Date: 2005-12-06
From: ...and going...

To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

Previously, on Scholar¢s journal:When I last left off (before the angst-ridden rant of the previous entry, anyway), our fantastic four-some was slumming around Monson, our packs morphing into ungainly behemoths w/ the addition of 7-days worth of food, provisions that would (hopefully) sustain us through the 100-Mile Wilderness. (And, let me tell you, 7-days of food, in the final week of a thru-hike, is a considerably larger quantity and mass, than that of an equivalent length of time at the outset, down in Georgia, what w/ trail appetites and all.) The weather was the epitome of ¢bleh¢, so we spent our time dashing from roof-covered building to roof-covered building, completing our town errands. The evening ended w/ us descending into TV-comas, when a rumor reached our ears, of a purported sighting of Freedom, in Shaw¢s no less, that very evening. But, unable to uncover any evidence supporting this claim, aside from the seemingly endless string of ¢I talked to someone, who said they saw her, but I can¢t remember who¢¦¢ (Yeah, and my aunt¢s neighbor¢s friend¢s son¢s roommate was an extra in a Kevin Bacon movie¢¦ And, while on the subject of Mr. Bacon -- who do you think Freedom saw crossing the street in Great Barrington? (Naturally, it would be Freedom; these things always seem to happen to her.) And, in Freedom¢s words, ¢He even smiled at me.¢) Returning to the subject at hand (b/c daydreams involving Kevin Bacon should not be over-indulged. ¢Tho Jack from Will and Grace would most assuredly disagree. Oh, and that reminds me of a Pod Poll -- Who is your favorite Will and Grace character? Jack had a pretty strong lead, at last tally¢¦) And, now that I¢ve fulfilled the obligatory pop-culture reference quota (for the next, like, month), back to the trail, since that¢s what this whole story is supposedly about¢¦We ultimately chalked the ¢Freedom sighting¢ up to the Trail Rumor-Mill, b/c, unless she had become a ghost, she certainly wasn¢t in Shaw¢s now. And, Monson isn¢t exactly a booming metropolis; there are only so many places to go in town, and, in the past few hours, we¢d been in pretty much every single one of them -- laundromat (de-funking our clothes), Mobil Station (pizza), General Store (resupply), post office (sending any extra gear home), the library (e-mail) was closed. Yes, Freedom and Thatch have, from time to time, exhibited the uncanny ability to simply vanish; indeed, they¢ve perfected the disappearing act nearly to the degree of their mastery of the reappearing skit. But, there was simply nowhere to vanish to -- it was dark, and raining, so they wouldn¢t have gone back to the trail¢¦ Would they have? Nah. And anyway, if Freedom had been there in Shaw¢s, she would have seen all of our crap, strewn all over the room, as if our packs had each experienced several episodes of projectile vomiting -- seriously, if a bomb had detonated in there, the damage really wouldn¢t have been all that noticeable. And, she would have left us a note, some indication that she¢d been there. So, taking all of this into consideration, we came to the logical conclusion that the rumor was just that -- a rumor, and that Freedom and Thatch were out there, somewhere, still tailing us.Ahh, silly logic. How could we be so foolish as to apply logic to this situation. This was the Pod. The normal rules, governing the rest of the universe, do not apply, not to the Pod. We¢ve got that inexplicable vortex-thing surrounding us, where an entirely unique set of rules and forces act on us. We knew that; heck, you even know that by now (and you¢re probably sitting there, in front of your computer, yelling at us, cursing our denseness in failing to see the obvious, the cliched ¢Don¢t open that door! You know the bad guy is hiding behind it!¢ scene from absolutely every horror movie). But no, choosing to disregard 6 months of accumulated evidence, we based our conclusion instead on logic. Oh, that pesky hindsight strikes onces again¢¦So, yes, Freedom and Thatch had been in town, a fact that we remained sadly ignorant of. And yet, our ignorance was tinged w/ bliss, b/c if we had known that they had been in town, if we had been aware of how comically long the string of coincidences was that kept us from finding each other that night, then I don¢t think we could have staved off our inevitable plunges into insanity. (Not that insanity couldn¢t be said to characterize the Pod anyway, from time to time, but awareness of this incident might have