Date: 2003-08-01
From: River Rd

To: Vt 4
Miles today: 5.7

August. Wow. The start of my sixth month of hiking. It's difficult to believe I've been trekking that long, but the numbers don't lie.I learn via pocketmail that Suz, my transcriber, is in the hospital. She was away from home, poor baby, and decided to pass a kidney stone. They put her on morphine, and will perform "a procedure" today. A friend will keep me updated.It's raining this morning at the Inn at the Long Trail, and after breakfast it begins to pour. That's been my inadvertant M.O. on this trip - to zero on the perfect days, and walk on the sloppy, wet ones. Same with maildrops. If I'd tried to plan it, I couldn't have hit more weekends, when the post office is closed. I don't send myself food anymore, but vitamins and some hard-to-find supplies I mail along. Sending to hostels and motels is better, because they're open longer. Finch is here, and his wife Judy has traveled from Maine for a visit. She offers to slack Boat, a young NOBO, and Chief and me six miles, which is tempting due to the rain. The other option is 24 miles. Six miles is better than sitting still. And we could return to the Inn to dry out...But the Inn here is booked for the night. Walking 10 miles to the next shelter in the cold, wet rain won't be so bad...right? Chief and I make an executive decision. Take a nap and sleep on it. Maybe the rain will stop.Mid-morning, it's raining harder than ever. It's one thing to dig in and hike when you're already out there; it's quite another to set out in a downpour. Plus it was chilly. Our courage faltered. Judy reappeared with the same offer. This time, we bit, and hard. We would walk six miles back to a dry room at a nearby motel.By noon, we were sloshing SOBO down the Trail in our raingear. It turned into a pleasant little hike, past Kent Pond with its Canadian geese and diving ducks, up a small mountain, and down to Maine Junction.Ah, Maine Junction. Here is where the AT and the Long Trail part. The Long Trail goes up the Green Mountain spine to Canada; the AT cuts east, over to the White Mountain range. It's been fun hiking with the Long Trailers, even if they do clog up the shelters (just KIDDING, kidding...). I wander up the Long Trail about 20 feet, feeling nostalgic. I remember standing there last year looking down the AT, and wondering what it would feel like ... to have walked over 1600 miles...Now, I know. Your feet hurt.Actually, I marvel at the changes that have taken place in the last year. Shari Ramer, AKA Mrs. Hotdog, e-mailed me a quote yesterday that comes to mind now: "What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us"...Ralph Waldo EmersonThe whole planning process since 2001, not just the actual walk, has been a journey.Pam Hudson, the FirstHealth Hospice Chaplain and a helluva good cheerleader, also sent me a beautiful poem about searches and journeys. It also comes to mind now. It's too long to quote, but basicaly boils down to "Relax. Shut up. And behold." Indeed. A person could make a motto out of that.We start hiking back to the Red Roof Inn. Judy and Finch appear, pulling their car over and give us dripping hikers a dry ride. They tell us if we want to go out to eat, to be ready at 5:30. Sweet.I take another nap. Conserving my strength. Yeah. Actually, it's the best way to stay warm while drying out, snugged in the covers. Yeah. I collect pocketmail and learn that Suz is past her procedure and the kidney stone is gone. This is good news. She was in Minnesota for the Episcopal Convention when the pain struck. How many people on Trailjournals have an Episcopal priest for a transcriber?I forgot to mention an interesting privy I saw the day before yesterday, coming down the mountain with Sparky, Zapman and Chief. It was at Churchill Scot shelter, and it was half as large as the shelter itself. It was a handicapped-accessible privy, complete with ramp. It had been built with federal money, as I understand it, and thus had to be designed as such. Of course, no wheelchair was going to be able to get up the steep, stony, long, root-choked path to it. A clear case of foolish consistency, of rigid rules not being able to "adjust to fit the situation," as my old horse mentor used to say. A waste. Was a right roomy privy though.Time to eat. We four pull up at an unsuspecting Appleby's. I order a huge chicken Caesar and a glass of wine. Sure beats noodles for dinner, or shivering in a damp sleeping bag.For dessert, I order the Sizzlin' Apple Pie, a splendid creation of apples, struesel pastry and ice cream with a hot caramel sauce poured over the whole concoction.For presentation, the waitress poured hot caramel sauce over the pie and ice cream and onto the hot pan, where it bubbled and hissed and wafted delicious, fattening odors in a most satisfying way. I recommend it highly. Chief had one too.The night finished off with a TV movie, Tom Hanks and Bruce Willis in "Bonfire of the Vanities." Funny thing. After 1600 miles, I am still not as skinny as Melanie Griffith in her gold beaded dress. And she still has boobs. There is no justice.