Date: 2008-05-20
From: Williamstown, Mass.

To: Norwich, VT
Miles today: 170.0

Tonight, I am staying at the home of Betsy and Bill Shultze in Norwich, VT. Their house is smack dab on the trail just south of Hanover and a welcomed respite after my first week apart from the great Strittlagus. Well, thanks to the generosity of 'The Brain,' and his loving family, I have once again been reminded of what it feels like to be clean again. Nothing pleases me more than to watch 150 or so miles of trail grime circle around the drain at my feet and then disappear. I was spotless. Well mostly so. The barnacle like calluses on my heels appear unwashed and blackened by the 'Mud Season' of Vermont. The untrained eye might even mistake the hard packed soil trapped under new callus growth as necrotic. So yeah,..... it looks pretty cool. Fortunately, my feet have served me well as of late. They feel no pain. Tomorrow morning I must wake around 5:30 to catch a ride with Bill back down to the Co-Op in Hanover, where i will resume progress northbound.   Glencliffe in 2-3 days and then the Whites. Sub-zero temps were reported from atop Mt. Washington recently. I find this slightly disconcerting. However, I hope to have a better grasp on actual trail conditions through the Whites prior to my departure from Glencliff. It looks like 1-3 inches of snow in the upper elevations. Mt. Killington, just south of my current location, had pockets of snow around knee deep over the top ridge for about a mile or two. My sandals weren't exactly winterized, leaving my feet cold and soggy, which could spell disaster if i were, say, in a 73 mph wind at 30 degrees F, as I very well could find on Mt. Washington and the Franconian Ridge. My toes would probably be instantaneously frost bitten, solidified, cracked from the whole of my greater foot, and tossed into the wind like confetti at a New Years Eve party, leaving me, toeless and apparently intoxicated. 'Oh don't mind him, he's not drunk. He just doesn't have any toes.' I'd be left there, 'padding' my way drunkinly northbound, cursing the cold, and wondering how I might afix trekking poles to fingerless hands after the next gail force wind decides to claim the last of my ten remaining digits. So I may send home for my Asolo GTx boots before taking a bite out of the Whites. Or before they take a bite of me........This past week has been rather uneventful. I left North Adams last monday with Skittles after saying goodbye to Stride at the Stop 'n Shop. Skittles, Goolash, and I cowboy camped on Harmon Hill with a crystalline view of the sun setting over Bennington, VT. "Goolash," is from the Czech and is only out for about a month. Good luck friend. I parted ways with Skittles in the morning and marched up the steep climb from Bennington. And just like that. I was no longer a suffix at the end of an incredibly wild dinosaur like being. I was just,well,....Vagus. Goolash and hiked for most of the day. I ended up at Story Spring with good ol' Flameboy and a few weekend hikers. They let me nip on their flask of whiskey for 'words of wisdom;' like, use sand from the creek to clean your skummy pot and 'don't $h*T where you eat.' Small little pearls one can only begin to fully understand after living in the woods for three months. They were grateful and my belly was warm and ready for the 'sac.' Literally.I broke camp early that next morning, and was able to squeeze in a quick 13.5 miles by noon. Eulogy and Aenima, were just a few of the tracks that powered me up and over Stratton Mt, covered in mist and icey patches. I swear. Listening to 'Tool' is almost cheating when it comes to bangin' out some miles. I've been debating on whether or not to send my mp3 player home for the remainder of the trip. I've recently been listening to "Lost Continent" and "The Life and Times of The Thunderbolt Kid," by Bill Bryson. Highly recommended. Thanks again K-sink for the new library upload. During lunch I ran into a couple of guys out on a 3 day hike. We got into a discussion about my trailname and other search terms, including 'flaneur.' Flaneur, comes from the French verb, 'to stroll.' Contextually, I was told it refers to one who wanders in cities, as in the Oscar Wilde type. And 'flaneus,' is the female form, translated as, 'a female who wanders cities.' He also remarked that he has yet to meet a woman who knew the word, 'flaneus,' and was not astonishingly gorgeous. "There's a strong correlation there," he said. And with that they moved on. What an excellent encounter i thought as i polished off the last of my oreos and bagel peperroni sandwich. I arrived into Manchester around 2:30. I stuck the ol' thumb out and within 30 seconds, no lie, i was seated comfortably in the back of a brand new Subaru Outback (they're everywhere out here) coasting down to the bustling