Date: 2005-12-01
From: ...and going...

To: it keeps going...
Miles today: 0.0

To bring you up to speed on what¢s happened in the past few entries¢¦ You know, something Wild Hare wrote to me makes me feel like these intros are like the "Previously on..."-voice-overs on the TV shows. So, "previously on Scholar¢s journal:"The last entry concluded w/ Freedom pulling one of her classic and renowned reappearing acts -- (Seriously, she¢s already a legend on the trail. They¢re erecting the statue of her as we speak, in homage to her uncanny hitchhiking abilities), surfacing in the most unexpected place, showing up in our (Free, Serenity, Poet, and my) hotel room in Stratton, ME , after a 10-day absence, during which, not only were we ignorant of their (Freedom and Thatch¢s) whereabouts, but even the ubiquitous Trail Gossip-Mill was silent on the subject. (Wow! A one-sentence summary. Must be some sort of record for me. Either that, or I¢ve been taking lessons on sentence-structure from Mr. Faulkner¢¦) When the 4 of us left Stratton the following day, we knew that the Pod Challenge could not be met that day -- Thatch was expected around noon, to resupply, and Freedom was waiting for him, so they could hitch to the trailhead together that afternoon. But, we were optimistic. The vagrant duo was gaining on us and, as we had several low-mileage days ahead of us, there was hope that we would all be reunited in a few days. Ahh, how silly and na ve of us¢¦ Had the last 6 months taught us nothing? This was the Pod. The Pod, that every force in the universe conspires against, to keep us apart. We all knew this. And yet still we hoped¢¦Buoyed by this fallacious faith, we left Stratton and entered the Bigelow Range w/ a jauntiness to our strides and a lightness to our steps, belying the extra weight in our packs -- Poet and I were each packing a 6-pack of beer. Which is a story for another day. In fact, the Bigelows deserve an entry unto themselves. (Or, more probably, several entries, considering the author.) I simply can¢t devote adequate verbiage to them right now, so I won¢t even try. Just take my word that this mountain range, this day, was one of my best days on the trail. One of the best days in my life. It was just so majestic. And¢¦ perfect. And the sunset¢¦ the sunrise¢¦ Mmm¢¦ This is a total crepe myrtle moment, for those of you who understand the reference. (And, for the rest of you, that too is a story for another day.) Just accept that it¢s a really good thing, a crepe myrtle moment is.Wow. First the one-sentence summary, and now, resisting the temptation of taking a detour? Believe me, I¢m as astonished as you are. But hey, I¢m at the mercy of my brain, just as you are. I mean, every time I sit down to write, I begin w/ a very definite idea of where I intend to end up. And yet, somehow, I always end up in the same place -- surprised. So, forging off into the murky depths of my mind¢¦Leaving Stratton w/ expectations of an imminent reunion, the days continued to wax and wane, w/ a noticeable absence of Freedom and Thatch. From our manic (and misguided) highs, the descent to reality was swift and brutal. Once again, on the cusp of success, victory was stolen from us, the Pod Challenge fast becoming an unrealizable goal. Time was speeding by, Katahdin looming ever-closer -- to my narcoleptic and frazzled mind, it was looming much too rapidly -- and still, no Freedom, no Thatch. And, to dishearten us a little further -- nothin¢ like kicking a dog when it¢s down, beating the proverbial dead horse -- Seeker made a comment to us, one night at one of the shelters:¢Have you guys ever thought that, maybe they don¢t want to catch up to you?¢Ahh, Seeker. Blunter than a dull butter-knife. Actually, it¢s a rather endearing quality, once you become accustomed to it. (And you grow that layer of thick skin.) At least, you always know exactly where you stand w/ her. The question floored us for a moment.¢Well, frankly, no, Seeker, we hadn¢t thought that. But, thank you very much for bringing it to our attention.¢ Nothing like planting seeds of doubt in already-fertile soil.