The End Of The Journey

Just so you know, I did it! ;)

I got into Monson on the 28th after camping at one of the stream fords just about 6 miles from the road-- I was with Last Out, Franklinstein and Masshole who were all staying because of some trail magic at the river crossing (someone left a cooler full of Coke, Ginger Ale and Mountain Dew). I was one of the first ones out in the morning and I had a huge happy heart for getting into town-- I knew I had a lot to accomplish though. On the way in, I hit a reroute due to a beaver dam flooding the trail and leaving spots that were 2-feet deep in mud. I rolled in to the road to hitch to Monson at around 10:30am-- a few cars passed and I saw the fellow who gave me a ride from Stratton to the trailhead (well, I at least saw his RV) and thought it was kind of strange that he was always everywhere I was in Maine. He wasn't awake to give me a ride but fortuantely, an ATC worker was just leaving and wound up giving me a ride in to Monson. He talked about the mud just north and into the 100-mile wilderness and he talked about some of the spots he maintained there. As always, I pried a little information on what the trail conditions were and what to expect, the biggest truth was not to underestimate the 100-mile wilderness, it could be really rough or really easy but it's better to plan for the worst.

In Monson, I went directly to Shaw's and found Hambre-- we talked briefly and he was on his way out of town to hit up the 100-mile and hopefully finish "on the 3rd." He was ambitious so I figured I'd never see him again (thankfully it wasn't the case!) After Shaw's I got my awesome resupply my mom and brother sent out to me from the post office-- inside was quite an ample amount of food to last through the 100-mile wilderness although I was hungry so I managed to scarf down about 800+ calories of chocolate-covered peanut butter cookies without getting too full. I decided I'd hitch into Greenville for their supermarket considering the ones in Monson were closed and a gas station resupply really wasn't going to do me any good. I got a ride from the first car as I stuck my thumb out and made the near-20 miles to Greenville without any problem. I talked with the elderly couple who drove me, they were both admiring the fall foliage along the road and took the trip nearly every year. They noted how the leaves were going to fall quickly this year because it wasn't a particularly wet summer and asked me about my hike (main question I got in Maine: "did you see any moose!?") I was proud to talk about the four (technically three) I saw and how much damn beautiful they were. At the supermarket I did an awesome, cheap resupply and was soon on my way out of town. I got picked up after about 5 cars from a guy I had seen back in Monson who lived in the area-- he had just bought a new pickup truck and was telling me how expensive the gas was but how happy he was to be living paycheck to paycheck-- being a bit unsure about his future-- just going moment to moment. I admired his views and we talked extensively on the trip. I gave him a dollar for gas money to be kind, he was one of the most fun and jovial folks I ever got a ride from and I was more than happy to give him a reason to smile.

I stayed at Lakeshore House hostel after much deliberation-- I heard Shaw's would be more quiet but it seemed like the folks at Lakeshore House would be fun and talkative and friendly. Tinkerbell, who I had been hiking with for a few hours out of Caratunk was there and telling a story about a place she used to work when a very odd guy who called and wanted to know a great deal about bondage gear. In retrospect, I should have picked Shaw's but I heard there was an AYCE fish fry at Lakeshore (there wasn't) but I still got an AYCE breakfast at Shaw's the next day.

I mainly lay around that day relaxing-- had some pizza at the gas station and then read a book called "The Laughalachian Trail" by a kid named Ledge who did a yo-yo hike of the AT. I thought if I'd ever want to do an AT yo-yo and decided "probably not."

After eating some ice cream and trying to sleep, I spent a restless night with all of the drunk kids keeping me up until 2:30am as they watched Pinky and The Brain and were as loud as fucking hell the whole time. I wasn't happy so I got up during the night and slammed the door shut as hard as I can-- they stopped for 10 minutes and then talked a little more before going to sleep.

That morning, the 29th, I heard about all of the drunk's ridiculous exploits: a bluegrass group "jam session" that was held in town which the drunks made total asses of themselves trying to dance and "jam out." A few kids falling into the ice cold lake, that was about the extent of it. All of the kids were promising that it was going to be a rowdy night and it was in their way, just it definitely wasn't a party.

I had the AYCE breakfast at Shaw's which was pretty good-- I saw some familiar faces like Jungle Cat, Happy Trout, 70% and Firefox to name a few-- I also met a fellow from Pittsburgh who was section hiking the 100-mile wilderness and we talked for a while about Mr. Rogers and the area I grew up in.

I hitchhiked out of town soon after, I got a ride from a guy in a pickup truck who I talked quite a bit with. He knew Bill Irwin, told me a little history of the area, noted two hunted moose that were being hauled by trucks out of the woods and told me "god bless." I thought back to a guy in Pennsylvania who said a blessing for me on the trail and thought it was pretty cool to meet so many religious folks out here-- it was nice of them to bless me because it felt like a hug in a way. I got to the trail and made a wrong turn to get into the 100-mile, then got back to the actual trail and stood before the sign that noted the dangers of the wilderness and to bring 10-days worth of food. I laughed pretty hard, jumped up so my pack would shift the 6-days worth of food I had inside of it and trudged in.

