Hostel Hopping

We have been out on this trail for nearly five months now. That's five months of sleeping in shelters, under the stars, in tents during violent thunderstorms and while various vermin roam around menacingly in the dark. By this point we have earned our stripes and, perhaps, have earned some rest indoors, safe from the mosquitos, rain and bears. Well, maybe we have earned some of it.

Enter hostels - sometimes free, often not, but always a welcome retreat from the solidarity and unknown of the wilderness.

After leaving Tigger's Tree House and our very warm not-so-mobile home we returned to the trail refreshed and rejuvenated, ready for the 18 miles we had planned for the day. Per usual, we divided the day up into sections: 5 miles of hiking, 45 minutes of laying our tents out to dry, 6 miles of hiking, lunch, etc. The beginning of the day went according to plan - Red Knees and I powered up the first climb and arrived at Moose Mountain Shelter in record time. The shelter was fairly new and the breeze coming through was promising so we strung up our tents to dry out from the dew-soaking they had received two nights previous. At one point the wind picked up so substantially that Red Knees' tent lifted off the ground and floated along, dangerously close to becoming a kite billowing off the top of the mountain.

Hearts still a flutter from the near departure of housing we began our descent down the mountain. We had heard from Cosmonaut at Tiggers that the shelter at the top of Smarts Mountain was questionable but that it would be cool to sleep up in the fire tower at the top. Eager for a good sunrise and sunset we set off over the next few bumps to Smarts. When we reached the road crossing at the foot of the mountain we began to actively search for a place to enjoy our lunches. Like a gift from up above a sign came into view, inviting us to a house just off the trail belonging to Bill Ackerly - the Ice Cream Man.

His house is quite literally ON the trail and he readily welcomed us to his home, placing an ice cream bar and the log book in our hands before you could figure out who else was there or what music was wafting from the record player. Bill, we learned, is a retired Harvard professor and, at 85 years old, has one of the most visited homes on the trail (let's be realistic - what thru-hiker is going to see a sign advertising free ice cream and sodas and not stop in for a break, especially when searching for a place to have lunch?). I love this man.

We settled in and began to speak with the other hikers at the house, mostly Southbounders (Blue Skies, Yogi and I forgot everyone else's name but, let's be realistic, we are never going to see these hikers again - have fun in the crappy sections!) and began to get cozy - the kiss of death for motivation. As if on cue, in rolled the dark clouds, promising rain and Bill changed up the music to smooth 40s music. My eyelids instantly sagged and I looked at Red Knees with the inquisitive "are you thinking what I'm thinking?" eyes. He was. We were staying.

That night we (well, I) cooked up a taco feast to feed the 10 of us that decided to stay the night. At one point I made a comment about how we should have gotten Coronas instead of PBR and Bill instantly brings out a handle of tequila. Sneaky son of a gun. RK and I steered clear of the tequila, knowing that we were going to have to put in the miles the following day to make up for our almost nero. After relaxing for a while we went and set up on the front porch and drifted off to sleep.

Around 4am I was brutally awakened by the insanity-inducing mosquito buzz in my ears and the feeling of dozens of the tiny demons landing all over my exposed skin. It was pouring rain and every single insect was seeking sanctuary, apparently, on my face. I cinched myself into my sleeping bag liner, in my sleeping bag, and covered my face with my fleece and I could still hear them and feel them attempting to dive bomb me through my multiple layers. Aw hell no. Perhaps inappropriately I hopped inside, still in my sleeping bag, and lay down on the couch and immediately fell asleep.

A few hours later as everyone was stirring I began to pack up my things. Back on the porch I could not for the life of me find my food bag where I had left it. And then I saw it: dangling off the edge of the porch, torn to shreds, surrounded by bagel and poptart crumbs. My heart dropped: raccoon attack. How much food did I lose? Is the bag still usable? Was that mangey almost assuredly rabid scoundrel anywhere near me in my bag and if a rabid animal eats some of your food is the rest of it safe to eat?

