McAfee Knob: Going 1,400+ Feet Up Yours, Parkinson's Disease

McAfee Knob has been on my bucket list of hikes for years. I've tried to figure out how to get to it for ages, but a few weeks ago, I felt that it was in need of being done, so my wife Heather and I got her done (cue Larry) by getting a Roanoke trip planned for the weekend!

We've been known to travel cheap (though we once did go to Sandals Jamaica), but our stays in Virginia on the A.T. / Shenandoahs are legendary in worrisome places. Frankly, I'd feel safer draped in donut glaze in Bear Country, but alas...

For instance, in 2008, we thought we had blood on a chair from some ritual killing! I'm not sure if it was, but yeah... That said, at least we were rewarded with rising clouds from the valley when rain cleared after breakfast ended.

This time...

Letting the "fix" job on the AC (above) speak for the room, we'll give a borderline room condition of 1.5 stars, barring any other misadventures.

Plusses - the AC worked, the shower worked + had enough hot water, the beds were relatively soft, windows intact + not cracked, fresh Oompaloompa-sized towels daily, and there was a TV (though we didn't watch it).

Minuses - no working pool despite being advertised, urine-smelling elevator that made scary noises, cops arrested someone on Labor Day, phones didn't work, lousy breakfast, inspection failure notice on the hotel office door, and lots of outdoor hall passage puddles / funk.

This leaves said hotel with a .43 star rating (calculated much like baseball's Wins Above Replacement stat - unless you have a degree in economics, you can't figure it out, nor can you figure out the inconsistency between raters).

But this wasn't about a hotel. It's about kicking back against life's challenges and feeling awesome (and sweaty) when it's all over.

The good folks at Hiking Upward list this mountain trail at 1,740 feet of elevation gain. The map shows 1,400+ feet, but there was a little up and down to play with. We also took the fire road up and down, so we're closer to 8 miles than 9. In the end, we hiked a section of road that was "manicured," but the main vertical part was where it reconnected to the Appalachian Trail for the final 1.3 mile walk through. There's no skimping on that; 1,400 feet is 1,400 feet.

Appalachian Trail complete-ists will talk of having to step on every single white marked speck of trail to get credit for the trail. We are not AT purists, so we took the fire road.

I get the purity of the thru-hike sport. That said, what I like about hiking is that I either CAN reach the top or I CAN'T. I'm not creating a short cut, i.e. leaving a blemish to do it. I'm not getting fireman carried up to the top. I've laced up my Keens, steadied by Black Diamond trekking poles, filled my Camelbak backpack with lots of water, and I'm walking it.

Hike your own hike. Go your own pace. Have fun. Be safe.

This is a place where help only matters so much. There is no "grade inflation." There's no subjective. There's just me and a mountain. Either I make it or I don't.

While I'm there, I need to:

Watch out for snakes and bears.

Carry enough water.

Be prepared for the heat.

Don't think; know.

Hypherhidrosis ya' all. That extreme sweat condition that plagues people with Parkinson's.

Dystonia ya' all. That twisted foot pain that plagues people with Parkinson's.

Zombie ligament ya' all. The ACL repair job my wife got after her hike in Icebox Canyon (see link) that saw her push out 2 miles of desert rocky canyon in pain, without tears, but with help (see link).

Toughest hike I ever witnessed.

And there we were, getting ready to hike McAfee on Sunday morning.

The alarm went off at 5:45 (way too early in the morning). We were going to go Saturday, but the weather wasn't set to cooperate so we took in the zoo and the star over Roanoke. They're both at Mill Mountain Park. I recommend them to you. By the time we got moving, it was hot (approaching 90°), which is a no no for hiking. We called the hike, but surveyed the trail. Tomorrow was another day.

While sitting in Moe's doing the Americanized Mexican thing, we realized we made the right call.

The next day, we hit the trail at 7AM expecting cooler temps and a less packed parking lot. We got the former, but not the latter. That said, shade on the uphills and a 70°, though humid beginning beats 90°. Off we went.

