authentic cowboy dinner that featured beans, and beef, and coffee – all cooked in a black cast iron pot that hung over the crackling fire.    We ate on tin plates, using red bandanas as napkins.

As the sun started to set and the shadows got long, we knew it was time to go home.   Dutifully, we brought our dishes over to the wash bin; and then we mounted our horses.   And we waited.  And waited.   The lead cowboy needed to get his cowboy affairs in order before he could start our procession back to the barns where we started.   And so, we waited some more.

Meanwhile, the horses knew exactly what was going on.   They had walked this trail so many times, they didn’t need the lead cowboy.   They knew exactly where that barn was.   And they also knew that barn had their dinner waiting for them.   And they were hungry.   And ready to go.  

Impatient, my dad’s horse sprung up in a “High ho, Silver!” fashion.  He stepped backwards into my horse which did the same.   Except, my horse mis-stepped on the side of the mountain, lost his balance, and toppled to the ground  - with me still on it!   Ouch. 

I was fine.   But I learned a very important lesson that day:

Steer clear of anything and anyone who smell the barn.

With every step closer to my home in northern Virginia, I smell the barn.   And that barn – my barn – smells good.

Suddenly, I find the energy to hike 22 miles, then 25, then 28, then 30!   I start early; and I hike as late as I can justify.   

The more miles I hike, the quicker I can get home.   And the quicker I get home, the sooner I can sleep in my own bed, and see my pup, and get my hair done, and wear real clothes, and just be home.  

I love my home.   And I love it even more after being on Trail for two and a half months.

I smell the barn.   So, stand clear.   I’m coming home!