Yet again, Bill to the rescue. Into the general store we went and picked up a few more supplies (which he generously would not let me pay for) to get me to the next town. With a plastic bag liner on the inside my existing food bag actually worked alright so we packed up quickly and got on the trail. The climb up Smarts Mountain was tough but doable and thank goodness we didn't stay at the top - the fire tower was drafty, rickety and terrifying and the cabin was gross. We briefly rested in the fire tower before my fear of heights got the better of me and we had to move on.

Somewhere in the next 10 miles I realized, as I pulled out my pack cover as the rain began to sprinkle down, that I didn't have my purse (well, a Sea-to-Summit bag that I have been using to hold my ID and credit card, if that counts). Either way, fuck. I knew it had to be at Bill's house so I forced Red Knees to death sprint to the next summit where I called 411 and was, thankfully, able to get the phone number. I left a message and crossed my fingers. On the way down Mount Cube my phone buzzed letting me know that there was a voicemail and thank goodness my purse was at his house safe and sound.

We finished our 16 mile day early (around 3pm) and got a hitch up the road to the Mount Cube Sugar Farm - a small maple syrup farm that allows hikers to stay for free. No one was there so we dropped our packs, left a note, and went about hitching all the way back to where we had left from that morning. We were able to hitch quickly there and back (only two hitches!) including a trip to the general store for some Chef Boyardi raviolis (I had a day - it was necessary).

Back at the farm we met Peter, the owner of the farm, who was hard at work boiling maple syrup. The farm, he told us, used to be right on the Appalachian Trail before it was rerouted over Mount Cube. Back in the 1950s, in fact, Grandma Gatewood (the first woman to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail at the age of 67) had stayed at the farm on both of her thru-hikes. Grandma Gatewood is a badass. When she hiked in 1955 and 1957 the term "lightweight" was so far from what we currently have that it will blow your mind. She literally hiked with a burlap sack with all of her belongings slung over one shoulder and a single trekking stick. When it rained, she draped herself with a shower curtain that doubled as her tarp tent. I will never complain again.

This morning started rainy but we were inside on cots and my food bag was un-attacked so it was, by all accounts, a successful morning. Once the rain stopped, Red Knees and I hit the trail. The first 10 miles blew by and we arrived at the base of Mount Moosilauke by 11:00am. At the hostel down the way we ran into a section hiker who offered to drive us up to Kinsman Notch so we downed Mountain Dew, threw a few essentials into a day pack and drove off (of course, without rain gear or food - no, we did not have lunch. Rookie mistake).

We were so jacked up on Mountain Dew that we basically ran up the nearly vertical south side of Moosilauke - we made it to the summit 5 miles up in under 2 hours. Unheard of. It felt amazing to have my body work so effortlessly up such difficult terrain, especially as we watched jacked up football stars huff and puff down the mountain, complaining about their all-night bender that was causing them to sweat out what I can only surmise was some combination of vodka and redbull. Pretty cool, bro.

The view at the top was incredible, though the wind was brutal and threatened to chill us to the bone if we lingered too long. The menacing dark clouds on the horizon hastened our decision as well so we began our descent down back to the road. It was steep but bearable, and we passed several of our friends on the way down. At the bottom, after smacking my legs on some 50 pound boulders, we forded a stream before heading back to the Hiker Welcome Hostel.

Showered, fed and with a cold beer in hand, I am happy and warm (and, for the first time in months, writing this entry on a computer so please pardon my rambling). I am excited and terrified that we are officially in the White Mountains, nervous for the occasional twinges that I feel in my right shin, sad but ready for this insane adventure to come to an end. It is almost impossible to think that 27 days from now, if all goes according to plan, I will be drinking champagne with my dad on the top of Mount Katahdin - my Mecca. But for now we will continue to take it one mile at a time, working for every one of the next 389 miles.

The 13th State

I guess perhaps I thought it wouldn't ever happen - not really. New Hampshire was such a pipe dream - we would look ahead in the book at the mountains in the Whites and especially the Presidentials with awe and terror, deciding that no, we don't have to think about those quite yet. But suddenly we are in southern New Hampshire, two days away from Glencliff and the base of Mount Moosilauke, our first mountain over 4,000ft since Virginia and our longest climb to date. Holy crap.

