Date: 2004-08-23
From: Georgia

To: Maine
Miles today: 1680.0
Weather: scattered clouds

Mile 1680Cooper Lodge, Killington PeakKillington Ski Mountain, VTAugust 23, 04Wow! So many things to say, so much to write, so little time! So manygreat friends sending letters and emails and packages of support! Yettwo weeks now w/o signal here in southern Vermont I have been cut offfrom the world! And this just days before I'm cut off again, for good!Palm.net has announced they will be pulling the plug on their wirelessservice as of August 31st! What does this mean?   It means no more dispatches from the front lineof the AT Adventure!   It means no more Palm magic! And no morejigglebox@palm.net. So, strike that one from your web address book. From now on we're duke@jigglebox.com, or failing that, whatever addressI plug into the mail buttons on Jigglebox. Brutal climb to Killington. I feel as though I have climbed Killingtonbefore, not on foot but by chairlift as a young boy with familyskiing. Tonight it was like Kerouac's nightmare ascent of some peakin the Sierras, he inexperienced and shocked and daunted by the wholehellish jaunt. Nothing was new to me or any of us in the crew, whatI'll call The Killington 7, Elly, Chris, Eric, Jess, A-Dog, T-Bot andme. After five months and endless peaks.. Wow! I just remembered that whole bit about how after you'vecompleted the AT, you have in essence climbed the equivalent ofEverest seventeen times. I thought about that a lot way back but havesince forgotten it. After climbing Killington today, the statisticreturns to me in all its painful glory. And I think, wow! Now withless than 500 miles to go, surely I have climbed Everest over a dozentimes. How tall is Everest? I don't even know. But I do know, or at least Iheard rumored, that I have a new fan in the person of Chef's mom. Grooovy. Hello, Chef's mom! Welcome to my story. Here atop Killington arriving in the rain, all windy and high andlonesome among the clouds, I arrived in the stone cabin and set aboutthe work of tearing off wet and sweaty gear, stripping down to nothingin the near-dark of stone hut and "bathing" with my moistenedwashcloth. Doesn't sound like much of a comfort, but it is. Carvingoff a layer of sweat is a special treat not every hiker affordsthemselves, but I have made of it a ritual. Cold air blowing in through unpaned windows, I climbed into my warmestgear, longjohns and hitech thermal tneck, wool socks dry and Patagoniafleece sweater. And now with winter fast approaching here in weathermoody New England, I have again my North Face 700-fill down jacket, aseeming luxury item until nights like this. I throw that on and setabout the work of boiling up some creek water into hot chocolate withpowdered milk to make it nice and creamy and then a good slug ofwhiskey, Canadian, and not real hungry thanks to having to force downgorp and cliff bars and tuna from the packet and carob clusters,shoving it all in my face on the move as I raced against time to reachthis promontory before dark, shoving in the food in answer to myvoracious body, shoving it in like a man shoving coal into the furnaceof an old steam train to keep it going, to make it go faster, runbetter, climb higher. I arrived thus not hungry but thirsty for hot chocolate and whiskey. Now nearly two hours hence, I have completed my mission and while mycompadres have tucked in to bed, pots stowed and cleaned, I have had adinner of hot chocolate only. What the hell. I skied this mountainonce. And today I climbed it with claw and roughshod hobbit feet. Weclimbed it. And our prize is this old cabin of stone with giant woodenpicnic table with so many names carved in and nine of us shelved likewarm bread out of the oven on two sets of giant bunks. Sweet. I hear that next year they will reroute this section of trail and tearthis cabin down, and for what? Shame. I often feel on this trail thatI am experiencing something that will not always be, not always be freeanyway. I imagine a day when the park service will find a way tocharge for the whole thing, fee permits from end to end. And all thesehundred or so free shelters I have slept in, blissful and alive andhappy in the free America that I once dreamed of but have rarelyexperienced in any but its more commercial aspect, now free. I wonderif someday soon there will be fees at every shelter, as there are nowat many here in Vermont and will be more in NH. Ahh, fuck it. Thetime is now. I chose well. We live and we walk and the world is buta dream far far below this snug haven in the clouds. Thank you, world."God be praised," I said coming in the cabin tonight. And I meant it. The climb and root-infested, jagged, razor-edge-of-the-dropoff-mountaintrail and ensuing rain and gloom of mist and coming night. One feltlucky to have arrived alive. -RSM