Date: 2011-08-13
From: (128) Cooper Brock Falls

To: (129) The Last 50 Miler, Neowadnehunk Stream
Miles today: 50.3

Tridub and I woke up at 2:20am and went straight to business preparing for the 50 miler. I cooked up the only breakfast worthy of such an apocalyptic day, Ramon Noodles, and scarfed down the junk as fast as I could in the dark while packing up my gear. I remembered to take my Lyme meds at the last minute, and then Tridub and I were hiking down the trail, our headlamps guiding us through the dark. It was slow going over the rooted path, but eventually the sun began to rise and reveal the world in a dim glow, before reaching eye level where it penetrated the forest with blinding intensity, like the glare off a dashboard. If I regretted anything, it was having done the 28.8 miles the day before. Having not fully recovered from it, I was soon feeling worn out. I had no idea how I did the back to back 50-27-50 miles days in Virginia during MAN WEEK, in fact it completely blows my mind and fills me with respect for my old self, but I guess I was better conditioned for long hours over flat terrain back then, whereas now I had more explosive power from having toppled so many mountains in The Whites and Southern Maine. Nonetheless, I felt confident that I would finish, as long as I kept moving forward mile by mile. Tridub and I passed each other on and off throughout the day, usually meeting up at water sources, where we would talk about how stupid doing a 50 was or complain about how much our feet hurt. My favorite water source by far was a spring bubbling straight out of the ground that formed a small pool in the ground surrounded by sand (By my standards it was a five-star water hole). I had to walk across a plank in order to reach the deeper part of the spring/pool, where I filled up on the first clear water I¢d had in days. We hiked fast, and by 12:30 were already halfway done, having hiked 25 miles. I was feeling pretty beat up, and would have loved nothing more than to call it a day, but past experience had taught me that after the halfway mark time goes by pretty quickly up until the final miles, and so I felt pretty sure of a successful finish. It was around then that my shoe exploded. The lace of my right shoe, which had already broken previously and been repaired, broke again at another spot (My mud covered shoes were rotting), causing the shoe to flop around while I walked. The looseness of my shoe created a lot of extra friction, and soon my foot was eating a hole through my foam insoles. I sat down on a rock to try and fix it, but when I pulled on the insole to take it out of my shoe it fell apart, tearing into three separate pieces. I sat starring at the shards of insole laying on my lap, wondering what the heck I was going to do and if I had just ended my chances of finishing. Then I realized that failure was not an option, and I set to work towards finding a solution. I fit the insole pieces back together like I was solving a puzzle, and then duck taped them all together. The end result appeared functional, and I shoved the broken sole back into my shoe. Then I took hold of my torn shoe lace, pulled it through one of the lace holes in the shoe, and tied a square knot so that it would stay put. The shoe was still pretty busted up and loose, but overall it felt pretty good (Tridub passed me while I was doing this, stopping only to laugh before continuing on). Proud of my work, and the fact that I was attempting a 50 in such poor footwear, I shouldered my pack and continued to chisel away at the second half of my day.While my shoe continued to serve its purpose surprisingly well, its looseness began to cause my foot to blister up. Unfortunately I had used all of my duck tape on the insole, so I had nothing left to cover the hot spots that were forming. I thought about using my tarp cord to make a shoe lace, but of course I did not have a knife to cut it with. In the end my feet hurt a lot, and that was the gist of it. In the afternoon it started to rain, and Tridub and I cursed the sky for its foul play. Never had it rained on me during a big day, and I was angry that it might ruin my chances of finishing. Luckily the rain was brief, but it did last long enough to get everything wet, miserable, and slippery. While stomping through mud puddles, I stepped onto a slick piece of lumber that had been set on the trail to help cross a swampy area. I slipped, was to weary to catch myself with my hands, and so I landed heavily on my chest and slid across the length of the board like a penguin. I lied for awhile on my face feeling tired and trying to asses my injuries (Several bruises), before picking myself up and moving on.I caught up to Tridub, and we took a break