After our majestic stay at the lookout we planned for two days into Hanover, NH. We awoke in the cabin the next morning bright eyed and bushy tailed, so grateful to have gotten a night out of the buggy open air. The first 6 miles of the day flew by as I desperately chased Red Knees down the mountain to the road below the Lookout. Unfortunately for both of us I didn't realize that he had waited for me at the shelter 2.6 miles into the day and that by hurrying to "keep up" with him I had made him quite literally run the trail to catch back up. Whoops, sorry buddy. The sight of him running down the side of a Vermont country road, backpack bouncing all over the place was one to remember. 

After that initial descent we went into a sort of mini roller coaster, steeply ascending and descending over relatively small mountains but the quick changes from super steep up to super steep down were challenging to say the least. Thankfully we had a prize at the end - the possibility of trail magic and a definite stop at Cloudland Market. And oh did we get both!

At the bottom of the last descent into Cloudland there was a bag with cold Gatorades (gift from the gods!) and a cooler graffitied with the names of other hikers filled with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (with strawberry, not grape, jam hallelujah!), cheeze-its, carrots, grapes and breath mints. We sat down mid trail with Sir Pantsalot and Daddy Longlegs who had arrived before us and feasted for a late lunch.

Thank goodness we did because for all it's beauty, Cloudland Market wasn't much of a market. Inside they had one whole refrigerator full of beef (apparently they slaughter some of their cows for some killer grass fed beef. It looked good but lord knows I wasn't about to pack out a raw rib-eye steak), and another with a few types of Vermont cheese, pints of ice cream and locally made cream soda. If I has been in the mood for dairy or liked cream soda we would've been in business. Nevertheless we all posted up on their beautiful wrap around porch and laid in the sun and charged up our electronics. I'll take it. 

We were back on the road by just after 3pm for what ended up being a really not that downhill death-sprint descent into West Hartford, VT. Of course I ran out of water with 3.5 miles to go and decided: oh screw it, lets just go. Needless to say when we got to the general store just over an hour later I promptly purchased a quart of Powerade and consumed it in under 5 minutes. Note: NEVER drink Powerade that fast. You will feel like you're about to die. 

I recovered quickly from my faux pas and Red Knees and I ordered sandwiches and picked up a few snacks for the road. We walked just a few houses down before turning into a house with an AT sign advertising water and camping. Turns out this was the house of a previous thru-hiker, Steve (his trail name had something to do with the fact that he has a mustache but it is evading me), who allows hikers to camp on his lawn, full up on water, charge electronics and bath in the snow runoff stream behind his house (not really but oooh baby was that some chilly water!). It was a dream. 

The next morning we awoke early to find all of our things soaked through with dew. We packed up our soggy belongings and hit the road by 7am to make a big push for New Hampshire, 10 miles away. After an easy 3 hours we popped out onto the road for some road walking which led us across the Connecticut River and into the town of Hanover, NH a chic Ivy League college town that caters remarkably well to hikers with most businesses offering some hiker special (free bagel, free pizza, cheap sandwich...). We dropped our packs at the Dartmouth Outdoor Center and headed for the post office. 

When I got there I was expecting to pick up one package from my brother. I was totally unprepared for the cards and care packages that I actually receives. I think at one point I was actually on the verge of tears I felt so much love and support from my friends at home. People are amazing sometimes. 

After a delicious lunch at a restaurant across the way from the post office I stopped by Barnes and Noble and picked up some cards so I could write letters home to thank everyone for their words of encouragement. l went a bit overboard and ended up writing a few novels but at least they were finished.

We left town around 4:30pm, not wanting to stay in the excessively expensive college town that was teaming with 18 year olds prepping for Freshman orientation. Instead we pushed on 6 more miles to Etna, NH where we were picked up to stay at Tiggers Tree House Hostel.