Some people hike with their kids in this kind of weather in the afternoon. Some people take very little water with their kids on this hike. Some people eat Tide pods, too. Remember what our good friend Ed Viesturs said: "Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory."

You can never take too much water or potential gear for heat and distance.

Really. Don't be a statistic. Enough said.

Between us, we had 11 bottles of water, food, gear, and everything except a way to find my wife at the top, who was off and running as I took photos, poking around on the trail.

Eventually I did find her (well other people found her). She was just at a different overlook (there are 2 with a path connecting them). I just didn't see the overlook sign at the top. I did see the other signs, but yeah... missed that one and ended up on a different overlook. When it was pointed out on the way back, I did clearly see it. I'm blaming it on a mix of exhaustion and no glasses (yeah...).

The first peekaboo vista looks like this:

Please note: when the commonwealth of Virginia is hooking you up with a sea of cloud cover lifting off the valley floor, you say a thank you prayer to the hiking gods.

That said, you don't take it in too much at the peekaboo because there's a distance to go to get to the real, and that's all vert and rock, friends.

But you're not here for the story of how to get to that, so let me give you the goods.

Our journey took just over 5.5 hours with a serious stop at the top (half hour).

The point here is that we did. We didn't set records, but we did. We had fun. We stayed safe. I kicked back at Parkinson's and my wife did her first big hike since April 2015 when she took out her ACL in a back country fall.

Prior to that setback, Heather did the frozen waterfalls of Ricketts Glen, the frozen waterfalls of Ithaca, a 30 foot rappel of Sand Run Falls, and frozen Glen Onoko (pictured). This wasn't all she did, but these were her signature hikes.

Way back when, we used to hike a lot, but then zombie ligament and Parkinson's. Both of them change lives, but here's the point. We can sit around and whine about what we can't do (I'm stage 2, so I'm slow with foot cramps and I run hot and sweaty) or we can enjoy things the best we can (sometimes old, sometimes new). It's not about being a Tough Mudder 24/7 let alone 1 day of 365. Sometimes, it's just about being us and enjoying what we can do while we can do it. And when we witness others do it, we need to celebrate them. On that note:

I'M SO INCREDIBLY PROUD OF WHAT SHE DID OUT THERE!

Godzilla and King Kong are out there to mess with tomorrow, so live well today. You don't know when you'll have another chance.

When you do, give it your all. Celebrate your success. Celebrate other people's success. Share love. Say no to the hate.

All those people who want to tell you what you can't do...

All those who want to rain on your parade of accomplishments...

All those who just don't get that life is for living...

Show 'em what's what and then remove them from your life.

Give them 1400+ vertical feet to almost 3200 feet OR enjoying whatever hobby that makes you who you are.

Get out of bed and choose to be you instead of a condition or an insult or a negative feeling.

Winning is done when you "stand up next to a mountain and chop it down with the edge of your hand."

Don't let other people drag you down and "Harrison Bergeron" you. Let your life shine. Never be less to make someone else feel more. This goes for anyone who wants to compromise you.

You've got it in you. I know it. Find it and share it. Take back your life.

Thanks for reading!

Ed Viesturs

          One thing that I completely and totally believe in life is that we’re never too old or too big to find some heroes and a whole lot more role models. I also believe that there’s a difference between being a hero and a role model. Anyone can rise up to be a role model. All we have to do is model the right behavior at home, work, in our neighborhoods, or in the woods (or wherever). To be a hero is something more. It’s about bravery and rising to save the day while putting life and limb at rick. It can be everyday or it can be extraordinary, but in order to be heroism, something more has to happen there.

          In my life, I’m a baseball fan, and while I still like many current players, guys like Mike Trout, Justin Verlander, Clayton Kershaw, and Ichiro Suzuki, it’s not the same as 15-20 years ago as a Mark McGwire and Pedro Martinez fan when it felt completely star struck in respect for a sports achievement. It's not that I can't feel this way anymore, but these players are young enough to be my kid in some cases. On top of that, while I respect athletic talent, I don't idolize it.

