Date: 2014-08-22
From: Manchester, VT

To: Sheffield, MA
Miles today: 0.0
Weather: broken clouds

Eight weeks and about 668 miles in finds me snug as a bug in the Jess Treat Hostel in the picturesque village of Sheffield, a few hours walk from the Connecticut line. The Taconic range and its fens--a kind of small valley--is only subtly different from the Green mountains that precedded it, but it is the historic towns, footpaths, and climbs that make MA special. A string of happy contingencies led me here yesterday, but let's recap the last couple of weeks first: I was still in Bennington on the 14th, dealing with a minor crisis at home but making the most of it by touring the battlefield and monument. (Only Karyssa's help averted the crisis, which actually threatened the rest of the walk, and made me wonder how this trek could be accomplished without a support team.) I also got a replacement pair of trailrunners from Salomon, so kudos to them. The next few nights were spent in shelters: Congdon just outside of town and just inside VT at mile 582; the pretty Wilbur Clearing at mile 599 the following night (with "Spiff" a kid who vaguely knew my Hannah from Pensacola High School!); and finally, the Mark Noepel shelter on the downslope of Greylock at mile 606. Mt Greylock is 3,491' high with a bunch of trails and a lot of history wrapped around it. It's perfect family hiking, but the 2-mile climb up Mt Prospect to end a 17-mile day thru North Adams was a sort of hell. I did hang around Bascom Lodge and the war memorial on its summit, but clouds blocked the view, so I headed straight down to the shelter. The lodge has a 4-star restaurant in it, and bunk-sleeping for $36 for thru-hikers, so I was tempted to take Nancy's advice to watch the sunset from the lodge with a local brew in hand.The 18th and 19th of the month were spent in Dalton (around mile 620) where I crashed for free--well, I donated $20 worth of provisions (viz. bananas and beer)--in the backyard of well-known trail angel Tom Levardi. I caught up with fellow SOBOs Zest and K2 there, and rode one of Tom's loaner bicycles all around town, and even down to Pittsfield to use the bigger library and resupply. A sweet old lady insisted that I take $5 and "go next door for a sweet"...like I'm a child or hobo. I humped 19 miles to get to the famous Upper Goose Pond Cabin (m 640) crossing the Mass Turnpike in the last mile or so. The padded bunks and pancakes--thanks Thumper--made it worthwhile. I had been soaked by rain these past few days, and while it helped me sneak up deer, I needed a laundromat and even a hotel room for a night. Great Barrington seemed the best option, though it was another 20 miles and a hitch away. Regardless, I left the pancakes early and pushed on over relatively level terrain. 18 miles later I stumble out onto MA hwy 23 and instantly, without me even raising a thumb, Staten Island dude pulls up, tells his wife he'll be late, tells me I got the hook-up, and asks me where I want to go! He then proceeds to go the wrong way, so I ask him to just let me out on Rt. 7. This put me in foofy-town Stockbridge, and I grab a coffee and decide to use the library to charge my phone, look at an area map, and check the weather. I'm there only a minute, as their computers were whack, when a librarian offers a ride to the grocery store...in Great Barrington. I get there and re-supply, but it's now four pm, and it's Friday, and wknd rates in this 3-mile-long town are around $150, so I am still facing a four-mile roadwalk and eight miles on the trail to the next shelter. Then I recall from the map that Sheffield is down Rt 41, heading south alongside the trail, check AWOL's guide for Sheffield, discover Jess, and she scoops me up in GB within 15 mins. Here I be! Shuttle, room and board for $37 is money well spent, and I hope to do some yard-work for Jessica tomorrow for either an additional night or a reduced rate. She's an author and english prof at Western Conn State, and her house is full of awesome reading. I am hoping to borrow some Ian McEwan, as I am finished with Annie Proulx. We just went to the farmers' market and it made me homesick, as I'd often take my girls to ours. Still homesick, and if anything drives me off this trail it will be that (or finances, come to think of it).It's funny, circuitous, how the trail provides sometimes, but it does provide. (Deus sive natura.)NOBOs have spoken of how the long green tunnel strains relations with significant others left in the "frontcountry" and I had a taste of this lately as well. Not only do the mundane concerns of loved ones seem especially, well, mundane, but the of great significance to me seem uninteresting to them, so ordinary chit-chat doesn't come off so easily, but more crucially, when communication calls for serious problem-solving and compromise, my social isolation and loneliness seems to distort what the needs and interests both I and my friends retain. I can't read intentions or motives as well as before, somehow, and feel kinda confused if conversation gets too intense or personal. Whitman's "distance avails not" lies here. All the best for now.Spinoza