Thirty-three-year-old Todd Soprych, a former Lemont resident, is bound and determined to add one more to the list of 9,583 people who have finished the Appalachian Trail since the early 1900s. The current Georgian and working-stiff-turned-nomad tried his hand at the strenuous, six-month-long path through nature in the summer of 2007, but a botched mission got him off track, and he completed less than half of the stretch. Now, Soprych is back at it for take two. And he’ll be departing Saturday, Feb. 23.

He recently sat down with Suburban Life to reminisce on strategically placed mosquito bites, talking to squirrels and hitchhiking with a potential ax murderer.

A: I was an architect. We were awarded this huge project in Dubai, and it demanded a bucketload of my time. After Christmas in 2006, I woke up one day and said, “I don’t want to be 50 and feel like life passed me by.” I decided to take my life back. I quit my job altogether.

I love the outdoors and wanted something physically challenging. I’ve done cross country and am really into mountain biking. Any time it’s not raining, I’m always out playing in woods, biking or camping.

Q: Did you think about building up to the Appalachian Trail with something less ambitious and overwhelming or was the goal to go full throttle?

A: What’s the saying? Go big or go home?

Q: How long does it take a hiker to complete the entire trail?

A: Right now, it’s 2,175 miles. The number fluctuates every year as the trail is rerouted. From start to finish, it takes five and a half or six months. An average hiker is going to take 10 to 15 “zero” days, or days where they aren’t making progress because of sightseeing, weather or (snafus) during that time.

 
Q: How did your family and friends respond to the news of your decision?

A: My friends were gung ho. My parents thought I was crazy to quit a good job to disappear in the woods.

Q: How did you prepare for such a huge journey?

A: REI Corp. had a day-long Appalachian Trail seminar where they brought in people who’ve hiked it before to talk about their experience and gear and answer questions from participants.

In addition to that, I did some extensive gear testing and continued with my normal mountain biking routine. It was eight to 10 miles on the weekend and eventually I went out every night after work.

I also doubled my intake of food, gorging myself with double doses of hot wings and chicken sandwiches, and gained 25 pounds. The average weight loss during the trail hike is 30 to 50 pounds, and I didn’t have that to lose. You’re hiking up mountains. It’s not uncommon for a 600-foot climb in the course of a half mile. You probably burn 6,000 to 8,000 calories a day.

 
Q: What’s the usual timeline for the hike? Is it seasonal?

A: From April 1 to mid-May, 2,000 to 2,500 people leave Georgia to travel all the way up to Maine. I went southbound, leaving from Maine on June 15 to go back to Georgia. I figured it would motivate me if I viewed the trip as walking home. Also, Mount Katahdin at Baxter State Park in Maine closes Oct. 15, and Springer Mountain in northeast Georgia is open all year. So timing-wise, I wanted to make sure I caught Baxter State Park before it shut down.

 
Q: How did you handle the culture shock of being away from creature comforts?

A: It seems like a daunting physical task, but the mental and emotional stress far outweighed the physical. When I was hiking Baxter, I didn’t see a single person for four straight days. I was talking to trees, squirrels … I’m not gonna lie — I was starting to lose it.

That being said, you are hiking distances with a 40-pound pack. I learned really quick that a gallon of water weighs 8 pounds.

My feet really started to swell. I crawled into a shelter to give them a rest, and an older woman was there, snuggled in her sleeping bag. She told me she had tried to do the trail a couple of times before but a blood infection and some other health problems kept her from finishing. So that time, she was attempting to complete it before her 70th birthday.

Another man I met was hiking the trail with no feet. He had prosthetics. The bolts broke on his prosthetics, and he waited two or three days for more to be FedExed so he could put his feet back together. They busted a second time, and he ended up getting this man to help him fashion new bolts.

There was also a blind man who was supposed to have hiked the trail. Here I am with all of my functioning body parts and perfect vision, and I’m looking up these rock scrambles saying “Sh**! You gotta be kidding me!”

 
Q: What were the living conditions like? Sleeping, eating, opportunities for hygiene?

A: There are shelters, and some of them have outhouses. Simple three-sided lean-tos that are about seven to 10 miles apart. Usually with a water source nearby. I also carry a tent in case I get strung out between shelters or if I need to weather the storm. In three months out in the woods, I tented maybe 10 times because I had to get away from the mice in the shelter and avoid the mosquitoes. They were so bad throughout the first 50 miles of bog in Maine that with each step, 100 or 200 mosquitoes would rise. I would literally run from the swarm. And wore a hiking kilt, so I had bites in weird places. It was pure torture. I don’t miss that. And then ideally, small towns would have hostels.

For food supply restocking, you rely on the post office and small little towns of a population of 1,000 or less. You go to the general store and get your Ramen noodles and Lipton. Stuff that you can boil in water and eat. Essentially three to five days worth of food. Then I’d have my wife send me care packages I’d pick up.

