[pct-l] How did you get your trail name?

[lukeahoy@xxxxxxxxx (Luke Snyder)]

In an ongoing attempt to create positivity amongst us
in this off season, can we unify ourselves
electronically with the famous trailside question...

How did you get your trail name?

My real name is Luke.  I found my way out to the
Mexican border after months of preparation and
anxiety.  The minute I saw the southern terminus, I
connected it with all the pictures and research I had
been doing for many, many days.  I'm sure many of you
remember those feelings and the paradigm shift that
sight took you to.
No longer worried about whatever there was to worry
about, that new feeling swept over me.  It's too
precious to describe without losing some of its
potentcy, so I won't try to hard.  Just imagine
yourself at the beginning of a journey that you know
is going the best of your life.  It'll make you smile,
to say the least.
When the time began to start.  I touched the terminus,
said a prayer and then bleated a primal, uncontrolled
scream as I took my first steps.  I don't know how or
where that sound came from, but I soon forgot.  Lyonel
Richie's  "Oh...what a feeling...I'm dancing on the
ceiling" soon flooded that desert landscape.  I even
got the attention of the INS officer scanning the
border.

So getting to my point, I was surging with adrenalin.
Not the quick surge, but that dose that keeps you
rocking crazy for literally... minutes.  The first few
moments on the trail were dreamy.  The sun.  The
birds.  The trail freshly cut back and smooth.  Wow.

Soon I was slammed out of my warm fuzzy moment when I
saw a piece of trash just 1/4 mile from the border.
How dare someone litter already?  I bent down and
grabbed the empty water jug.   Just steps later, I
found a discarded bread bag.  Angered by the hikers
who littered, I again picked it up with a "How dare
they trash my trail?" mutter.  As I continued down
into my second mile, more bread bags and water jugs.
It took me a few more to figure that this litter
wasn't discarded by hikers, but by desperate illegals.
  Nonetheless, I continued to pick up the bags, jugs,
and trash.

No more than three miles from the border, as I
gathered more and more, I found my first piece of
discarded clothing, which was probably dropped either
by an illegal who was too hot, or didn't want to be
seen with a white T-shirt on.

I picked the dirty shirt up and unfolded it.  One
man's trash being another's treasure, the shirt read
"YO SOY AMIGO DE LUCAS." I smiled and tucked it in my
pack...to later be washed at the kickoff party, and
sported for many days to come.  It was soon after
that...Hawkeye, who loved my greasy shirt, became my
pal and called me Amigo.  It stuck.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd love to
hear how some names were created.  Please Share!

Peace, Love, and still pickin up trash,
-Amigo

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