Date: 2016-07-02
From: Telephone Pioneers Shelter

To: Hotel
Miles today: 21.4
Weather: clear sky

(elle¢s dad, Water Buffalo is the substitute journalist)Sleeping in her tent on a slope in a terrible rainstorm dampened all of her equipment, but not her spirits! Today was Breakfast Trail Magic Day, set up by the incomparable Flamingo (elle¢s mom). All she had to do was make a tiny 3.1 mile hike from Telephone Pioneers Shelter to the Appalachian Trail Railroad Station. Fellow hikers Stone, Trekeroni, Sundog, JJ Don't Play, Conductor the Blue, Shoe, Quirks (a Swabian LASHer), Simple Man, Blue, Numms, MorningLori and several others also stopped by to enjoy breakfast.Sundog, elle, J.J., Quirks, Conductor the Blue, Trekeroni, and Stone at the stationAfter a quick fuel-up, elle and I followed Conductor back on the trail. The plan was to go until I fell over and had to be choppered out. I figured about 2 miles. The day started out beautifully. Gently rolling hills and perfectly groomed trails passed over babbling brooks. I upped my estimate to 5 miles.Babble-babble-babbleAround noon, we saw Conductor¢s treble clef etched into the dirt just before we passed into Connecticut. A little further along, a huge tree (an oak, I think) some feet in diameter had fallen across the path. It was suspended about chin-high (I¢m 6¢6¢). Of course I was stooped over and my head was down. The tree won the battle without even noticing me. Fortunately, it was just my head, so the chopper wasn't requested. The only lingering pain was due to elle¢s laughing question, ¢How could you not see that gigantic tree?¢. She¢s always mean to me.Giant Dead Tree -1, Water Buffalo ¢ 0. Tree asks, ¢Did the game start yet?¢We made it up Ten Mile Hill to the shelter, where we rejoined Conductor, Quirks, and Simple Man. Conductor asked how I was enjoying the trail. I told him the ups were hard, but the downs were painful. Maybe the 18-year-old boots I found in the back of my garage were not the best choice in AT footwear. I¢m not even sure they are my boots. We left first, but shortly, Quirks and Simple blasted past us as elle realized she had forgotten to have a snack because she was so excited about the fine condition of the privy at Ten Mile shelter. Apparently it¢s one of the top ten AT privies, maybe top three. Somebody should let FoB W. PoT know about it, due to his expertise in those matters.This sign means ¢Excellent Privy Ahead¢. That text was once where the sign rotted away.At this point, the AT realized a buffoon was on the trail (me), and ratcheted up the fun. As elle effortlessly scrambled up a seemingly endless pile of rocks, I muttered curses to myself and tried to emulate her. To the surprise of nobody, she opened a big lead on me. Each time I came to a fork in the trail, elle was there sitting on a rock. ¢I¢ve only been here for a minute¢, she lied. She assumed I would take the wrong fork, and walk into another oak if she wasn¢t there to direct me.After a particularly heinous descent, I cried to the trail that it had won. I wanted to dig a Water Buffalo sized cat-hole and climb in, since I felt exactly like that which true AT hikers deposit in cat-holes. I sat on a rock and told myself that my tiny baby daughter was kicking my butt. OK, I forgot the giant cat-hole and continued stumbling forward.Some nice views down to the Housatonic River, though!At one of those (not so much) devious forks, elle gave me some ibuprofen and energy chews. I felt like a new man, or at least less like an old slug. I came to a spot where I wasn¢t sure which direction the trail went. One way was straight up some rocks, so I assumed that must be correct. No surprise, it was. At the top, I came across two resting day-hikers (smell like soap, elle tells me). They mentioned elle was watching to see if I made it up. I muttered that I wasn¢t sure I did. Then I saw the descent rock scramble. Ugh. I managed to make it, and the day-hikers commented that I looked like I knew what I was doing. Whaaaaaat? I feared for the day-hikers' welfare.A little while later, I found elle sitting by a stream. She was only there for a minute. Honest. She had good news and bad news; good - only 1.5 miles left; bad ¢ still 1.5 miles left. I told her to never talk to me again. She laughed. She¢s so mean to me. Somehow, in 1.5 miles, she got about a half hour ahead of me. I finally caught her, standing in the trail, chatting with Shoe. I kept going, but she flew past me anyway. Suddenly, I could see the halo of the Angel Flamingo illuminating the trail! Of course there was one last stupid rock scramble between me and freedom. Thank you, AT. You are nearly as mean to me as elle.The Angel and the Devil.Teenagers, grandparents, and all ages in between sleep in the dirt, get up in the morning, stuff their packs with 30 pounds of gear, strap it to their backs, and do what I just did. In all sorts of weather. Day after day. Week after week. For months. The only pack I carried was the 30 pounds of blubber around my middle, and I barely crawled out of the woods alive after one average terrain, mild weather day. I tip my cap to each of you. Except elle. She¢s too mean. OK, her too.