“And that’s why they call me Bad Idea.”
He shared a long, sordid tale about hiking in bare feet. I’ll spare you the unpleasant details, but with that, his story—and more importantly, his name…or at least his “trail” name—was forever imprinted into my brain.
Ironically, I have already forgotten his given name but I will never forget him as Bad Idea nor the story behind that name.
And I am the worst when it comes to names. I literally forget names within minutes. It makes me feel like a total jerk and I like to think I am not a jerk. But ouch, it doesn’t feel good when it happens and it happens to me constantly.
I met Bad Idea on a three-day, 50-mile hike on the Appalachian Trail in West Virginia. Bad Idea was staying at the same shelter as me on my 2nd night. He literally could have been a Robert Redford stunt double and he definitely exuded that persona. Retired Special Forces, having served several times in Iraq, he insinuated—without being specific—that he had been through some pretty terrible stuff.
“What’s your name?”
“Robb,” I said.
“No, what’s your trail name?”
I didn’t have an answer but it didn’t stop us from connecting in a way I can’t quite articulate. We bonded through a shared love of the trail and the stories we shared.
As you can imagine, Bad Idea was pretty rough around the edges. He smoked a full pack of Marlboro Lights over a few hours around the campfire while we told each other our personal stories. He was drinking whiskey neat from his tin camping cup and by the end of the night was definitely feeling no pain.
There is a dynamic, fluid, and seemingly omnipresent community of through hikers, day hikers, and people like Bad Idea that hike the Appalachian Trail. I have done countless day hikes and trail runs on the AT so I had a sense of this community already but spending nights with people like Bad Idea introduced me in a very intimate way to this unique and quite close knit community. There were others I met that weekend too like No Rush, a little guy with a big personality from Jersey City who was on his 3,000th mile–yes, 3,000th—in about 6 months.
The one thing I learned from Bad Idea and No Rush that stuck with me is that most of the people up there are hiking to get away from something, or cope, or meditate, or deal with some reality in their life, or use it as a form of self medication. For No Rush it was the loss of a job. For Bad Idea, I think it was demons from Iraq.
For me, it’s anxiety from the weight of my past. I like to be alone, focused on the challenge of the trail and the endurance required to overcome it, as a way to relieve that anxiety.
I think this stuck with me because it made me realize that this community is my community and the common thread is more than a shared love of the trail, it’s the stories we share, the stories we tell, and the stories we live that bind us together.
One of the dynamics of this community is that they give themselves these trail names. I am sure this isn’t specific to the AT hiking community but it’s a fascinating case study in the power of story. I may forget Bad Idea's given name and I’ve already forgotten No Rush’s name but I’ll ever forget their trail names and more importantly, their stories about why they gave themselves those names and why they hike the trail.
I learned an important lesson on that hike. Just like trail names give identity to hikers, the stories behind them engage and invest us in those identities and help us remember them. It’s a strategy I realize I can use in my everyday life.
From now on, when I meet a Jeff or a Janice, I’m going to give them a trail name.
I still haven’t figured out my own trail name. But now I am even more drawn to the trail and hope that someday I’ll find my own story—and my own name—to help others remember me in the way I will always remember Bad Idea.