The first day in it rained, it started out as a nice mist for the day so my rain jacket kept me pretty well covered-- I didn't sweat and didn't even feel clammy the whole day which meant I was doing it right for once. It's too often hiking that you're too hot so you sweat (thus the rain jacket is negligible aside from keeping you from getting a chill in the wind) or you're too cold but you get clammy (this is more common towards winter). I hit three stream fords, I was able to rock hop Little Wilson stream and wander on. After a short while and just before Big Wilson stream, I met my first hiker on the trail that day. After a quick introduction I noted the fact he had two different shoes on-- he proceeded to tell me, in broken English that he had tried to throw his shoes across Big Wilson and that he lost one of his shoes so he was hiking in a boot and a croc (thus he got the trail name "one shoe" from his hiking partner, both of which were from Quebec). I had to ford Big Wilson soon after but made sure I took the normal route of tying my shoes around my neck and letting them dangle. I used the rope to cross and it proved to be one of the most difficult crossings of the trail-- there was a spot where I had to go up and over a rock in the river which led to me plunging down into some deep water. At the other side, I sat and snacked to warm up and dry out as the fellow from Pittsburgh wandered across (and proceeded to fall in). I hiked with him soon after and hit an uphill and his voice started trailing off, I slowed down so he could catch up.
"Damn, I forgot how in-shape you guys are."
I had to think for a moment whether I was in-shape or not, who knows with all of the junk food I had been eating.

Eventually I lost track of him through a rock field. I rock hopped Wilber Brook and made it to the shelter where a gentleman, who introduced himself later after the incident, knocked over his alcohol stove and set about 3 feet of the lean-to on fire.
"That's not good" said an old man in the lean-to.
I stood and watched, along with two SOBO's who were sitting in the shelter in their sleeping bags (that would have gone up like a Christmas tree) and then struck up conversation for a while as the fire quelled. My Pittsburgh friend came along and started cooking after I had my stuff set up and he knocked about 1/4 of a liter onto my sleeping pad and bag by accident. I really didn't care that much nor did I care about much of anything at that point, it's just the stoicism the trail gives you. Besides, I knew it would all dry out at some point.

Cue the crazy mice-- I tried to keep my food bag and my garbage under my legs and during the night, a bold mouse chewed threw my trash bag and woke me up. I kicked it and it squeaked loudly as it flew under the shelter and quelled after half a minute. The mice were getting desperate due to the cold and this would not be my first time in the 100-mile hating them.

I didn't leave too early the next morning, I actually just lay in my bag while everyone got ready and then got packed up at the last minute and was the third one out of the shelter. I wanted to hike alone and I got my wish granted-- up and over a few rolling hills and rocks but nothing that interesting. The rain was starting up by 10 and it proceeded to rain heavily-- something that was pretty rare on the trail for me. I went up the Chairback mountains and the rain grew very cold, I found that if I stopped for five minutes I would start shivering, even in my rain jacket. "Not good" is all I could think, the last time I had had those conditions, it sleeted and snowed on me.

It didn't take me too much longer after noon to catch up to everyone. I came across Masshole and the Pittsburgh fellow who were there with a third pack. An incident had happened that a thru-hiker (Kokapelli) took a fall at the start of the Chairbacks and was not able to walk without help-- they had called 911 and a team was coming to get them but Kokopelli was going on to the next shelter to rest. I ran up ahead to see if I could help, I couldn't do much so I had to run back to Masshole who was in contact with the rescue team who told him to bring Kokopelli in the other direction opposite the shelter (to a side trail) to get him help. I had to run back, get the news to Kokopelli (who was reluctant to stop anywhere but a shelter due to the cold) and get everyone moving in the right direction. I left soon after, there wasn't anything I could do but everyone wanted to go into town due to the cold. The Pittsburgh guy offered to give me a drive but he said "make sure that's what you want to do though, you could press on man but I'm going home and you'd possibly be giving up your hike." I was the only one in the group to press on that day and I didn't go far down the trail before I started to feel depressed and guilty. I felt remorse for Kokopelli- the poor guy was about 60 miles away from finishing and he got that hurt and might not finish. I started to cry until stoicism and other thoughts took over, the trail demanded my attention with rocks and roots so I could keep my mind occupied.

