Date: 2009-07-02
From: Dennytown Road

To: Route I-84
Miles today: 17.2

Funny thing happened when I entered New York the other day. I started to go up. While there may not have been any magor altitude gains, numerous climbs of fifty to five hundred feet sent me bouldering up the rocks that I am so used to up here in the northeast. As if from a scene from a Bruce Springsteen song, we left New Jersey and the fables swamps where he spun his tires while hanging with Rosalita and all memories of switchbacks were left behind for a time. I thought I was losing it until Johnny displayed 4910 feet of gain for the day. Day two in New York had me on my gaurd, and the 5000+ didn't exact the toll the day before did. Although I pushed as hard as I could towards the end of the day, the rain started to fall about a half-hour too soon, and my twenty plus mile day ended with what I would now call a mild thunderstorm as I lazed in my tent for a good twelve hours. If March comes in like a lion, then July barrelled in like a freaking juggernaut. The day began auspiciously, but for the second time in twenty-four hours, I came close to donning my headlamp while there was still hours of daylight left. Five miles from the day's destination and nowhere to go is where I found myself when all hell broke loose. Moving as fast as possible, asking Mother Nature to hold off just a little longer, I came upon some open ridges and sheets of rain descened upon me like no weather ever had before. In seconds I was as wet as I would ever be, and five minutes later my new expensive one-piece waterproof boots (hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha) were saturated beyond belief. For over 90 minutes the deluge never let up as with head down and spirits lower than hell my sopped feet trudged in and out of the trees until Dennytown Road was reached. Across the street was a kiosk where two fellow hikers sat under a small roof looking drier than anyone should ought to be in these conditions. As I approached a distinct feeling came over me that I was not welcome anywhere near, so without more than a few words and a growing atitude, I walked over to the pumphouse and washed my hair, fully clothed, so some good would come out of the debacle. Across the road at what would otherwise have been a great campgroud, I thought I did an amazing job of erecting my tent while allowing the minimal amount of water to penatrate. If the rain was not bad enough, dozens of skeeters gathered under my tents beak, just daring me to leave the comforts(?) of my environs. Score one for dehydration, because for over twelve hours I holed up in there until feet needed to be beat. With a pack now pounds heavier, the trudgery began again. Hours later and with a good 90 minute break, the final few miles were covered, and after climbing a fence in order to access the I-84 rest area, Terri found her way to me. A pleasant dinner was had with her son who lives in New Paltz before our trek home and some needed rest. Saturday we headed to the Dacks, where the economy has even effected the hoidy toidy at the Ausable Club. Enjoying the exciting but brief fireworks with my love (and picking up an exchanged Exped at the Mountaineer, did I mention the myriad of feathers the invaded my tent two days before when I exausted the air from my mat?) was worth every minute to get there. Sunday we even abandoned our quest for Big Slide when by mutual decision we dropped our butts at the second Brother and enjoyed the phenomenal vista this sub-4000 foot peak offers for two hours or more (sorry TMax, I was not supposed to tell everyone that). Tuesday night now and soon I will be back on the trail, hoping to see her again next weekend as I leave Mass, where here parents live, and head towards the final leg of the journey. Now is the time to put up or shut up, so slough off all excess baggage, physical and emotional, and get ready for the big push. Franconia notch, here I freaking come....topofgothics