Don’t read too much into the sign. No, we haven’t taken a wrong turn. We’re still in the United States, using Labor Day weekend to practice more walking, this time along the Appalachian Trail, an ocean and 3,110 miles from our eventual goal — a starting point in St. Jean Pied de Port, France.

This Labor Day weekend, we’re near Smithsburg, Maryland, a short distance from the Pennsylvania border. From our rental cabin, it’s just a mile to a trail-head entrance on to the Appalachian. What a perfect place to test our fate on some rocky trails.

If anyone considered the Camino a long walk, then the Appalachian Trail will stretch their definitions even more. It is 2,200 miles long, extending from Northern Georgia to Maine, all along the eastern side of the United States. However, only about 2,000 people complete the full trip distance in any given year.

No less earnest, more than two million people a year are estimated to tackle at least a portion of the trail. Nancy and I were happy to contribute our two selves to the count, exercising a short foray into the forest as a build-up to the Camino de Santiago.

Our hike was hilly, with an extended scramble of rocks, shrouded by trees.

I told Nancy, “This is beautiful, but we won’t see much culture among the trees like we will on the Camino.”

Later I learned the Maryland area of the trail we hiked is called the “Green Tunnel.” There are so many trees, a hiker cannot get any perspective. It doesn’t matter if you’re on a hill; you can’t achieve a scenic view. You see tree trunks. But if you look down, you discover colorful leaves and bugs that should be cast in science fiction movies.

I took the lead for part of the hike uphill and barged through a small, taut branch, only to have it spring whip Nancy on her face on its return to stasis.

“Is there a mark?” she asked.

“Nope.”

I think she was disappointed because it hurt so badly, and there was no evidence of abuse.

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