Date: 2011-08-14
From: Stealth spot off of a horse path in Andover, ME, day 2

To: Sabbath Day Pond Lean-To
Miles today: 17.1
Weather: overcast clouds

(In which I am tired and get fed up with slick steep rocks)I wake up to the nearby noise of trucks at 1am and listen from my tent as two trucks stop so that the teenagers inside can fiddle under one of the hoods. I can hear the popping of beer cans and their drunken chatter before they notice us. "Hey dude, check it out, teepees," one of them says of our trekking-pole-supported cuben fiber tents. "Oh man, I bet it's a couple a hippies. I seen 'em walkin' through town today." "Shh dude, they're gonna wake up." "Nah man, I bet they're high as fuck." Convincing themselves that we are too stoned to wake up, the kids continue to hang around and make noise for the half an hour. I am tempted to turn my headlamp on extra bright and try to scare them into shutting up, but decide that interacting with drunk teenagers and their trucks is probably not the best idea, and wait for them to leave.One of the interesting aspects of hiking is getting to see the variety of reactions from locals. To some like the teenagers we are free-spirited new age hippies. To others we are simple vagrants, shiftless bums who drift from town to town. And to a few we are super athletes, held in a regard that seems laughable when we've been surrounded for months by others who are accomplishing the same feats. Perhaps the most pleasant perspective to observe is the envy of the former hikers, whose memories of the trail have faded into an idyllic nostalgia, and who remind us what a treat it is to be able to experience the trail and the community surrounding it.* * *At breakfast we learn that there were actually two hikers who died on the same day near the same section of trail, leading to conflicting reports. The 63 year old hiker actually died of a heart attack, it seems, which while no less tragic, does not strike fear into the heart of younger hikers as other accidents. A forty or fifty year old hiker, however, did die from a fall to the head, and recalling the miles of wet, steep, moss covered rock in Maine so far is almost enough to make me want to go out and buy a rock-climbing helmet.Walking back to hitch to the trail Doc Boom and I are offered a ride by the first car we see, a pick truck whose driver lets us hop in the back and drives out of his way to return us to the trail. The trail begins with a steep up, and while I keep up a good pace to the summit, afterward I feel drained, and quickly fall far behind Doc Boom as I struggle to find the energy to trudge forward. Approaching the first shelter I can hear thunder rumbling louder, but even this isn't enough to spur me forward at much more than a crawl.I reach the shelter just after a light rain has started, and inside Doc Boom, Amanda and Jessie and Cheshire are all waiting out the storm. My enthusiasm for hiking any more miles is near record lows, and I hope that the thunderstorm lasts through the afternoon to provide a convenient excuse to stay. The storm soon blows over, but by then lunch has restored some if not all of my energy, and I decide to hike on so that I can reach Rangeley tomorrow.The trail quickly returns to miles of the steep smooth rocks that I've come to expect from Maine, all of which are slick from the recent rain. Though my energy stays at non-crisis levels, my patience for steep, wet, up-and-down bullshit trail disappears, and I realize that Maine is the first state where I genuinely dislike most of the hiking. I didn't mind the rocks of Pennsylvania or the length of Virginia, or the mountains of any pre-New Hampshire state, which usually had switch-backs or stairs. But Maine seems to consist almost entirely of trails designed with no regard for hikers or the contours of the mountains, and while I still enjoy all of the social and lifestyle aspects of thru-hiking, I no longer enjoy the hiking part, at least not on trails like this.Have come to this realization, I still plan to finish, but it does make me reassess my motivations and priorities. Part of the desire to continue is for the challenge of it, which while never my primary motivation is still strong enough to keep me going at the end if need be. Another part is the social and lifestyle aspect of the trail, which I know I will miss and which I would not mind experiencing for a few more weeks. But the primary motivation is to not feel like I am leaving the experience unfinished. One of the benefits of an activity like thru-hiking is that it comes with its own built-in plot arc, and to invest so much time in completing most of it without experiencing the pre-defined conclusion would feel profoundly unsatisfying.When I reach the last shelter it is nearly full with hikers who have heard the forecast of overnight storms. I grab what would normally be the last spot, though because of the rain we gamely make room for several more as they show up, and Cheese ends up stretching his hammock cross the opening of the shelter to fit as many hikers as possible under the roof of the small structure. By dark the snoring has already begun, and I almost hope for overnight storms just so that I don't have to regret putting up with the shelter for nothing.