            Additionally, I seem to prefer a lot of dead and retired MLB guys since nobody talks about PEDs, wife-beating, drug-taking, or other issues with them. Instead, I can get Bob Gibson’s intense competitive streak, Dimaggio's day in and day out approach, Ted Williams' intense desire, Walter Johnson’s windup, Lou Gehrig’s speech and his last full year in baseball, and Jackie Robinson’s home plate theft. There are a lot of competitors in black and white footage. I can watch that endlessly.

Then again, there’s still a lot of modern hustle. Game 7 of the World Series was fantastic. Watching Eric Hosmer score from third on a ground out to first in the 2015 World Series was also a moment for the ages. Nasty 12-6 curve balls are the kind of thing that makes me fist pump. And yes, I admit that while it’s not playing like he’s been there before, that Joey Bats bat toss after his game winner versus Texas was positively sick.

But this is about hiking, not baseball.

           On a mountain, the difference for a hero would be to risk life and limb to get someone out of a tough spot. To be a role model, a person could state the right choice of what to do, offer advice, or guide the way. I'll take either, but I prefer to go with people who make me want to enjoy the woods while giving me companionship and a sense of safety in the woods.

           Should he want to slow down to my pace, I could see enjoying a hike with Ed Viesturs.

          While I’ve never met him, I always looked up to the guidance of Viesturs. He’s climbed all of the world’s 14 8,000 meter peaks. He’s been to Everest repeatedly (seven times in fact). Hell, he even chose to turn around 1,000 feet from the top when he knew he couldn’t descend safely in the window of time after he would have peaked. That takes mature wisdom that most people just don’t have.

          In addition, he’s such an uber hardcore in shape dude that he did it without oxygen. In a world where adventure tourism sells Everest ascents to the physically fit for more money than I’ll make this year, there are still people doing it the old way. That takes endurance, intelligence, strength, and discipline. It might even take a little crazy, but that's OK, too.

          As a result of these things, I think of his words, especially the ones where he said, “Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory.” I’d like to think most of the time, I live by them, both on the trail and in life.

          Seeing as my left foot has more tremors than when I was last hiking seriously (up until early 2015), I’m pushing through to get the rust off while also spending more time thinking about my balance in some of the tougher spots that I’m hiking than I did back then. 

          For instance, yesterday at Lehigh Gorge, I made it to the wall on the river side of the mountain (see above) before judging my leg too shaky for the climb up and over to the back side of the mountain. Prior to that, I was able to get through a lot of boulders and rock ascents, but the switch and concern with instability on balancing on the left foot when I made it over to flat ground was a problem. Had I made it there, I also had concern about whether I would feel safe going down and not doing a vertical feet-first belly slide down the rock slides, so I chose to sit in the cat bird’s seat (see below) and view the bridge, river, mountains, and glowing leaves of the Lehigh Valley (see very bottom) as I just enjoyed the world while my companions, Steve Dancha and his wife Tina went over on the other side to see the American flag graffiti and the rest of the path as well as the view from the windy side of the mountain.

          When they came back, there was a question as to whether I should try again. I questioned to whether I could get someone behind me for stability, which made Steve say that I should go with my initial gut instinct.

          He was right, and I didn’t try again. Why risk it all for something I’ve seen before, especially with rough wind that would keep me from enjoying things? Rather, it was better to go down the mountain, focusing on each step (being here now), while I safely descended so we could go to Glen Onoko to take on the first 2 waterfalls, the bottom of which (Chameleon) is in my favorites that I’ve ever seen anywhere.

          In the end, I’m glad he spoke out. Some people might focus on the man card or being tough, overcoming uncertainty, fear of heights, and nervousness, but he didn’t. I appreciate and respect that.

          As a result, it was a great day, and we all came back in one piece with a lot of great pictures. What more can a person ask for?