together on a large rock face where we had a view of Mt Katahdin in the distance, dark and gigantic. We were so close, yet given our condition, terribly far. AT 41 miles we reached a shelter and Tridub, who had been talking about dropping out, announced that he had had enough and was going to spend the night. I tried to talk him out of it, but the truth was that Tridub and I had slowed down a great deal, and would soon be hiking into the night. In addition, the camp store past Abol Bridge closed at 7pm (It was around 5:30) and Tridub did not think that we could make it in time to buy food (The store was 5 miles away). He was running very low, and was worried that if we missed the store he would have to summit Katahdin the next day on an empty stomach. I was low myself, but knew that if I missed the store I could still ration what little food I had remaining. Tridub also seemed to be hurting pretty bad. I was feeling it myself, as though my entire body was one giant scab, but I felt better than I had during some of my other 50¢s, especially compared to my failed attempt in New York (I was so beat up that it took me an entire hour to walk one mile). And so, I shook Tridub¢s hand and pressed on by myself. Legs burning, I hiked out of the hundred mile wilderness, having completed my goal of 3 days; though starving was still a threat¢¦ (And for the record the wilderness is only 98 miles, ¢hundred¢ is an exaggeration). I entered Baxter State park and crossed Abol Bridge where I had another fantastic view of the dark mass that was Katahdin, and then I arrived at the camp store at 6:50, ten minutes before it closed. I bought freeze dried rice for supper, which would leave what food I already had for Katahdin. I also bought two mountain dews, one to keep my spirits up for my remaining miles, and the other to help wake me up the next morning. As I purchased them the cashier talked to me, and I wondered vaguely if he had any idea what I was going through, if he could look into my eyes and see the mixture of pain and pride. It all seemed so normal to be standing there watching him swipe my debit card and asking jokingly if I wanted the receipt, yet felt so strange and distant. I left the store with my sights set, and hiked down the dusty park road into the setting sun, Mt Katahdin vanishing as I entered the trees¢¦As always, the end was the worst. With only a few miles left, the trail became very uneven and root covered, punishing me severely. My feet began to ache as their bottoms transformed into one gigantic bruise. I was hitting a wall and could feel my body shutting down. The growing pain consumed my thoughts. My pace slowed and a mental battle raged inside me to keep moving forward, to continue taking steps, while at the same I screamed for it to end. The more I hurt the more I slowed, and the longer the hike became. It grew dark and cold as I walked into the night. Baxter had a lot of nasty marshland, and the mosquitoes came out of their swamps to feast upon me. I was too weak to fight them off and let them bite. It was hard to think straight, and I soon lost all track of distance. All I could do is hope that the end would find me, as I had no idea whether or not I would see or even notice the stream that marked the finish. I ran out of water and became so thirsty that I wanted to cry. With the glow of my light I found a small spring coming out of some rocks, and I sat down to drink. The mosquitoes had backed off some, and I had to fight off the urge to fall asleep where I sat. For all I knew, I had already passed the stream. I was so confused. I kept moving, and hit a large creek that I had to rock hop across in the dark. I was so wobbly on my worn out legs that I barely made it across without falling into the swift current, and it took me a depressingly long time to do, but the creek was a landmark for me, and I knew the end was near. It took me a couple of minutes to orient myself on the other side of the creek, as the trail was hidden under pine needles and the white blazes were far and few between. I trudged on, and finally I hit my finish line: Neowadnehunk Stream, which turned out to be pretty large and required more rock hopping to get across (I couldn¢t stop smiling). On the other side I glanced around for a place to camp, then threw my pad and sleeping bag down smack dab in the middle of the trail, as it was flat and I was already standing on it. Exhausted but alive with pride, I cooked, ate, and fell asleep with a nearly full moon shining through the tree canopy and the rush of the stream in my ears. I had been hiking with a busted up shoe, Lyme disease, blisters, rain and more, for 19 hours, a total of 50.3 miles. And in the morning, I would complete the Appalachian Trail.