Date: 2004-10-17
From: Campsite near side trail to West Chairback Pond

To: Appalachian Trail Lodge, Millinocket, Maine
Miles today: 7.6
Weather: light rain

We achieved our exit strategy today, by exactly the same route that Bryson did. The 100-Mile Wilderness isn¢t really that much of a wilderness after all. We had looked at a Maine Atlas and Gazetteer before we left Lindy¢s, in case of exactly this eventuality, and had realized we could either hitch or walk out past Katahdin Iron Works. It was a long eight or ten mile walk without a hitch, but we figured on a logging road that would be relatively easy, and an adventure, and we¢d still end up at Katahdin sooner than otherwise. The five miles were easy and fun, maybe because I knew we were getting out, but maybe because I was full of regret, too. I still don¢t know if we¢re doing the right thing. I¢ll probably never know. Again, the trail is a microcosm for the macrocosm of life, though: I never know if I¢m doing the right thing, no matter what my decision, in all of life. And all of life¢s decisions are as momentous as this one.The trail was beautiful, too¢we skirted a pond and climbed two more mountains, Columbus and Chairback, neither of them particularly difficult, but with beautiful views of the gorgeous fall Maine landscape spread out beneath us. Stopping at the shelter was melancholy, reading the register entries of people whom we knew who has passed by a month before, in big groups, all celebrating their accomplishment together. I guess we¢re a little lonely. The whole day was suffused with melancholy. Even the leaves carpeting the trail seemed sad. With all the moisture lately, the low parts of the trail were virtual swampland, with sections looking like river deltas where the streams kept finding the new paths hikers had worn trying to skirt the water in the trail. We moved fast, though, passing a handful of day-hikers moving the opposite direction, out for a loop. As I came down the last incline, about a 500-foot descent in half a mile, I slowed down. I could hear a dog greeting County at the base, and I knew he had already made it, and was hopeful he was making friends with some locals for a ride. I slowed down further, ostensibly because of the slippery yellow leaves and the steep descent, but really because I was sad.Were we making the right decision? Did we make the right decision? Have we made the right decision? Who¢s to say? Keats said, ¢It¢s all one; we keep on breathing,¢ and that¢s it in a nutshell. He also said, in preparing for his tramp around England, ¢We shall clamber in the clouds and exist!¢ That¢s what I¢ve done, I hope. He had to cut his journey short, too, to go home to his sick brother. My reason may not be as legitimate, or may be just as legitimate. In any case, the decision is made. Maybe we¢ll head southbound next year, or this winter, or in a later year. Whatever happens, the AT is in my blood. It can¢t be taken out. This trip is in my blood¢there¢s no going back.County¢s slightly less circumspect about all of this than I am. It¢s all an adventure to him. I think part of him, or most of him, doesn¢t want to be finished, wants to leave part of the trail undiscovered, so he can always feel that there¢s a part of it that¢s a mystery to him, that he doesn¢t know and can always return to. I like things complete, though. He doesn¢t. That¢s okay, too. So I came down the last descent, crossed the last stream, came to the last road. It was Knuckles and Underhill¢s dog who were waiting at the trailhead, the dog I had heard from a half-mile up. Underhill was slackpacking the section we had hiked, and was due to arrive shortly. Knuckles offered us a ride out when she heard our plan, if Underhill got there before we wanted to leave. She gave us some spare Little Debbies and cokes, and we hung around and talked and waited for a while. We had had no idea how busy the road was, assuming we were going to have to walk the ten miles to the main road, but it was good to see there was some traffic on it, although most of it seemed to be going the other direction. Evidently it was faster to a major road the other direction, but that would put us far away from Katahdin. Eventually we started walking¢we had pulled out our warm clothes and were still getting cold, so we started moving towards the road that would take us to Millinocket. We passed the parking lot for Gulf Hagas and saw a couple of cars still in it, even though it was nearing dusk, and were hopeful that one of them would be headed in our direction and would give us a ride. We kept moving, though, and eventually a car nosing along in the opposite direction stopped. In it were three older people, who said they were just out for a Sunday ride. ¢We¢ll gladly give you a ride to Millinocket,¢ they said, ¢if you¢re still hitching when we turn around.¢ They offered to let us get in the car and go for their ride with them, but we declined, thinking we might still have a better shot at getting there sooner if we kept going the right direction. But it was nice to know we had a back up.We walked for maybe two miles before one of the cars from the parking lot pulled up to us. It was the first car we had seen going our direction, and only the second car we had seen at all. And, best yet, it was a BMW. An old classic two-door BMW. We didn¢t think it would stop, even though it was going at a snail¢s pace thanks to the ruts in the road, but it did. The nice younger couple inside pushed their seats forward and let us in¢they had been out for the day hiking in the Gulf Hagas. We were thrilled with the ride, and even more thrilled with the BMW¢we¢re probably the only two thru-hikers to ever get a hitch in a Beemer. The ten-mile ride out to US11 took about thirty minutes, past Katahdin Iron Works, so I understood Bill Bryson¢s terror in a pickup truck going sixty miles an hour on this road. It felt weird to be following exactly in his footsteps. Except we took a left at the highway, to head towards Katahdin. The couple was going the other direction, so they let us out and wished us luck. By this time, dark was definitely threatening, but we figured it would be easy to stealth along the road. Everything seems easier like that, in Maine. Rules are more lax, people are more in tune with a laidback lifestyle. People are great.So we started walking north on the road towards Millinocket, and again, the second person to stop gave us a ride. He worked at a whitewater rafting place in Millinocket, so gave us a ride right to the door of the AT Lodge, the hostel in town. It wasn¢t very expensive at all, compared to some of the hostels along the way, and we had a private room. The owner was a wonderful fellow who was looking to sell the Lodge, but only to a hiking couple who would continue to run it as a hostel. He tried to talk us into it. It was a tempting offer, I must say. Evidently the building has been a boarding house for about a hundred years, and it¢s a grand old beautiful building. We had the room beneath the cupola, looking out on the town square, as we did at the Doyle.Whether or not we¢ve made the right decision, it feels great to be at rest. The only sour note is that we hear Katahdin has been closed with ice and snow since the fifteenth. I hope we get to climb, and soon. The credit-card bill will run up atrociously if we have to stay here for too long. In the meantime, we¢re heading down to the local restaurant to get a burger. This journey is almost over, and there¢s definitely a bittersweet twinge to it.