I carried around a guidebook that would tell you where all of the convenience stores and restaurants were located, But it’s a crapshoot what you get. All you know is there is some sort of food available. Every time I went into a town, I’d spend a good $20 on a real meal at a restaurant. Your appetite is amazing. I’d go to convenient stores and get a liter of Diet Coke, a bag of chips or two, a sandwich and coffee. You get weird cravings living off of pasta for so long. I’d always get a quart of chocolate milk and a large 16-inch pizza to devour on my own. Vermont was my favorite state because I was introduced to the deli sandwich.

I got to one restaurant and was waiting for some hikers I’d been keeping pace with. While I was waiting for them, I had eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage and toast. Then I got hungry again and had a hoagie. And after they got there, a storm came through, so we waited it out and I had a chili cheese sandwich and took a burger with me. I ended up sleeping in a horse stable that night. It was such an awesome day.

In terms of communication to the outside world, cell phone coverage was shoddy. So I started to wait until we got to town. They’d grant us access at libraries to send e-mail and do blogging.
 

Q: Did you build any relationships with people you met? Or was it more of a solo endeavor?

A: I had the cynical Midwestern attitude. I thought people were evil. But the trail experience changed that. I did a hitch (hike) every time I came to a town, which was 25 or 30 times, and met amazing people.

One day, my tent was soaking wet after a stormy night, and then I had to do a slippery rock scale where I seriously thought I would fall and die. It was raining, and I was waiting for a sign that it would be OK to continue. The sun came out, and I started again, but it started pouring again. There was this drop, and I slipped and slid down the entire 1,300-foot descent. It was the worst day of my life at that point. I was thinking that the Appalachian Trail hike was not for me. I was frantically calling a nearby hostel because they’ll come rescue you.

I started walking when a guy in a Chevy Blazer leaned out the window and said “Where ya headed?” He offered to take me down the side trail, so I threw my stuff in the back. He said “Are you in a hurry? Because I want to show you something.” I’m thinking “Oh God, this guy’s gonna do something unconscionable to me. I’m stuck in his truck and about to be left for dead in the woods.” But he took me to this river crossing where you could see the normal flowing path and a dammed-up area. There was this dry bed carved out over the million years of the changing path, and it was the most amazing sight.

 
Q: Was it mostly hard work, or did you have a chance to enjoy the nature around you?

A: I adopted a mantra. “It’s not about the miles, it’s about the smiles.” Some people have a deadline they want to hit and get all gloomy-looking when some curve ball gets thrown at them. I took it as a six-month vacation.

A section hiker (who tackled chunks of the trail at a time) had come through, and I told him I was only averaging 10 miles a day. He told me he was doing this section of the trail for a second time because he missed all of the beautiful peaks the first time around. From that day forth, I vowed not to miss anything because I was pushing myself through the fog or rain. I hit every peak in Maine, and there were some phenomenal views. I would eat lunch and take naps on mountaintops. How many people can say they’ve had that experience?

Q: At what point did you call it quits the first time around? And why try again?

A: At mile marker 807. It was Oct. 11. I was missing my wife and just wanting to go back home. I had been a bum, a transient that whole time. And I don’t like the heat.

I just realized the experience had turned into “Let’s just get to the next town.” We’d spend six hours loitering around town for the amenities when it shouldn’t have taken us that long to do laundry if we just had two pairs of socks, T-shirts, a pair of shorts and our rain gear. I thought “If we’re just eating fast food and hanging in hotels, I can do that with my wife.” I made a phone call and got picked up by a taxi.

But I didn’t like the idea of “I failed” or “I quit.” There was a 30- or 40-person list of people tracking where I was, and I felt like I let them down.

I got in contact with two people I hiked with, and they’re starting the trail all over again. So I decided to do it. The departure date is Feb. 23 so we can beat some of the congestion on the trail. I’m going northbound this time. My goal is to go further than 807 miles. I’d love to complete it, but we’ll see.
 
Q: Have you officially retired your professional life or do you think you’ll get the extreme adventure bug out of your system, buy another briefcase and head back to the office when you complete the trail?

A: I didn’t want that daily grind of reporting to work for a 9-to-5. My priorities changed. Before, I was working 80 hours a week. Now, I want my deathbed regret to be that I didn’t work enough. Not that I didn’t enjoy living. My life has changed in that fashion. It shouldn’t be about waiting until you retire to have any fun.

When I finish this trail, I think I’ll be ready to go back into the workforce. Not to work, but to secure the funds for my next adventure. I only spent $2,000 the entire time I was on the trail, so I’d be perfectly content with a job that pays a salary of $10,000.

My life is booked through 2010 with adventures. My friend and I are mountain biking this 500-mile trail in Colorado. I’d like to hike the Himalayas, and I want to do Kilimanjaro before the climate change affects the snow.