I came along to a shelter 10.9 miles on and wound up sharing it with Franklinstein, Dirty D, Bunny and one-shoe's Quebec hiking partner (a smoldering hot woman, in my humble opinion). We talked, well they talked and I listened most of the time and zoned out to the sound of the rain. A few SOBO's came through, one alone who just took a break to cook and then a pair soon after, one of which had a dog. The dog ran in and hid under the shelter's floor (there's a gap of at least a foot under lean-to's) and after a while, the owner pressed on to keep hiking. The second SOBO stuck around and relaxed and as he was leaving, his friend's dog came out from under the shelter and ducked back in. The guy had to drag his friend's dog out with it looking so depressed and sad I couldn't help but "aww." The dog just stuck his head on one of the wooden boards and wouldn't move, finally the guy had to scream at the dog for it to press on and then it moved. The rain quit about 5pm and I debated pressing on further, I knew I wouldn't make it on such low mileage but you can't do much when it rains so hard.

The next day, the first of October had the french girl leaving

100-mile wilderness

Greetings from Monson, ME-- heading out today, in the rain, for the 100-mile wilderness with an absolute ton of food (I decided against doing a bucket drop, I'm carrying my full week's worth of food).

I'm excited, nervous, so many things right now that I can't put it into words. I'm going to do a major update once I finish the trail and get an actual computer to do my stuff on. Until then, peace and love to you and thank you for following my blog-- next Friday, I'll probably be an AT thru-hiker. :D

Palm Readings/ Seeing Things

Hey guys!

I'm writing to you for my, most likely, second-to-last blog post of the trip. There's a lot I want to touch on and I think it's an excellent time to do it.

You may or may not know I'm not getting in quite as many miles as I'd like to be right now-- or that I feasibly should be. I would love to be hitting at least 18 miles a day right now for my trip-- I'd love to be pumping out miles and breaking speed just to make it to Katahdin but in reality, I don't really want my journey to end. I'm about 200 miles from the finish and after rushing so much, I have a real feeling in my heart that I'd like to take this moment to appreciate the difficulty, the ease, the overall spectrum of the trail before it's all over. I might never be cold enough to be hypothermic again in my life, I might never see the stars so clearly as I did last night (so beautiful, I could see the clouds of the milky way and more stars than I could really even imagine). There's so many things I feel like I missed out on now and it's so sad that my journey will soon be over. My last post will be in Monson, Maine before the 100-mile wilderness-- so that should be coming about a week from now.

At the Pine Ellis Lodge the other night, I enjoyed a bottle of private stock and some whisky with Silly Sobo. After getting mildly drunk, the manager of the place, David, who is a Mayan, offered to read our palms. He read mine and studied my life line and my love line and told me that I'd live a pretty long life, up to 85 years and that I'd have two wives and two children. It was also added that I wouldn't be poor but I wouldn't ever be rich
It was kind of disheartening because Silly Sobo's palm reading was so much more Kurt Cobaine: he would live a short life but he'd be rich, have many girlfriends but he'd have an alcoholism problem. It made mine feel like a life in a convent.
I have to question myself sometimes if I'm content with a simple life or if I want complication-- what is it we really want? I was told that at the end of the trail, the only way I'd finish anyways, is if I came to an answer for these questions. Maybe that's why I'm slowing down so much, the answers need to unfold gently, even with the chilly nights creeping in. I wonder often why I'm out here, why I'm doing this and what it's all about because I get so tangled up in reasons-- I need my answer or else I won't be able to finish. Also, how much trust can I take from a Mayan who charges 6$ for a shuttle?

We left Pine Ellis and encountered rain pretty early on-- Firefox and Silly Sobo and I hiked north and met a couple, Fudgie and Sancho and then later passed Baby Scrooge and another guy. We all made it in to the shelter after a very short day and took our spots in the 8-person shelter with Brightflower, lucky trout and jungle cat. Those that stayed that night were lucky as it was very windy (consistent 40mph) and rainy-- I imagine the people left out in their tents were pretty miserable (though they smoked pot the whole time, so maybe they had a great time-- I sure as hell had to waft it constantly and it grew a little tiresome). I took some Dayquil that I had purchased at the store early in the morning at a terrible price of 10$ but it wound up helping a lot-- I was able to focus on the book I had begun reading that I picked up at the hostel: "Sex, Drugs and Coco Puffs." It's a really interesting book on pop culture that explodes a bit like On The Road and reads in long sentences but it all made sense to me. It took about 70 pages and listening to everyone's conversations in the shelter before I was asleep for the night. I was quiet much of the time as I often am in groups, I like to just sit back and listen and watch and take it all in-- some call that a bad trait but I really don't mind-- it's not that I don't like people, I like to just sit and unwind to their ideas and voices.

