"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.
Dover Oak-- sorry I couldn't reposition it.
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. :)
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