What a gem of a place! Red Knees and I were given our very own mobile home parked outside their house (that's one way to keep the hiker stink out!) and we're given access to the laundry, shower and a plethora of food and beverages they had in a fridge just for hikers. Plus we were able to crash in front of the TV to watch Ironman 2 and X-Men 2 while eating the Subway sandwiches that we had carried with us from Hanover and finish the letters that we (well, I) had started.

We were up late but accomplished so much that it was worth it. Today will be a big day with some decent climbs ahead of us but we have the prospect of sleeping in a fire tower atop a mountain tonight which I would never turn down. 

White Mountains, we're coming for ya!

Reunited (and it feels so good!)

Today I was reunited with my Red Knees and I couldn't be happier. The hiking to get to him included a pretty brutal climb up Quimby Mountain but I didn't care. I all but ran down the other side of the mountain, thrashing my knees in the process, and just about destroyed his brand new tent attempting to attack hug him. We walked all day jamming out to music and catching up. I am so happy. 

The past two days have been low key, including a zero at the Inn at Long Trail. We arrived at the Inn two days ago after a great climb over Mount Killington (the views were incredible) and set up our tents in the open grassy area across the road (well, more accurately, a freeway which we were forced to scamper across in terror to get to the bathrooms in the Inn). Once Holler arrived we enjoyed beers at the pub downstairs (the bartender can pour a proper Guinness - clover drawn in the head to boot!) before getting a ride into town for a quick resupply. 

While we enjoyed some ice cold Budweiser's at our tents more hikers that we hadn't met began to roll in. They too set up tents while causing a raucous. We introduces ourselves and quickly realized that they were the Southbound group "Stoners with Boners" who I had been hoping to run into for weeks. 

All the Stoners were hilarious, in particular Firprettius who put on an impressive fake German accent and Happy Ending who kept attempting to kiss the faux German causing him to erupt in expletives and shield his face. It was priceless. Once everyone was set up we all walked over to the bar for live music (it was largely just a singalong with about 3 renditions of "Wagon Wheel") and dinner. 

The festivities went long into the night with many hikers taking the stage and showcasing their singing abilities. I, for one, learned that I am excellent at tongue twisters and can out-rap just about anyone when it comes to "Baby Got Back" - no big surprises there. I excused myself fairly early to chat with my girl 2pac on the phone before falling asleep almost embarrassingly early. 

The next day, still sore from three weeks of hiking with no zero, Holler and I decided that it was due time for a day off. The majority of the Stoners headed out with the exception of Happy Ending who stayed and relaxed with us for the day, watching "Naked and Afraid" on the Discovery Channel (watch it - it's addicting and absolutely nothing like what we are doing out here though please go ahead and assume that it is to increase my badass rating) and drinking PBR and telling riddles. So relaxing and necessary. 

With night and rain quickly approaching and what appeared to be a budding romance/attraction between Holler and Happy Ending I retreated to the Inn to relax on the couch. When I woke up at 2am and the building was deserted I decided I had lucked out and curled up for the rest of the night. 

The hiking today was great. Kind of hard but RK was back. I cannot explain the happiness and relief I felt at seeing my friend, one of the few people out here that gets me and knows my life and whom I can rag on mercilessly and constantly. Tonight we are staying at an empty cabin atop a mountain with an overlook that looks right onto Mt Moosilauke and the beginning of the White Mountains where we will be in a short 5 days. I could not be happier to have my partner in crime back with me, rocking out to music along the trail, for these massive mountains.

Forward Progress

Some days, like yesterday, when I can't quite get into the beat of the music in my headphones and I'm walking alone, I spend entirely too much time thinking about what to write here - what emotions I need to remember to convey, good metaphors that should definitely make the cut, witty repartee and snarky remarks that will keep people interested in this adventure when, in reality, more often than not it isn't that interesting. Last night when I sat down to write I had a full arsenal of literary gems and a whole hour of daylight in which to write them...and then I fell asleep. It's getting real geriatric up in here. 

We left Chloe's at around 9:30am and managed to get two good hitches back to the trail head, the second of which could only take us as far as Bromley Mountain ski area unless we could wait for him to pick up an elderly gentleman who he was taking to a doctors appointment. Not wanting to hitch again we squeezed into the backseat and had the pleasure of meeting Bob, perhaps slow on his feet but with stories of the trails in the area that got us jazzed up for our walk. 