made it a more permanent condition.) But, ignorance reigned and, as we were incognizant of these details for another 4 or so days, well, you¢re just gonna have to wait before I fill you in¢¦Oblivious to the hair¢s-breadth that the Pod re-union failed by, we rose the next morning, w/ equal parts eagerness and trepidation, over the prospect of finally entering the 100-Mile Wilderness. There was a bitter bite to the air, as if the chill wind had acquired a set of razor-sharp teeth that agilely targeted every inch of exposed skin. The sky was a steely overcast, but the rain appeared to have sailed its course the night before, and there were even hints of blue, peeking through the blanket of gray. In no rush to subject ourselves to the bleh-ness, we dawdled. And, the Pod is nothing if not expert at dawdling. How else do you think we were still out on the AT, in October? We lazed in bed, a giant Cuddle Puddle (Pod terminology, don¢t ask), before the inevitable grumbling demands of our tummies reached deafening proportions. We had, typically, been too disorganized the night before to sign up for the breakfast at Shaw¢s, but as this was to be our last taste of civilization for an entire week, I was hoping to find something slightly more substantial that Pop-Tarts or a bagel. And, something healthier too, b/c, looking at my food supplies for the upcoming week, breakfast was going to consist of a whole lot of sugar, and not a whole lot else. However, as I had learned from the near-disaster in Gorham, a hot, cooked breakfast is a privilege, not a right. Still, I remained hopeful. In the General Store yesterday, I had noticed a counter, w/ stools in front of it, an arrangement that suspiciously resembled a diner or some other eating establishment¢s set-up. Cautiously optimistic, I braved the biting wind for the 2-minute walk to the General Store, the tell-tale bell jingling on the door as I entered. Alas, there were no tell-tale aromas or sizzles emanating from the counter-area, and the kitchen was dishearteningly dark. Curses, foiled again! I struck up a conversation w/ Tim, the owner and proprietor of the store. (Why is it that people always say ¢owner and proprietor¢? I mean, they¢re synonyms, they mean the same thing, using both is redundant, repetitive, redundant¢¦repetitive¢¦ (You picking up on the irony here?)) Tim is a soft-spoken, down-to-earth, humble man, unpresumingly generous to hikers, not out of obligation but simply b/c he genuinely cares. During the course of our conversation (which was rather one-sided), in b/t tales of how he ended up in Monson over 30 years before, and the weekly Bluegrass Night at the Store, it¢s possible that I might have happened to casually mention the dining-area. Sheerly out of curiosity. I swear.¢Oh yeah, the kitchen¢¦ Rent that out to a local woman¢¦ comes in at lunch-time, cooks burgers, sometimes does breakfast.¢ Pointing out the obvious, he adds, ¢ She¢s not here yet today.¢ And then, the clincher: ¢Breakfast isn¢t an everyday thing and, as she isn¢t in yet, it probably won¢t be on the menu for the day.¢Well, shucks. But still, it was charming, this illustration of the vagaries of small-town life, where having established business hours isn¢t necessary, b/c everyone knows everything, the moment it happens, where gossip outpaces the proverbial wildfire, no contest. Hmmm¢¦ sounds remarkably similar to the trail. Fancy that¢¦ And then Tim, perceptively observing my disappointment over the failed prospect of breakfast (after all, he does have some experience w/ thru-hikers), Tim exhibited some of that selfless generosity that I mentioned, that seems to envelope the trail:¢Actually, I was just planning on whipping myself up some food¢¦ I didn¢t have time for a real breakfast this morning¢¦ so, how do you feel about eggs? Only know how to make ¢em one way, and that¢s scrambled, but I add a secret ingredient that makes ¢em divine¢¦¢Trailing off, and completely ignoring my protestations that he needn¢t bother, that he not trouble himself, he proceeded to stroll the aisles of his store, plucking items from the shelves, maintaining a running commentary the whole while. (Tim may be soft-spoken, but he¢s positively garrulous as well.)Reeling slightly from the sudden frenzy of activity that had just swept through the store, and breathless in sympathy of Tim¢s lungs, as he didn¢t seem to believe in taking a pause b/t sentences but rather just strung them together, like a necklace of pearls -- I hesitated to enter into the kitchen, feeling like I¢d be an intruder, rummaging through