¢I mean, I don¢t think they¢re intentionally avoiding you or anything,¢ she quickly qualified. ¢But maybe they just want to be by themselves. Do the couple-thing, you know.¢No, we didn¢t know, and we were pretty damn near certain that this wasn¢t the case. And yet, even w/ 99.99% certainty, there¢s that 0.01% chance. And, considering our track record¢¦ No. No. Freedom and Thatch had jumped through proverbial hoops and performed metaphorical contortions, just to keep us in their sights, since an actual reunion appeared to be impossible. No, they were out there, doing their darndest to find us. But, it did beg the question: ¢Where were they?¢ I mean, our inability to unite had been funny, humourous, joke-worthy even, for the first, oh, SIX MONTHS. But now, now it was fast leaving the realm of ridiculous and crossing over into downright pathetic.Of course, this wasn¢t just your typical 6-people-trying-to-hook-up-together-again situation. After all, as the Pod, we had the omnipotent, omnipresent anti-Pod force to contend w/. How else can you explain our failure to unite in Monson? A story truly worthy of a Hollywood script (and equally as implausible). And consequently, a tale worthy of a side-trip down Memory Lane¢¦ (I promise, I am getting closer to the resolution of the Pod Challenge. I mean, heck, ¢Monson¢ means that we¢re practically in the 100-Mile Wilderness, which means that there are only 100-miles of trail left, and how long can I possibly drag that out? (Okay, don¢t answer that question¢¦) So, setting the scene, just south of Monson, on the boundary of the Wilderness¢¦The morning dawned, foggy and overcast. The smell of rain was in the air and, determined to have a roof over my head before the skies unleashed their pent-up fury, I broke camp early and high-tailed the 9 miles into town. By 10:30, I was checked into Shaw¢s, w/ a private room reserved for our four-some. By 11, freshly showered, I was at the Mobil Station, waiting to pick up ¢the best pizza in town¢. Armed w/ dough-y Italian-y goodness, I hoofed it back to Shaw¢s, under increasingly ominous skies. In the hostel, I watched re-runs of Sesame Street and Mister Rogers¢ Neighborhood -- We¢re hikers, do I really need to explain our TV-viewing preferences? -- w/ the rest of the hiking crowd in town, roughly a dozen or so folks who (wisely) opted to zero and wait out the storm. Free, Serenity, and Poet didn¢t roll in ¢til 2:30, 3-ish and the weather almost immediately broke -- a cold, stinging rain, heavy gusts of wind, all-around general nastiness (a bleh-day if there ever was one). We delayed venturing out into it as long as possible, but, eventually, the grumbles of our tummies, coupled w/ the need to resupply for the Wilderness, won out. Donning our raingear (serving the dual purpose of not only keeping us dry in the inclement weather, but also keeping us appropriately attired as our clothes were de-funkified in the laundromat), we set off on a collective mission to find food. Commuting b/t the Mobil Station and the General Store, weighing the resupply options of each, w/ pitstops at the laundromat, we were away from Shaw¢s for several hours, returning at dusk, laden w/ pizza and a nearly-inconceivable (and thoroughly disgusting) amount of trail-food, intended for the upcoming week through the 100-mile Wilderness. (Were we honestly going to be able to carry all of this? I was suffering serious qualms about my ability, just in the 2-block walk back to Shaw¢s. And, beyond that, I was doubting my ability to eat it all, not b/c of the quantity, but b/c of the quality. I mean, I¢d been on the trail for 6 months, been putting copious amounts of processed crap into my system. But, the prospect of this food was repulsing even me. Resupplying in convenience stores (rather than the more-upscale grocery stores) is bad enough, but 7 days worth?! And not only that, but resupplying in convenience stores that have been thoroughly picked through by the slew of hikers preceding you? Let¢s just say that the pickin¢s were slimmer than slim; they were waif-like, practically transparent in their slim-ness. But, steeling our nerves (and our iron stomachs), we fortified ourselves w/ the