Trail as Usual

I put on my Melanzana, slipped on my Altras, and walked to the Presbyterian Church. The minister is a trail angel and lets CT and CDT hikers utilize their amenities. Before I left town, I wanted to get some emergency pads from the hiker box. I started digging through ziplocks of
mysterious powders and near empty fuel canisters when I found them. I put two in my pocket, thanked the volunteers and headed back to the cabin to prepare for the trail in the morning.

The next morning, we were finally ready to get back on trail. Our hitch arrived earlier than expected. I jumped out of my bunk and packed my things as quickly as possible before we all piled into the truck. I enjoyed a chocolate chip cookie that I’d saved from the Lake City Bakery and watched the frozen trees pass by as we drove up the mountain. When we arrived at the trailhead, the snow had melted and refroze into slick puddles of ice. Our driver felt bad leaving us in the cold but he knew we were capable. I held back shivers as I hiked away telling him, “thank you” and “goodbye” in my warmest voice. Bundled in every layer I had, I pushed hard to restore my body heat. This section of trail reminded me that difficult terrain always leads to
beautiful vistas.

The Colorado Trail (CT) would freeze me to the bone each morning and have me hiking (more like sprinting) to reach the first rays of sunlight on a pass. Only to send me down the other side back into the icy shade. As relentless as the CT could be, I was thriving. I hiked to the now-familiar sounds of Elk bugling and watched the trail weave up and down the hills in front of
me.

My trail family and I decided to skip five miles of this section by taking the Narrow Gauge train into Silverton. I had never taken a train hitch this before and felt it would be a unique experience. We woke up early and descended down to the tracks. When I arrived, I met a group of elk hunters waiting for the train. I was happy to see that their game bags were empty. They told me they hadn’t seen a single elk during their eight day hunt. I laughed to myself when they asked if I had seen any. The morning before I had seen an entire herd running. They were so loud that I could hear them over the music in my headphones.

A Much Needed Town Day

After a beautiful train ride along the Animas River, we arrived in town. We had time to kill before our hotel check in so we started with our resupply. The small grocery store had everything a hiker needed. Chips, ramen, tuna, bars, and candy. We left the store and a nice van-life couple decided to give us a ride to the laundromat. I was having some stomach issues, so I was happy to skip the walk back. That night we stayed in an old apartment above an ice cream parlor.

The three of us sifted through our resupply for snacks and watched Practical Magic together. We all needed the break. In the morning, I went across the street to the bakery for an everything bagel and an oatmilk latte. My stomach was still bothering me, but I didn’t think much of it. We packed up our things and began searching for a hitch back to the trail. We stood with our thumbs out, patiently waiting for a ride. After 15 minutes, a truck pulled over and the driver motioned for us to jump in the bed. We had barely gotten the chance to tell him our destination before he floored it, leaving a cloud of dust behind him. In shock, I held on and prepared for a wild ride. All of a sudden, I realized my butt felt wet. The trash bag in the bed was leaking. I try my best to avoid a stream of wet yogurt, but it’s too late. Disgusted, I added “trash juice” to my ever growing list of trail middle-names. When we reach the trail head, I jump out and take inventory of the situation. My friends tried spraying me with water and squeezing my shorts in an effort to get this trash juice off me. I was hopeful the last stretch of trail would have no issues, but, as always, the trail provides.

As I begin the final stretch with the smell of old yogurt on my butt, I think to myself, “what else could go wrong?”.

After a stormy day, I made it to camp exhausted. I pitch my tent, get inside and start my nightly routine. When I sat down in my tent, I felt that my butt was wet again, but this time I knew it was my period. I reached into my pack to pull out the emergency pads I took from the hiker box in Lake City. As I unwrapped one, I immediately smelled something floral. “Shit”… these were scented pads. Knowing my body’s sensitivity levels, I decided to avoid risking a UTI and put the pad away. I rifled through my pack trying to figure out a new plan. I thought back to Carrot Quinn’s book Thru-Hiking Will Break Your Heart, when a member of her trail family got their period and she lent them a sock. Unfortunately, my socks were too dirty and only a slightly better option from the scented pad. Not sure what I expected to find, I pulled out one pair of ultralight underwear and a buff. I put the underwear on and decided to use the buff as a pad at night, then I would free bleed during the day until I got to Durango, the last town on trail. The thought of my blood and trash juice stained shorts made me laugh. This trail was clearly not done with me! So, I made my game plan. I figured I could get two uses out of my underwear by turning them inside out, I could use rocks to wipe with, and filtered water to clean up. Not great, not horrible.

A Consequence of Circumstance, Not Choice

The next day as I hiked, I was actually a little excited to experience this. I had been curious of this for a while, and now here I was doing it. It was difficult and messy, but I didn’t let it define the day. I was not concerned over what other hikers would think of me and the trail treated me no different. The mountains weren’t going to take it easy on me, I had to push forward towards Durango. Thinking back to before starting the Colorado Trail, I had debated wearing yellow shorts. At the last minute I decided to stick with my black ones. This would have been a completely different experience had I gone with those. I added this to the many lessons that the mountains have taught me over the years. Over the next three days, I could feel my mindset changing. I wasn’t worried about my cleanliness and I didn’t feel ashamed for ruining my shorts. In the beginning, I felt this was my only choice, but in reality I had access to pads they were just scented. I reflected on this privilege while I hiked. I thought about all the other women who free bleed because they don’t have access to period products. What started as a personal choice soon reminded me that for many, there is no choice at all. Free bleeding isn’t an experiment or empowerment. It’s a reality shaped by poverty, geography, and systemic neglect. This thought shifted everything for me. This wasn’t just about connecting with nature, this choice was symbolic. This was about decades of women protesting menstrual products due to Toxic Shock Syndrome, fighting period tax, breaking down stigmas surrounding periods, and about period poverty. 

A New Personal Connection

On my last day on trail, I felt proud of my body. When I saw the trailhead kiosk come into view, I started to cry. Despite so many obstacles on this trail, here I was at the end. I slapped the sign and sat down. I was done. I had hiked the Colorado Trail.

Free bleeding on the Colorado Trail helped me connect to my body in a new and deeper way. It stripped away my shame and allowed me to move through the trail on my own terms. But that experience also made me think of the people who don’t get to choose. So what exactly is free bleeding? The simple definition is the act of intentionally forgoing menstrual products. If you’re curious about trying this, I encourage you to do it not just for personal growth, but as an act of connection with your body, nature, and those navigating menstruation without basic access.