We hiked on the next day with Jungle Cat and Lucky Trout to try to get to Rangely-- we made it to a stream and figured there would be a bridge to cross but it wound up being an unmarked ford. I tried out the water and it went up to my thighs-- it was rushing like crazy from the 3.5 inches of rain and as I got a quarter of the way across, I turned back and thought better of it. I didn't really want to wade through the water just to trip and fall and wind up miserable and cold for the rest of the day. Rangely was the main goal if nothing else-- we just wanted to get somewhere warm for the night because there was a freeze advisory. Jungle Cat and Lucky Trout took off with us up a dirt road that would hopefully have an alternative way of crossing the stream-- we hit a blue-blazed trail that took us over a bridge and right back onto the Highway we wanted to go on. It didn't take us far out of our way but we began doubting our ability to get to Rangely for the night so Sobo and I decided to motor and hit 3mph the rest of the hike for the day. It didn't work well-- the entire day was filled with deep puddles, areas of mud with broken pontoons (and the mud can be several feet deep, once Sobo fell in and went up to his calf), slick roots and oddly-angled rocks.

It was a long hike and we hit a swimming area that would have been peachy if I had only reached the spot a month earlier. Alas, with my stress fracture, it would have been impossible even if I had gone at top speed the whole time-- it's just gotten too cold to swim in such a lake. The fall foliage has really peaked after the last few frosts we've had-- the leaves went from being green a week ago to now tinges of brown, yellow and Chuck Berry red-- it made the lake setting almost ethereal.

We trudged on and on and on towards Rangely and came upon a shelter where a guy was laying inside. I recognized the voice right away-- it was Turtle Tracks who I had met in Waynesboro, Virginia-- he was flip-flopping and taking a lazy day to relax and snuggle up and get warm in his sleeping bag (rightly so, with the shelter being so close to a lake, I can't exactly blame him). He was in his normal mood of reflective melancholy so we left him to his element. After pressing on past five and going at least 3 mph, Sobo and I took a break at a random spot 2 miles from the trailhead. Both of us were exhausted and in need of town food (I wanted dark chocolate, mostly) and from the lack of breaks, I literally had steam coming off of my body when I stopped. We got up from our break and pressed on a little to find a red-head going southbound-- after an introduction, she told us she was named Trail Freckles, she was from Germany and she was trying to find a place to camp (preferably with us) because she was worried about "some creepy guy who was stalking her." We walked with her to the road and persuaded her to get a hotel room with us in Rangely after we worked out some plans at the IGA where we could cellphone service (and I ate 1600 calories of Mr. Goodbars, Dark Chocolate, Milk Chocolate and Krakel bars-- no worry, it only cost me 3.75). Sure enough, we got a hotel room for 50$ with Firefox, 70% and Hombre and only had to pay about 5$ a person (this was a great turn of events seeing as if any of us were alone, we would have experienced a freezing or expensive night). Happy Trout and Jungle Cat likely stayed in town last night as well though I'm not sure where.

We went to the pub and had a few beers, I enjoyed two local drinks that were very well-made and talked with Trail Freckles and the group until later on. We got back to the room and all passed out watching Comedy Central (some Daily Show, Colbert Report and South Park) and enjoyed some jokes about Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer and Dr. Pepper (the soda of choice for agnostics).

In the morning, I got up and had a shower and joined Freckles for orange juice at a diner, then moved on to have a muffin at a different diner when more people joined us and then poked around for a sleeping bag liner at the outfitter's (I found one that was silk, so I will live afterall). Sobo and I have been spending most of the day in town, just enjoying the sunshine, getting our shoes dry (muchly needed!) and taking it easy. I'll be with Silly Sobo up until about Stratton when he heads back to Lincoln to go South and then I'll be on my own again to finish-- just the way I'd like it to be at the very end of the journey. That said, Silly Sobo is getting one heck of a sendoff from me-- the guy has been a blast to hang out with and al good friend.

All of that said, I am getting introspective about the trail and what I'll do next. Several options have opened up-- one of which was last night at the bar when a random stranger asked me what I'd be up to when I finished (it seems to be the new question to be asked-- it used to be "where'd you start from?"). I confessed I had absolutely no idea so he told me about a job at Bryce Canyon park in Utah that I'd work 4 10-hour days with retail and reception work and then be free to spend three days a week hiking around the canyons-- that sounds absolutely delightful. I could live with my sister, live with my mom, live with my wife, live with my best friend, work at a hostel, work in a state park or do whatever the heck I want. But when people ask me from now on what's next, I'm going to look up at the sky and say:
"Oh, my salvation?"
And hopefully they'll say: "we'll see what we can do."
(I'm Not There)

Fly Me To The Moon/ 256.9 miles left

Hello hello!

I'm writing to you from Pine Ellis Lodge here in Andover, ME.

The last few weeks have been interesting and difficult. I entered the Whites soon after Hanover, which was by far my favorite town on the trail. There was a night I stayed after some slackpacking (which came to be because my package was waiting for me and interrupted by Labor Day) and wandered the streets of Hanover for a while looking for something to keep me occupied. I came upon a ukulele group who was practicing outside due to their normal location being shut for the day. What attracted me was that they were playing the song "The Boxer" which I remember from Bob Dylan's Self Portrait album. Everywhere I go on the trail, if there's some bobby, it's worth listening.

