Date: 2011-07-26
From: (109) Lincoln, New Hampshire

To: (110) Chet's Hostel
Miles today: 16.6

I woke up and decided that I was going to leave the majority of my gear and food at Chet¢s hostel and slack pack today¢s miles (slack packing is the act of carrying next to nothing, like a day hike). I made this decision based on the 70% chance of more rain and cold today, and the fact that I am not in possession of the appropriate gear needed to hike The Whites, such as rain gear or warm clothes (Sometimes my dollar store trash bag poncho isn¢t all its worked up to be...). Lucky for me, there are two roads the AT crosses that also go past the town of Lincoln, and they are about 17 miles apart via trail. Therefore, I planned to start from where I had gotten off at Kushman¢s Notch, hike over Mt Wolf and Kinsman Mountain, and then finish at Franconia Notch where I would then hitch back into Lincoln and spend another night at the hostel. Then, the next morning, I would hitch back to Franconia Notch with all of my gear and continue on. This plan seemed like the smartest way to knock out some of the Whites during bad weather, and I was not alone in this idea as many other hikers were planning on doing the same thing. Still utterly determined to never pay for a ride, I walked down the road towards the AT while eating the Boston Cr mes I had picked up at Dunkin Donuts. Without having given any signal that I was looking for a ride, a van, already full of hikers, pulled over and picked me up. The driver was the owner of a hostel in a neighboring town who was taking his guests back, and he drove me to the trail for free.Reunited with the AT, I hiked as fast as I could, enjoying the ease of slack packing (I got lost once by going down the wrong trail). The mountains I climbed were massively tall and steep, and I often found myself scrambling up an incline on all fours to keep from sliding back down, and all around me the pine and vegetation grew shorter and shorter the higher I went (Spruced and Balsam Fir). At the top there was little visibility because of all the storm clouds, and I ended up fleeing down the opposite side as a deep and chilly fog was rolling in behind me. I ran down the opposite side of the mountain, relying largely on my hiking poles to keep me upright. I had long since found that while running with my poles I can use my arms to push off of the ground while at the same time jump with my legs in order to launch myself up rock faces nearly my own height. Not only can I jump such obstacles very quickly, but also with a minimal amount of effort (I wish I had a video of me doing this, it is pretty neat). Even more intense than this, however, is when I jump downhill. For example, when faced with a steep drop off of around my own height I will actually dive off arms first, then land on my poles and swing my legs down for a soft landing (I have fallen head first before and saved myself this way). The last technique I use is for when I want to skip climbing over something completely, I will spring over it using my hiking poles to vault me a greater distance then I could ever achieve using my legs alone (picture me jumping forward, digging my poles into the ground while still midair, and then pushing myself even farther with my arms before landing, poles arcing behind me). Using these three methods, I can travel at an incredible rate over the worst of terrain (At times I have little regard for my own safety). And so, I spent the day recklessly leaping off of drops, vaulting over boulders, and sometimes even sliding down the slippery rock faces on both feat like I was skiing, using my poles all the while for balance. I had fun.In the afternoon I came across a shelter and found Wakarusa and Bald Eagle inside (They had left the hostel before me by paying for a shuttle). They had decided to stop early for the day because of the terrain, as well as wanting to make The Whites last longer, so I said goodbye to them as I felt that it would be the last time I would ever see them. As always, I will miss my friends. Wakarusa may have been nearly three times my own age, but he was still one of the best buddies I had had on the trail, and I will miss running into him and Bald Eagle. But this is my journey; I must stick to what I want to do, and hike my own hike. Continuing my reckless and highly enjoyable pattern of hiking, I ran into Mofo, Guinness, and a girl who was walking in Crocs. After days of slack packing they had returned their rental car and were wearing their full packs again. ¢Hmmm¢¦¢ I thought. ¢If you are older you have the money and time to hike conveniently through slack packing, rental cars, and hotels¢¦ must be nice¢. Ironically, after talking to them and telling the girl who was wearing Crocs that she was very ¢Bold¢, I started skipping down the mountain in my usual way, when I heard Mofo say ¢Ah, to be young again¢. I guess it is fair to say that we are jealous of each other. The retired have assets, but the young have the physicality. At 4pm I passed the first Hut of The Whites (Lonesome Lake Hut, there was a huge lake beside it and a view of the presidential range in the distance. I got lost several times going around it by accidentally taking trails that were not the AT). The huts are a system of cabin like buildings through The Whites that hikers can rent out hotel style, starting at a hundred bucks for a bunk. This includes entertainment by the ¢Crew¢, the college students who maintain the huts, as well as supper and morning breakfast made of entirely organic ingredients (the meals get pretty creative as the crew workers have to try and use up all of the food, as opposed to throwing it out and attracting bears). Tridub was there when I went by, and he told me that he had gotten work for stay at the hut and was going to get to eat and sleep there for free. I decided that I would have to try this for myself in the future (Work for stay is a special deal only for Thru Hikers. Though many tourists do not think this is fair, it is. Trust me. We have come from Georgia). I reached Franconia Gap at 6pm. I pulled out a paper sign I had made at Chet¢s that read ¢Hiker to Town, Hiker to Trail¢ on it, and was soon picked up by a guy heading home. He dropped me off in Lincoln, and as I was walking back to Chet¢s the air grew colder and it began to rain, so I started running as fast as I could. Without transition, the world turned grey in an icy rain. I saw the open garage door of Chet¢s house ahead of me, full of hikers who were cheering me on as I dashed across the driveway and entered the warmth of the home. I had made it, and would spend another delightful night sleeping under the bottom bunk listening to the hiker above me fart (I am not being immature¢¦ he farted all night and seemed pretty proud about it).