town of outlet super stores and well, whatever else Manchester has to offer, which isn't much, aside from a hiker-friendly Outfitter and a quaint little bookstore, where i purchased a copy of 'Adrift,' by Steve Callahan. I'm about halfway through at this point. It's worth the weight. Eitherway, I made it back out onto the trail, via another hitch, and stayed at the Bromley Shelter. I brough a six pack of Bud with me to share with Mikko, Boris, and Bombabillio. They are hiking the Long Trail, which runs from Mass to Canada (the promised land as they referred to it). Another early start that next morning. I never saw the Long Trail Trio again. Good luck guys. I made it to Cooper Lodge that evening. What a dump. Future hikers, avoid Clarendon, Governor Clement, and Cooper Lodge. These shelters all have road access and are thus frequented by truant teens on ATVs. Avoid them especially on the weekends. A viable alternative would be to stay at 'The Secret (not so secret now) Shelter' 1 mile south of the Governor Clement Shelter. You'll see the signs. This is by far the most quaint and well-crafted shelter on the trail. The wood smelled of Nag Champa, thankfully masking the stench of my soggy socks. I rested there for an hour or two while enjoying a short read in Time Magazine about why Obama is THE WINNER, and how Hillary in all of her infinite wisdom and listless blathering, is really only good for one thing,........kickball. Something to do with her cankles.Coopers Lodge atop Mt. Killington (4,000 something ft.) is a total travesty. Don't stay there. Young party hounds, given the freedom of riding the Gondola up to the top in July, have turned this already derelict shelter into a foul smelling, rat infested derelict shelter. Enough said. I met two lovely sisters, Sister 2 and Sister 4 that evening. They are training for a summer jaunt in the Sierras. Best of Luck! I planned to slug down a couple Long Trail Ales at the Inn at Long Trail later that next morning. Unfortuantely, they're closed until June 13th for Spring Cleaning. After resupplying in Killington, I pushed on up the grueling climbs to Stony Brook. There i enjoyed a few hours of daylight and a Magic Hat IPA. It was raining and nice to be dry. I started my new book and passed on a hot meal. The beer and a can of almonds, topped with oreos would do just fine.In the morning I woke to the incessant call of, well I have no clue what it was. But it was incessant and right inside my ear. Yet still, better than the digital beep of an alarm clock. I packed my things and moved out. It was colder than i expected. Low 30s maybe? I ran into some snow flurries and hail for a bit. The wind was blowing all day. An entire day without shadows. After 20 miles or so I pulled into Cloudland farms to have a look at the quarters. They could put me up in a horse stall for free. Eh,......I'll shell $4.50 for some beef jerky and some local root beer and make my way 0.5 miles to the Cloudland Shelter instead. I had a nice talk with Bill, the owner of the farm. We spoke of his cattle farm, the $4,000 bull from Iowa being teased by the ladies across the fence, and his chipper dog 'Roo,' an Australian Cattle Dog of exceptional excellence. He's been hit by a car a few times so his gate is a little messed up, but he moves like lightning. That's the dog i want. A blue heeler that welcomes a 20 mile day with a sloppy tongue and twitchy tail. One day.I stayed at the Cloudland Shelter where a couple of Eastern Phoebe were nesting under the eve. It was cold again. Low 30s it feels like. I am not quite sure. I fell asleep with the sun to the fading tunes of a Hermit Thrush and a Barred Owl. I woke with the sun to something incessant and right inside my ear. Broke camp around 7:30, headed for Hanover. This is a beautiful stretch of moderate grade and vibrant green. The woods seemed more alive today. I suppose it was because there were shadows today. Yes the sun was out and life was good. I stopped at the Deli in West Hartford for a navel orange and a burger. A must see/stop/eat for any thru-hiker. It's too convenient. I rolled into Hanover around 3ish. Sat in the park and people watched for 30 minutes or so, stopped at the Dartmouth Outing Club, got dinner at the Indian Queen, watched an interview with Obama concerning Ted Kennedy recent brain tumor, resupplied at the Co-Op down the way, and finally met Bill. We hopped in his car at drove south to Norwich where I am now. This has been highly rejuvinating. I smell clean, feel refreshed, and slightly buzzed from the Tuckerman Pale Ale, Brewed here locally in New Hampshire. Yes New Hampshire!!!! Only one more state left. 432 miles to be exact. How i will cherish the next million steps as if they were my last. Apologies again for the sporadic nature of my entries. That's just how it is. -Vagus