They played several songs and they played them quite well-- I was by far their most attentive audience member. Sitting on the Dock Of The Bay, House Of The Rising Sun, I'm Yours... so many beautiful bits. I couldn't help but feel overjoyed by it and sing along-- especially to "Don't Stop Believing."

I finished listening at around 9pm-- talked with a few of the people playing and they told me I should take up ukulele because it's simple and really fun-- I couldn't help but be hopeful at that moment. I wound up sleeping near the soccer field at Dartmouth college and woke up to rain. I walked on and took the bus into a nearby town to get gaiters and rain pants which I got for super cheap and also picked up my package. Soon after, I got a 40-mile ride to where I left off-- the base of Mt. Moosilauke-- I slept in the shelter that night and I was in The Whites.

I got up that morning to fog-- the day wasn't exactly cold but it wasn't perfectly warm either. I tried having my gaiters and rain gear on for the climb up but I wound up taking them off. I wasn't sure how to deal with climb-- it would be my first time above 4000 ft and it would be cold and windy but honestly, who wears all of that shit and sweats their ass off on the way up? One of the first things I noticed once we peaked alpine zone on Moosilauke, the air smelled really sweet. I had to laugh to myself and wonder if there were Dartmouth girls up there somewhere hiding. I soon found out there weren't, the top of Moosilauke was pretty much inhabitable.

The pine trees I was in got smaller and smaller until they were gone-- the top of the mountain was a massive, windy bald. When I went to put on my rain jacket, it took off in the air at light speed and blew into a tree. I had to climb some brush to get to the jacket and put it back on. There was a constant roar of static as the rain hit me and I rushed just to get down to the other side of Moosilauke. When I finally reached the shelter, I found the indications that the climb down would be terrible. I didn't get any pictures but it was as near vertical as it could get and there was rebar and wooden steps built into some of the rocks to hold on to. Some of the jumps and g-forced reminded me of Super Castlevania when you jump down from a platform but are perfectly OK. So it goes for a thru-hiker!

At the bottom of the hill there was trail magic that kept me busy for a while. I met up with a few nice folks like Stitches who were hosting it-- at the trail magic there was a SOBO named Piper that we both thought we knew from SOMEWHERE but couldn't quite figure it out (I got her e-mail anyways). I took off way too late for the next shelter, Eliza Brook, and made it there near dark where two gentlemen were pretty much sleeping. My feet were soaked, my gaiter had torn and I wasn't in the best spirits.

I woke up the next morning and just laid around for once while everyone got ready-- I found myself tired but relaxed so I talked with some of the folks at the shelter. One of the gentlemen, Sven, was section-hiking and offered to pay for my tent site at the next campsite, Liberty Springs. I told him I might just do that. I didn't, I hiked to Lincoln, New Hampshire which was a rough hike on it's own-- it took me up and over some difficult rock and around some stream crossings that were totally something I wasn't used to. When I finally arrived, I dried out my stuff by the side of the road-- a cop rolled by and saw my tent set up, my rain jacket in the trees and asked what I was up to.
"Just drying out!"
"Are you aware of Chett's place?"
"No, what's that?"

Chet's is a free hostel in Lincoln, New Hampshire-- I got a ride from the shuttle service there and to the super market and wound up staying. It was rather smelly there but at least I found out who had been staying there just the day before. I was catching up.

The next day was absolutely beautiful-- I got a shuttle to Franconia Ridge where I left off, unaware the type of day I'd have.

Mountain on the drive.

Franconia ridge was a climb but I didn't feel it.

I had the most beautiful day up on the mountains and I couldn't believe this place existed in the US-- it was my favorite spot on the trail so far.

I went on past Galehead Hut to camp for the night and had a pretty shitty stealth site in the woods. It was foggy that night and then it was cold in the morning. I pushed through the day and did some crazy climbing-- once even DOWN A STREAM (Moosilauke was next to a waterfall, so I guess this wasn't so bad). I pushed on to Mizpah hut that night and we had a terrible storm while I was hiking on Webster Cliffs. Yes, my dumb ass was hiking on cliffs while it rained hell on me. When I got over the cliffs, I was met with roaring streams coming over the rocks at me, blocking any white blazes and leaving me to feel my way along. It was dumb, there were no stealth sites but I knew I should push to Mizpah.

And I finally rolled into there and it was the best feeling in the world. I was warm, I got up to the library where all the other thru-hiker's were at and met up with 70%, Firefox, Short-term, Eva, Jungle Cat and Lucky Trout-- people that I've been hovering around on my hike since then and I'm very glad to be doing so.

The next day, over Mt. Washington to Madison Springs Hut just requires the pictures. It was like walking on the moon and encountering an unknown beauty. There were no white blazes, we were guided by cairns that really weren't all that reliable (some spots, they just weren't well-marked and I was going on a prayer).