The first climb of the day up Bromley appeared to be the biggest and it was over in a flash. The view from the top by the chairlift was gorgeous with views of 5 states and a sneak peak to the mountains we would soon be climbing (note: they're huge). 

From there the day was all gradual ups and downs that I cruised over quickly, arriving at the halfway point of the day early, considering our late start. At Peru Peak Shelter I again ran into Twix, Paraguay, Not Yet and Sunshine and we had a great chat while I forced down ever more peanut butter in an attempt to get enough calories (I should be eating, by my calculations, about an additional 500-1,000 calories a day. This has never been a problem I have had before). 

After lunch I tried to wait for Holler but my restlessness got the best of me and I had to move on. The next 10 miles seemed to fly by and, after a quick rest at Big Branch Shelter and a conversation with two southbound brothers with packs easily twice the size of mine (those will get swapped out in two weeks tops), I arrived at Little Rock Pond. The water was beautiful and clear - if the temperature had remained in the 90s I would have jumped in in a heartbeat. 

At the shelter just off the water we again ran into Danno and O.B. and chatted with some day hikers before a remarkably early bed time. The next morning we got a much earlier start so we could take it slow. 

Of course I say these things to myself at the beginning of the day and by my third mile in I have become a runaway train, running over rocks and roots at a minimum of 3 miles an hour until I realize what's happening and I consciously slow down only to have the process repeat in the next few minutes. 

The early part of yesterday was beautiful - the day was cloudy giving the air a substantial chill and the trail was lined with young pine trees, the combination of which made the forest smell like Christmas morning and the fallen pine needles added spring to the ground beneath our feet. Eventually the trees thinned and the smell waned, leaving us with just the biting cold of the morning so again I took off. 

Despite some good climbs the views were few and far between (thanks for nothing Bear Mountain) and I ended up pushing through the day quickly. So quickly, in fact, that I almost didn't stop to say hello to a group of Southbounders until they offered me a celebratory sip of their boxed White Zinfandel. Celebratory?

There, nailed to a tree, was a tiny piece of wood engraved with the words "500 miles to Katahdin". 500. I remember so vividly the 1,000 mile to go mark, taking a picture with S'Rocket and 2pac and celebrating the beginning of the countdown. Now half of that is behind me and arguably the most challenging 500 miles is ahead of me. 

As I walked away, with a slight buzz and my headphones back in, the sun peaked through the clouds and I cried, just a little. I had made it so far and will make it so much farther. When I began this trip I knew nothing about backpacking and camping except that I wanted to do it. So many times I have nearly given up on this great adventure but something has kept me going. It's the little victories and gifts that the trail brings - a milestone or a bouquet of wildflowers from a gay couple out on a late hike with their adopted son. Sometimes just letting your muscles rest in a warm sleeping bag on a cool, bug-less night is all the reward you need. 

Ver-mud

I am currently in a bed. A plush bed in a cottage with running water and electricity about 11 miles from the trail. We have actually had great luck with our stays the past three days but this is such a needed reprieve from all of our big miles and sleeping in the woods. 

The day after getting into Vermont we took another big 22 mile day largely just because we could. The sun was out but the weather was cool and breezy so we were able to cover ground quickly up to Goddard Shelter high in the mountains (our first shelter over 3,500 ft in a while). 

Overnight it dumped down rain which continued into the morning. When we woke up, Cliffnote, Holler and I looked at each other and, with a look, decided we weren't going out in that mess. The rain was so aggressive on the tin roof of the shelter that it sounded like we were curled up in our sleeping bags directly beneath a waterfall. We all drifted back in and out of sleep until 9:30am when the rain had mostly stopped. We scrambled to pack up and put in some miles before the rain started up again. 