knowledge that, it was only for a week. And there was fresh produce, fruits and vegetables, at the end of that tunnel¢¦)Anyway, we got back to Shaw¢s, struggled and wrestled our innumerable bags of food up the stairs to our room, and collapsed on the beds in exhaustion. Rallying a second wind after downing life-sustaining pizza and beer, we began the process of sorting and sifting through this disgusting mound of food in front of us. A positive flurry of organized chaos ensued, as boxes were ripped opened and excess packaging removed -- the sheer mass of unnecessary packaging that the four of us produced was nearly as disgusting as the food itself. Once the whirlwind subsided, we were left w/ four impossibly heavy and bulky food bags, and severely depleted energy reserves -- time for Round 2 (or, Round 3, for me) of pizza and beer! Having completed all of the obligatory town chores (shower? check. laundry? check. cooking pot cleaned? check. filter? check. tent dried? sleeping bag aired out? check. resupply? check. real food? check. phone calls? check.), we could now socialize w/ the rest of the hiking populace. Not that we hadn¢t been socializing w/ them all day. It¢s just, now, we could do so sans guilt.I went downstairs, to the TV-room, the room where hikers inexorably gravitate, some magnetic attraction or something. And then, someone said something very quizzical and puzzling to me. I was asked if I had seen Freedom.Me, somewhat incredulous: ¢You mean, ¢Free¢?¢¢No, ¢Freedom¢. She was here, earlier.¢Me, still incredulous: ¢Did you actually see her?¢ (I apologize, but my near-photographic memory is coming up disappointingly short, and I simply cannot remember who told me this. I think it was Sal Paradise. But then, it might have been Moonshine¢¦ Or, Hopeful Hiker? Sleeveless? Aww heck, I don¢t remember. The ravages of old age¢¦)¢Well¢¦ No. But, she was in line for the bathroom, behind Bonfire, or so someone said.¢Off to find Bonfire, to query her. Unfortunately, never having met Freedom before, Bonfire couldn¢t recall whether it was ¢Freedom¢, or ¢Free¢, or some other name entirely, completely unrelated to anything ¢Free¢. Asking around amongst the rest of the hiking populace at Shaw¢s, it seemed that, although no one had personally seen Freedom, almost everyone had talked to someone who had. But when pressed, they couldn¢t remember who it was they had spoken to. Coming up empty-handed on anything resembling conclusive evidence, we decided that this was just a classic example of the birth of a trail rumor, where one person mistakenly says ¢Freedom¢ instead of ¢Free¢, and suddenly there are sightings of her left and right. Psychological tampering in action. We almost immediately put the incident aside, chalking it up to the good ol¢ Trail Rumor-Mill, and settled in for an evening of TV-comas.Of course, in a true comedy of errors (b/c, we just wouldn¢t be the Pod any other way), it was Freedom, in Shaw¢s, standing in that line for the bathroom, behind Bonfire. (Aha! Lightbulb moment! It was Seeker who first told us of the Freedom-sighting. Whew. I was getting worried there, for a moment, about my memory.) And, of course, we didn¢t find this out until, 4 days later, 50-miles into the Wilderness, Freedom and Thatch finally caught up to us. Yes, the much-anticipated reunion! Although, actually, they didn¢t ¢catch up¢. They¢¦ But, I¢ve rambled on long enough for today, and so, that story will just have to wait for another day. And now, dodging the virtual rotten vegetables and eggs that you¢re throwing at me, I¢m going to sign off. Tune in tomorrow for the next installment of the trials and tribulations of the Pod.(This is kinda fun, writing in all of these cliff-hangers. I confess, I¢m receiving an almost-impish pleasure from stringing this tale on¢¦ and on¢¦ and on. (Although, in hindsight, confessing that to you, my audience, may not be the best tactic¢¦) What-ever will I do, when I actually arrive on Summit Day? When I actually reach the point where I¢m standing on Katahdin? Actually, never fear, the d-rama does not end there. Indeed, when the Pod is concerned, can the drama ever really end?)