Views back to Washington and a "chaos blaze" as we hiked down a ski slope for fun as we south-bounded Wildcat Ridge. Enjoyed it so so much.

Afterwards, we headed on to a hotel, went on to hike some more together and have been enjoying it since.

Maine though... Maine....

Upon reaching the Maine border, we automatically hit the rough stuff. Real rock climbing, sheet rock you walk straight up the side of and winds and cold. It's going to make this finish quite a finish-- let's hope I make it!

Go Get Her, Tiger

Hey guys!

Greetings from Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire-- I made it up here yesterday actually pulling a very easy 15 to make it into town. I'm zeroing today... kind of (more on that later) because my package is being delayed due to the post office being closed on Labor Day. Seriously, that should be changed-- you should WORK on labor day. Nobody knows the meaning of labor anymore, sheesh.

The last few days have been a blur-- I crested several tough mountains getting back onto the trail and getting into Massachusetts. Mt. Everett and Bear Mountain lived up to their names-- rocky and tough on my feet. I started to realized climbing Bear Mountain that boots might be a good alternative. This is a big adjustment for me, a few months ago I would probably have put boots in the same category of likelihoods as me voting Republican. I got up and over the slick rock of Bear Mountain, saw the beautiful highest peak of Connecticut (it's a tower of rocks that offered a great sunset) and climbed down a real bitch of a descent that left me feeling like G-forces were hitting my ankles when I hopped down. The glacial rock was just everywhere. Soon after, I hit a long-running brook that looked like something out of a movie-- there were waterfalls, caves the brook twisted through, it was all so very magnificent.

I hit Race mountain and decided to camp for the night-- ahead promised some panoramic views and I was in the mood for a good sunrise. I camped under an old pine tree and had spiders crawling over every inch of my tent during the night. Luckily, not a single one got inside during the night. I finished my fourth Game Of Thrones book and shut off my headlamp-- what else was there to do after that? I woke up in the middle of the night, studied my destination and went back to sleep.

The morning was beautiful

The cliff walk along the sunrise was breath-taking-- there was zero wind, just wavy, soft clouds that made me feel I could walk across them and reach some distant shore.

The way up Mt. Everett was terrible. "Why are you doing this to me, Massachusetts?" I thought. Going down I hit a recreation area with plenty of water and time to relax but my feet were aching. "new shoes" is all I could think of.

The next few days blurred together well enough, there was pie, though-- lots of pie.

I went to the bird cage hostel in Dalton and had a beautiful experience. My first night there, I met one northbounder and several southbounders who were staying a second night-- one of the Sobo's was a fellow named MacDaddy who came onto the trail weighing over 400 lbs and was doing the trail, little at a time to get into shape. There was a young kid named Spider Monkey going sobo and an asian nobo with a dog. Rob Bird was kind enough to take us all in and make the place feel just like home. The second night I stayed, I had the place alone with Rob to just talk the whole day-- we went to Eastern Mountain Sports where I bought some hiking sandals, went to Pizza Hut for Hawaiin pizza, watched Teen Nick (lol) and simply chatted. Rob is a phenomenal guy, he has the same manners and kindness as my dad and he is a real joy to be around.

We wound up talking about my dad quite a bit-- I have no secrets to hold about why I'm doing the trail and it's very much been because I miss my dad and I have a hole in my life that needs repaired. I haven't been on the best path in life, I've made a great deal of mistakes and learned from them but I still have to acknowledge I made them. Rob and I talked about the last few things I said to my dad, how I wished I could have seen him again and he was there for me like my dad would have been-- he just listened, offered his own experiences and gave me the best advice in the world: "focus on the good things, the beautiful memories you've had and you're going to turn out to be a well-rounded young man."

Thanks, Rob! :)

Also, I got a mohawk.

And those sandals? Didn't work out, I had to return them to EMS and get boots.

Still not voting Republican though.

At the end of Mass. and getting into Vermont, I hit the long trail-- it was a beautiful experience to know I'd only have three states left and that I'd be getting into the beautiful country. Vermont offered some of the most breath-taking views of the trail yet-- the entire bit reminded me of the Smokies but it got cold very quick. I had a few nights where I was wearing all of my summer clothes and still just didn't feel warm enough.

I met Hot Sauce and Sweaty Cheddar-- a beautiful couple out hiking the trail who were friendly, sweet and funny. I soon found myself back in the NOBO bubble with many folks who got mohawks from the bird cage and others who were just taking their time and enjoying themselves. I passed Desperado and Micro and they're at least 3-4 days behind me now as I hit a breakneck pace in boots. I found I picked up the miles quickly-- before I could go maybe 2.5 miles an hour at tops, now I'm hitting 3 without even trying. At all of this comes an expense, my legs are quite tired and I have some soreness in the front of my shin-- I don't care what it is, it will wear off eventually when I'm used to boots.