We were unsuccessful. Less than a mile from the shelter the telltale sprinkle started back up again and before we could even think of darting for shelter it was an onslaught. At a point you stop caring how wet and muddy you are because no amount of water could make it any worse so instead if teetering from one exposed rock to the next in the midst of the Appalachian Trail-turned-River you pound right through the water like a kindergartener, relishing in the satisfying splashes you are making and almost enjoying the sickening squish of your shoes in the ankle-deep mud. And it really is ankle deep. 

Trying to forget the rain, and knowing that the forecast called for sun in the afternoon, we kept pushing forward to Stratton Mountain. True to the predictions, as we began our 2,000ft ascent up Stratton the sun came out just enough to dry us slightly and provide us with a stunning view from the fire tower atop the mountain. We relaxed there for a but before more ominous clouds began to roll in and we began to jog down the mountain towards the shelter down the way at Stratton Pond. 

The shelter was a large cabin with wooden bunks that were surprisingly well maintained, thanks to the caretaker at the site (I guess that's what my $5 fee is going to). Something doesn't quite sit well when it comes to paying to sleep in the woods but I do recognize all the work that the trail maintainers put in so I forked over the money. 

The next morning we planned for a short day into Manchester Center, VT. It was cool out and the terrain ahead was flat so we expected to make great time. We expected the mud as well but we weren't prepared. Overnight all of the rain from the previous day had soaked down into the soil and turned it into soft, deep, suck-the-shoes-right-off-your-feet mud. Every so often I would take a step onto what looked like solid ground, only to have my foot submerge up to my ankles in thick, dark sludge. It was pretty brutal but what did I care? I had a brand new pair of shoes waiting for me at the bottom of the hill.

When we got to the parking lot near the road into Manchester we attempted to clean ourselves to no avail. We may have gotten most of the mud off our legs but our shoes still made us look like swamp people that had recently arisen from the bog. Apparently that worked for us, because within seconds of throwing out my thumb a van pulled to the side of the road and let us hop in. Granted we were sitting on top of belt sanders, skill saws and other random power tools but beggars can't be choosers. I had a few Dexter-esque flashes from the mental how-to movie of "How to Dismember a Hiker and Not Get Caught" looking at the array we were sitting on but I tried to push those thoughts from my mind. 

Our driver very kindly stopped by at the Avalanche Motel-turned-Econolodge on the way into town and I sprinted in and was rewarded with a brand new beautiful pair of purple Solomon Synapses (no duct tape required!). These should last me until Katahdin - fingers crossed!

The rest of the afternoon we spent doing laundry (while wearing clothing purchased from the dollar store), eating more pizza than we really needed, resupplying and picking up a few necessities from the outfitter. As we finished up our laundry we saw a few hikers across the way and it turns out that one of them was the other OB (Old and Busted)!! Finally the two OBs have met. He told me that he thought I would look different (more obnoxious? More bitchy?) but we took a bunch of photos to commemorate the moment nonetheless. 

We got a hitch back to the trailhead around 5:00pm so Cliffnote could keep walking. Holler and I, however, had a place to sleep with a bed so we continued our hitch past the trail head, saying goodbye to Cliffnote who we likely will not see again, all the way to South Londonderry where Chloe, a manager at Per Se when I worked there years ago, now owns a beautiful restaurant - SoLo Farm & Table. 

The restaurant itself is beautiful, with rustic wood floors and a bar made from Vermont marble and a comforting, warm feeling that reminded me of Blue Hill at Stone Barns in New York. Every detail seemed to be thought out meticulously but in a way that was laid back and carefree in a way that is so pleasing and relaxing - exactly how you want to feel when you are treating yourself to a nice dinner out.

The grounds were equally gorgeous. The restaurant sits on 3 acres of pristine land a good bit of which is dedicated to farming the produce that SoLo uses in the restaurant. It was so lush and green and vibrant in the late afternoon sun that I couldn't help but think, who would ever leave a place like this? Of all the places to come to raise a family (her son Rafa is maybe the most adorable little boy I have ever seen), this seemed to be utopia. 

After our tour of the property, Holler and I settled into the cottage behind the restaurant and relaxed for the evening. I spent hours on the phone with loved ones, desperately trying to catch up after having had a dead phone since the top of Stratton Mountain (I can barely function without Red Knees, clearly). 

