Date: 2009-08-12
From: Pinkham Notch

To: home
Miles today: 2.9
Weather: light rain

It can all come to an end in a split second. I was climbing up out of Pinkham Notch, heading north, glad to be completing New Hampshire and getting into the 14th and final state, Maine. I had taken a zero in Gorham along with Salty who was hiking faster and ahead of me so I should have been rested but I was not. It had rained that morning so it was very slippery and the climb was steep with a lot of boulder climbing. It was a struggle but I had confidence that I could continue. The problem started weeks before when I had imposed a deadline of finishing by the end of August so I could attend my mom's 90th birthday in LA on Sept. 9. I didn't want to fly out to LA and return to finish. I started doing more miles per day and told myself that I would not be taking any more zeros. Even though I was pushing out sometimes 20 miles a day and feeling good about it, at the end of each day I was slowly sliding down a slippery slope of total exhaustion. Each day it seemed to take more and more time to cover the miles and was walking about 12-14 hours per day. My mind was solely on the prize at Katadin and nothing was going to stop me. In the Whites, with it's famous climbs, I was becoming aware of my deteriorating physical condition and when I got to Gorham I chose to take a zero. Salty and I hitched out to Pinkham Notch. We were picked up by a young lady, a teacher from Maine and out to do a day hike in the area. She surprised both Salty and I when she said that she had a son in college. I would have guessed that she was about 25. But I digress. I was moving up the hill at a slow pace, not pushing it, just trying to make it up out of the notch. I had slipped a couple of times but that was usual for the terrain. Well to get to the point, I was climbing up a very steep section of rock when I started to slip back. The weight of my pack pulled me away from the rock and I did not have the strength to counter the physics. During the fall, I turned and hit the ground about 6 feet below face down and heard a thud as my chest hit a rock and knocked the wind out of me. I was doing some heavy breathing trying to recover when a hiking couple, her name was Lightweight, came up the hill. They helped me take off my pack and regain my composure. After about 5 minutes they helped me put my pack on and I felt that I could continue. The couple moved on and I followed a few minutes later. It took only about 5 minutes to discover that I was hurt more than I was willing to admit. I knew that my hike was over. I knew I had to to get out of the woods and get to a doctor. I did not relish going back down. Even without being hurt, steep descents, were not easy for me. Luckily there was a gondola at the top of the hill but I didn't know if it was operating. The book I was carrying said it operated July-Oct. I knew that I would soon likely, run into some downhill hikers who could confirm or deny the gondola operation so I continued to move up. I was pretty sure that I was within a mile of the gondola and moved up a a very slow pace. I finally ran into two hikers who confirmed the operating gondola and told me that it was less than a half mile away. The terrain leveled out and it was easier going when about 100 yards from the gondola I ran into a family who noticed my bloody leg and asked if they could help. When he offered to take my pack I was so grateful that I almost broke down in tears. The father took my pack and walked with me over to the gondola. I got on one of the cars and he put the pack on the seat opposite me. At the bottom, the gondola attendant helped me remove the pack from the gondola and put it on. I walked into the building, paid the gondola fare, and out to the road to hitch back into town. It seemed to take forever to get a ride, but a fellow hiker picked me up and took me back to the Barn, a hostel, in Gorham. I left my pack there and started walking down Main St. to find a doctor. At the town info booth I was told that there was a clinic about 3/4 of a mile down the street. Feeling relieved that medical attention was a short distance away I started walking. When I arrived I was not feeling very good. I could not see straight and was staggering. My right leg was bloody and, being a thru-hiker, I stunk, needed a haircut and shave. I looked a mess. When I told the receptionist that I was injured and needed to see a doctor, she told me that all appointments were full and that they didn't take drop-in patients. She told me that I had to go to the next town, Berlin, where there was a hospital with an ER. I asked her how could I get there as I was on foot she told me about the bus which she believed stopped at the hospital. She told me there was a schedule on the wall. I walked over and tried to read it but it was blurry and I didn't see the word hospital on the list. I walked back over to the receptionist and told her that I couldn't read the schedule because it was blurry. She responded by saying "Just go outside and wave at the bus and it should stop." Again she was pretty sure that it stopped at the hospital. When I asked her what times the bus came by she told me to read the schedule on the wall. I asked again to see a doctor, told her that I had medical insurance and money to pay for services but was told to go and stand at the street and wait for the bus. Why didn't she offer to help me read the schedule? Why didn't she offer to call me a cab? Why didn't she inquire about my injuries or call the hospital for me? She pointed towards the door showing me the direction to the street. Wow, I couldn't believe what had just happened. An injured man walks into a clinic and is shown the direction to the street? Well, I stood out there on the street and started hitching. Finally an older man, who listened to country western music, from New Jersey, on vacation in New Hampshire, stopped for me and agreed to take me to the hospital in the next town which neither of us knew its location. He was great and deposited me at the ER of the Anroscoggin Valley Hospital entrance where finally I met people willing to help. In the end the X-rays showed that I had cracked the #10 rib and I was given a prescription for pain and a voucher for a cab back to Gorham. Also I was fed and everyone there had smiles, and extended a "How can I help" attitude. They arranged a taxi ride back the 15 miles to the hostel. Back at the Barn I ran in D.O.C (dude on couch) who dislocated his shoulder on the trail 4 miles short of Maine. It was a bad day on the trail.To make a long story short, my wife, Pound Hound, arranged for airline tickets back to Fairbanks (1st class seats to boot) and I was home the next night. I'm in the excellent care of Pound Hound and hope to recover soon. Pound Hound and I will be back to finish our respective hikes and hopefully finish together in the future.I wish Bushman and Salty luck on finishing their trek. You guys were great companions. And to all the people that I met along the trail, the trail angels, the readers of this journal, too many to mention individually, a grateful thank you for your help and encouragement.Happy Trails everyoneGarage ManPound Hound: There were many anonymous individuals in GarageMan's story who were heroes. I can only promise to pass your good deeds forward and look in my own town for hikers in need of rides and/or friends. When GarageMan is feeling spunkier, we'll be sorting through and posting his pictures from the last 700 miles of his hike.Our adventure on the Trail is far from over, just over for this year. We could not have had this great adventure without the help, encouragement and friendship of Rusty, Hot Chocolate, Catalyst, Birch, BushMan, Salty, WhitePaws and Birdsong. We hope you keep in touch with us and look forward to hiking or visiting with us in Alaska or joining us on the trail next year.