Beautiful trail going uphill- my new favorite trees- the white birches.

A Vermont view-- these do not disappoint.

Sunshine on my mind

Up ahead I hit the toughest part of the trail-- The Whites, the Mahoosucs in Maine and then the finish, Katahdin-- I have less than 500 miles to go now and the end is getting here. I'm expecting snow in the Whites (many Sobo's told me at night it snowed) and really tough climbing but I was made for it. ;)

Good luck and much love <3

The Glass is Always 2/3 Full

Just another beautiful day on the AT

"So are you thru-hiking?"
I nodded and chewed thoughtfully on a pretty big handful of Cracker Jacks until I was ready to actually speak.
I should get a Dr. Pepper
"Yessir."
"Northbound or South?"
"North."
"Well, I have to say, you're one of the cleanest of them I've seen."
Is that a joke? I took a moment to consider what he was saying and realized my shirt and hair and such were actually cleaned as I had just taken a partial shower the night before. I say partial shower because the shower was an outdoor shower on the side of a vine-covered building near a power plant. I say partial shower also because it was a FULL OUTDOOR shower and I didn't want to get nude in front of a whole family (with children) that was fishing about 200 yards away. I had dried my shirt in the sunlight on a banister near the power plant. I've had the luck of beautiful weather lately, it hasn't rained in at least five days which is a great thing to experience when hiking. It surely won't last.
"Well, thank you."
I tried to change the subject.
"Have you seen many other NOBO's go through?"
He nodded and looked away.
"I work in a lot of the restaurants around here. You guys come through all of the time and you all stink pretty bad. The older guys like you keep themselves clean but the younger folks come in drunk and smelling like shit. It's actually pretty rude."
I was flabbergasted.
"I suppose it is."
"Well, they can't help it you know, it's just part of it."
He got up.
"Happy trails."
"Yes, you have a good day."

I had just gotten out of La Bonne Epicure Market in Salisbury and talked with a local before this engagement. People were polarizing on the trail-- in the South you had unfounded and godly kindness-- as I've gone further north though, you get discussions like that. How irritatingly out-of-place it makes you feel.

La Bonne Epicure Market... I can at least say 1 of the 4 words in that title. I enjoy French culture but I truly don't know how to say more than a few words in French, let alone spell them. It's a clever idea for a little town in Connecticut, though... I'm sure the owner's thoughts were: let's build a business... a grocery unlike any other... a regular grocery store that charges 6$ for Annie's organic fruit snacks... yes.... and let's give it a French title so it sounds so quaint and.... PRICEY.

I got out of there quickly enough and I wound up buying a bountiful supply of Ramen. Another one of THOSE resupplies.

The trail lately has been difficult. As I came into New York, I had to deal with rough terrain. Something new came into play and that's the glacial rock-- it's here to stay from what I've heard from those traveling South. The rock is huge, ski-slope like and it can stretch on a single rock for way too long. In the dry weather it's just annoying, in the wet weather it slows you down to a crawl.

Glad to say it started to even out again. I was gifted with the beauty of Harriman state park and some friends to travel with. One kid is named Magic Lungs and he is socially skilled-- the man can get laid from locals whenever he chooses, can get free food and attention whenever he pleases and he is also great company. Alas, him, Still Joe and Wooly are now behind me. Still Joe was a cool guy, Wooly was a fun companion who looked like Tommy Chong-- the last I saw of any of them was Bear Mountain near Fort Montgomery.

Harriman State Park was gorgeous. I dipped my feet into a few lakes, found a sweet fawn that wasn't afraid of me at all and I also found some cool rock caves buried in the hills that I went by. I thought it was epic-- a beautiful spot to be in New York and not at all what I was expecting.

I didn't get to see Bear Mountain's Perkins monument at the top-- all of the talk of seeing New York City Skyline from 34 miles away was lost on me-- it was closed and also foggy. I DID get to see the trailside museum which didn't disappoint. I got to see porcupines, red foxes and coyotes. Man, the coyotes were massive. I saw the rattlesnakes above and many different frogs and owls and hawks. It was a splendid time. A really cool thing I didn't get a picture of was a monument to Walt Whitman. Sometimes I look at Walt and I think we look awfully similar. Other times I do not.
Getting into Bear Mountain Recreation area began a strange adjustment. I believe the language around there is primarily Spanish because aside from a few vendors, nobody spoke a bit of English.

Donde estan mis pantalones

 Not to complain or be racists in the least bit-- it's just that everywhere I went, EVERYBODY was speaking Spanish. I saw some Blue Bunny ice cream vending machines which made me smile. Blue Bunny is made by Wells Dairy which is in Le Mars, Iowa where my wife is from. I of course had a strawberry eclaire to enjoy the comparison.

Apparently Bear Mountain Bridge, just after the zoo, is a common site of suicides. I snapped this picture going along where there was another such phone. The drop down looked very steep but I did see a train go by beneath me.