Today we are going for another 20 miler but we shall see given all the mud. I'm a bit tempted to slow my pace to let the Tribe catch up (they are all back in Dalton, MA). I am equally excited, however, to get to the White Mountains so we shall see what wins out. 

So are you really dedicated? Or just stubborn?

Ladies and Gentlemen: I'm in love with the Appalachian Trail again. You heard it here first. 

The past two days have been everything I needed to renew my faith in both myself and this trip. I feel strong and fast, my joints and feet hurt a respectable but tolerable amount and - this one's the kicker - I'm happy. Who knew going out on my own could be so beneficial? This isn't, of course, to say that I don't miss all of my previous hiking companions. Not a day goes by that I don't think about 2pac (in my mind she's always just around the bend), Goatman (puh-puh-puh-pokerface), Red Knees (death sprints all over this trail), Beetlejuice (yeahhhh buddy!), Monk (goodnight neverland!), the Tribe - there are too many to mention. My mindset and nothing else has shifted perceptibly in the past two days. 

Life is about the choices that you make, including your choices of how to react to those things which you have no control over. So I have a choice: I can either let myself wallow in the sadness and self-pity stemming from being unjointed from a group or I can embrace this time and get to know more people, spend all the time I want relaxing at beautiful views and sing just a little louder when I have my headphones in. 

Yesterday I hiked with Why Not?!, Slim Jim and Sky Pilot out of the Cookie Lady's early - we must have been on trail by 6:30am to try and beat the heat. Music on, I cruised quickly over the first 7 miles over relatively flat terrain. As I was descending slightly, singing along to some terrible pop song, I came to a dense step of roots and immediately jerked back barely stifling a scream. Inches below my foot was hands down the most massive, spiniest porcupine ever to walk the planet. If they made 25 pound bowling balls, that is how big this beast would be. Like a Tinkerbell with spikes that, at the time, I believed could shoot those spikes out to attack incoming predators (I think maybe that's just a Pokemon upgrade?)

The beast looked back at me with a bored look in his eye that seemed to say: "Go ahead, step down. I dare ya" as he scooted off the trail painfully slowly. I managed to get a picture of him shortly before he disappeared behind a tree. Well, I was certainly awake. 

We walked into Dalton, MA a few miles later and stopped to grab a snack at a shop called Java and Juice where we spent the better part of two hours indulging and charging our phones. With ominous looking clouds looming on the horizon, Why Not?! and I packed up (I threw my pack cover on - just in case) and headed out for the remaining 8 miles into Cheshire. 

The hike was beautiful and clear with a slight breeze, the storms missing us entirely. We made great time into Cheshire and got settled at a Catholic Church which allows hikers to sleep in the basement. It was plain but it was nice to have running water and a roof over our heads. 

After a good sleep we got a later start to head up Mount Greylock - the first proper mountain we have had in weeks. The climb was steady and quick and our hard work was paid off with some remarkable views. We rested at the top and gradually the number of hikers grew - Mallet, Hammer, Humen, The Dude, Cliff Note, Holler and a bunch more were all there, starting up a game of frisbee and soaking up the sun. It was a glorious and well earned break. 

The climb down from Greylock was steep and harsh on the knees, but thankfully over fairly quickly. At the bottom of the mountain, Cliff Note, Techie and myself hitched into town for another break. Techie went to a motel but Cliff Note and myself decided to go down to the Williams Inn and spend $6 for a shower, pool, hottub and sauna break. It was worth every penny.

After some easy hitching and a good resupply we got back on the trail around 5:45pm, itching to check off another state. The hiking was tough and rocky at points but when I saw the "Welcome to Vermont" sign I somehow found the energy to jump around like a kid on Christmas that just got a puppy with a big bow on it. WE MADE IT. This is the good part. Where the views make every challenge worth it. We have arrived. 

Another three miles in we found the shelter and set up in the fading light. I am exhausted but so excited for tomorrow and to get into Manchester Center soon to finally get some new shoes! The novelty of the duct tape is wearing off. 