the cupboards. But, Tim pshawed my qualms, corralling me in front of him. Dumping his armload of food on the counter, his monologue continued:¢We¢re just gonna have to snoop around, to find what we need¢¦ let¢s see¢¦ need a frying pan¢¦ don¢t know where she keeps stuff in here¢¦¢ and he bustled over to the stove, grabbing a frying pan from the drying rack on the way.I once again attempted to interrupt this whirlwind: ¢You know, I really really appreciate the offer, but it isn¢t neces¢¦¢¢¦ and was promptly cut off. ¢Nonsense¢¦ I¢m hungry... I¢m cooking breakfast¢¦ and I¢m inviting my new friend¢¦ this is my store, my kitchen¢¦(chuckling)¢¦ that¢s one advantage of owning a market¢¦the food¢s all free¢¦¢My head whirling from the suddenness of it all, I gradually accepted the surreality of the situation. I had just been looking for a place that served hot breakfast, and now, here I was, ransacking a kitchen for jelly and butter-knives. And yet, in spite of how strange the circumstances appeared to be, it didn¢t feel weird. It felt¢¦ normal, the only weird part being the utter lack of weirdness. (And, if that isn¢t something to try and wrap your brain around, then I don¢t know what is.) And so, I found myself toasting hamburger buns -- there were no English muffins or sliced bread to be found, probably due to the recent plethora of hikers overrunning Monson -- and seasoning eggs w/ pepper and garlic. And then, whad¢ya know, in stroll Poet and Free. It¢s an incontrovertible truth that, if there is food to be found, then hikers will find it. Some sort of ESP or something. Comes from spending prolonged periods of time in the woods, where an entire day¢s worth of conversation can be devoted to extolling the virtues of the Honey Bun, and a week can be spent analyzing the pros and cons of the array of Little Debbie snacks. So Poet and Free, their finely-attuned food-radar on high alert, found their way to the General Store. Performing comic double-takes at seeing me on the wrong side of the counter, they oh-so-casually asked me how my breakfast-search had gone.I begin: ¢Well, Tim here¢¦¢ and gesture at the man himself, who has already cracked and whipped several more eggs, adding them to the frying pan. "Tim generou..." And, I get no further than that...¢You like eggs?¢ Tim interjects, as I get the distinct impression that compliments embarrass him. And, just like that, our two-some has doubled to become a four-some. Soon to become a five-some, as Serenity wandered in. That ESP again¢¦Breakfast was fabulous, one of my best meals on the trail. The company was unparalleled, and the food was seasoned w/ more than just Tim¢s secret ingredient. It was flavored w/ a hefty helping of altruism and selfless generosity, which could make burned toast taste like rolls from a four-star restaurant. (Not that our hamburger bun-toast was burned, b/c it wasn¢t; it was browned to perfection.) The meal was fabulous b/c it was given, w/ no strings, no catches, just b/c. Tim vehemently refused our offers to pay for the food, and honestly, we didn¢t really protest too much. Money seemed like it would just trivialize and cheapen the moment. You know, the AT is filled w/ so much beauty, w/ its breathtaking views and phenomenal vistas, but it always seems that the moments of greatest beauty come from the people you meet along the way.Okay, time once again for my standard apology, for the minimal progress I¢ve made in my story-telling. Katahdin is just as far-off now as it was when you sat down (ages ago) and started reading this entry; the entirety of the 100-Mile Wilderness still stretches in front of me. But, it was days like this one that defined my hike, that enriched it, that made it what it was. My whole hike was sprinkled w/ moments like these, but it feels like that last week was saturated w/ them. And I want to savor that final week I shared w/ the trail, that extended farewell. Although, honestly, the trail will never leave me; I¢ll always carry it w/ me, no matter the physical distance separating us. But, the fact of the matter is, although I¢m impatiently eager to get to the telling of Summit Day, I don¢t want to shortchange the days leading up to it, building up to that incredible moment. And hey, it gives you a taste of just a fraction of the anticipation I felt, amassing inside me, during that week in the Wilderness. (And, I¢ll tell you right now, it¢ll be at least a week¢s worth of updates before I get to the Big Day. And that¢s assuming that I¢m able to maintain my schedule of daily posts.) Life sucks sometimes, doesn¢t it?