After that, the terrain was just easy with rocks and short ups and downs. New york didn't really have any mountains so they just had us go up and down the ridge again.. and again... and again. I hit some ankle rollers which I actually refer to as conveyer rocks. You take a step on one and it rolls you down-- sometimes flat on your ass. They're more dreaded than banana peels.

Strangely, there was a great deal of swamp in New York. I crossed many boardwalks like this-- stepping on some boards there were loose produced a quick squishy noise, a loss of balance and a foot full of mud. I predict that's why my feet smell so bad lately.

Newts have just been everywhere!

Dover Oak-- sorry I couldn't reposition it.

Humorous cows just as I was about to leave New York. I came to a field and they were all standing by the trail. They weren't exactly afraid just kind of like... "hey man, what are you doing here?" I felt like I was in an Earthworm Jim alternate reality.



New York on it's own was a difficult state for me. It started out physically bad and then it was just a mindfuck the rest of the way through. For a period of time while I was with wooly, Still Joe and Magic Lungs I felt good until a particular night before Bear Mountain when it started to rain. I wanted to set up camp early and last out the thunderstorm but I felt a bit urged on, plus the comments of "I wouldn't want to camp up here, it's too exposed" were making me feel my camp spots were ill-chosen. We wound up in a valley, I was soaked through and through, worried I would get cold over night so I wound up sleeping with my wet sleeping pad under my wet tent and me crossing my fingers. While I was setting up my tent, a random Chinese guy was wandering down the road where I was setting up.

"Hello, are you hiking!?"
"Yes."
"North or South."
"North."
Piss off Mr. Miyagi, I'm cranky, wet and I want to go to bed.
"This. North? Trail here?"
"Yes."
"You start where?"
"Georgia, man. Ok?"
"Yes. You sleep here?"
"No, I'm just setting my stuff up for now."
It's 8:30 and I'm soaked, what the hell do you think I'm doing?
"Oooooo, ok. See you later!"

I went to bed ticked off but I had a wonderful climb up Bear Mountain. Some days with the sunrise being so gorgeous, your heart expands all over again. I hit lonliness after I broke off from the group and got ahead but I got more beautiful views soon after and my mileage picked up.

The real, true block I've been facing lately hasn't been the physical difficulty or the mental isolation. It's the question of: what are you doing out here? It's easy to answer locals with a jibe-- something that makes both of you smile and then your day is better but you still haven't answered the question. What have you walked almost 1500 miles for?

 I tried every answer in the book, some worked for a while. When I need to pick up pace, it's the idea of catching up to people. That lasts for a while and then I stop caring because I know it's a silly thing to aspire for, it causes more ill than anything and doesn't feel like a wholesome goal. A wholesome goal is the idea of doing this in memory of my dad-- that keeps me from quitting of course but it doesn't always give me the motivation to hurry and keep striding. I get days where I am languid, every step is a jarring force on my body because I realize there are times I just don't want to do it because I ask myself the question: what are you doing out here?
And then the answer came to me. When the question is asked, the only good answer is silence.


Gazing on an infinitely beautiful view for a while, quieting my mind and taking it in without words or expectations and my heart just fills back up again. As I get further north, the long green tunnel will break and I'll have every reason in the world to keep going on again. This middle half has been the push but now that I'm getting into Massachusetts I'll hit the mountains and beauty and my question will die off on my lips before it is asked. What am I doing this for? I won't even need to reply. I don't even have to after the view I had this morning, the one at the top of this post.

 As I walked into town today, I met some SOBO's, the first I've seen in a brief while. One stopped me to ask if I had seen a dog.
"yea, I saw a golden retriever last night actually-- there was no one around and it acted like I wasn't even there."
"No no, I'm looking for a German Shepherd but that's weird what would a go-"
"Does he bite?"
"He nips."
"Okay, well, I will keep my eyes out for him."
We both laughed. I had the secret thought of walking along and finding a big German Shepherd on the trail that would likely try to bark and nip at me just like every dog on the trail. A question I ask more frequently than anything: why the hell do people bring their dogs out here? Don't they realize how annoying it is?

Yesterday morning I met my first people of the day and they had a baby Collie with them that barked like an old woman who just smoked a pack of cigarettes, drank a quart of milk and ate a block of cheese. It reared up to me and acted like it would bite-- I regarded it like a fly and thought if you bite me, I'll bite back and pretend you're a footlong sub from Subway. Dog, I am ITCHING for Subway.

Ahead, I hit some brilliant mountains-- another Bear Mountain that looks intimidating-- one after is Mt. Everett which is quite steep and in a week, Mt. Greylock-- the first time I'll be getting above 3,000 ft. since Virginia. I cannot wait for the beauty to come and of course, VERMONT.

Peaceful days and love to you all. :)

Roll The Dice

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.

you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.

- Charles Bukowski