Trail Magic

More often than not the trail gods are unforgiving, serving up punishing rain, rocks, vertical ascents and mud for days on end. But sometimes, when you really need it, when you are beaten down and half a decision from a hitch to the nearest airport, the trail and Mother Nature deal you a winning hand. For me, that was the past two days. 

Yesterday we woke up on the edge of the lake to a beautiful sunrise and got an early start on a 20 mile day. Dip n Sip, Newton, B-Line and Why Not all got on the trail before me. I wanted to stay a bit later to enjoy my morning and not feel guilty for hiking with my music on. 

The first 6 miles flew by thanks to good conversation with Why Not who I caught on a downhill around mile 4. At a dirt road a ways down the big descent of the day we officially passed the 650 miles to go mark. Despite the absence of my hiking buddies I am still making miles - still continuing my push towards that great mountain, one day (one mile, one step) at a time. 

In the afternoon we had a 1,000+ foot climb to tackle but we had the dangling carrot of trail magic provided by B-Lines parents two miles from the top. Despite the unsustainable grade of the trail (and the fact that I realized that I had lost my earphones on the trail while getting water - double dang it!) I enjoyed the climb immensely, one of the first climbs that I have truly enjoyed in a while. I felt strong and consistent, alive and light on my feet. It was like a runners high that propelled me along to mile 15 of our day and the awaiting trail magic. 

B-Lines parents are amazing. There was a table set up with cold, fresh fruit (I ate way too much pineapple, suffering through the mild anaphylaxis and tingling tongue with every bite), potato chips, chocolate chip cookies, brownies, crudités and ice cold beverages. To my ultimate delight as I walked up they pulled out a special beverage especially for me: 20 fluid ounces of liquid gold, Mountain Dew, my rocket fuel. 

We lounged around outside the car, enjoying the shade from the trees and chatting for at least an hour and a half. At that point, B-Lines parents offered to slack pack us the remaining 4.3 miles into town where they would pick us up and drive us into town to a motel where they had a room reserved for us for the night. Glory glory hallelujah! By some gift of god I had managed to have a great hike, slack pack, personalized trail magic, a free stay in town and the opportunity for a good meal, shower and laundry. Oh, and S'rocket had found my headphones mid-trail and brought them along for me. If that wasn't god's way of saying, "You've got this shit, Tobie" I don't know what it is. 

And, indeed, all of those things came to fruition, including a fantastically extravagant meal at an Indian restaurant (Lamb Korma and garlic naan anyone?) with an exceptionally mediocre glass of Pinot Grigio. I slept like a rock last night, heavy with the food and beer induced itis. 

In the morning we awoke semi-early to grab breakfast in town before heading out. At breakfast, S'rocket invited me to join her, B-Line and Hotdog at a river float back in her home town. I seriously contemplated the idea before I realized that I needed to keep hiking to avoid losing motivation (and money). 

The 10 miles we hiked today were easy, despite the heat of the day thanks to a cool breeze that swept over the mountains for the majority of the afternoon. At around 3:30 I arrived at the Cookie Lady's place where, predictably, the owners give the hikers cookies and provide them with tenting space for free. There is also a huge blueberry patch where they charge $2 per pound to pick some of the sweetest, juiciest blueberries I have ever had the pleasure of eating. I briefly contemplated moving on to get in another 6 miles but with significantly damaged shoes (part of the sole had fallen off during my hike and, when the duct tape failed to hold it on, I snipped it off mid-trail) and a beautiful evening rolling in I figured I would be a fool not to stay and enjoy the evening with Why Not, Slim Jim (sneaky son-of-a-gun is everywhere!) and Sky Pilot - I will just forgo my planned zero in Dalton. 

The evening has been a dream - the sun is low, just about to disappear behind the old garage, one of the boys in the family is playing the piano inside, the sounds from which are wafting across the lawn and we cooked dinner on a picnic table overlooking the blueberries. I am happy, full and tired but with motivation renewed for the remainder of my journey - if I ever leave this chaise lounge.