Date: 2014-07-27
From: Rutland via Woodstock Stage Road and South Pomfret

To: Happy Hill Shelter
Miles today: 15.1
Weather: scattered clouds

This morning, Speedy, Slug, Mountain Biker, and I had breakfast at Denny's in Rutland before I dropped them at the bus station for the start of their trip back to Manchester, England. It was great that they could join me, despite Speedy and Mountain Biker having to cut their hike short due to the latter's ankle injury. Fortunately, those two made the most of it by seeing the sites in Boston after getting off the trail. And Slug seemed pleased with his week on the trail and hinted he might thru-hike the AT some day.Tor and I discussed the end game a bit this weekend, including whether she would come up to see me at Katahdin and, if not, how I would make my way back to Boston. As a consequence, when she dropped me back at the trail near South Pomfret just after noon, I felt like I was setting off on the final push to Katahdin, even though it's still over 450 miles away. There's a chance Tor will visit me again on the north side of the Whites in Gorham, NH if it fits her schedule. Otherwise, we won't see each other again for another four weeks. In any case, it was wonderful seeing her for 24 hours this weekend.The trail today looked even more Vermont-like than before, breaking out into farm land and fields repeatedly, and several times I saw clear rubber tubes strung between trees for extracting maple syrup. From one eastern-facing meadow, I caught site of a ridge line in New Hampshire, the state I'll be setting foot in tomorrow morning. I'm excited to be returning there, where I did most of my hiking growing up. I'm familiar with the AT through much of the state and finished climbing all of its 4000-foot peaks when I was in my early 20s.Late in the afternoon I was walking across a bridge over the White River in West Hartford when I heard a cow bell being rung by a woman from her porch. Linda, a long-time trail angel, was alerting me to the trail magic she was handing out, cold soda and bananas. When I arrived, I was the only hiker there; a half-hour later there were six of us. The conversation turned to the river, which during Hurricane Irene swept Linda's original house away. Linda, a lifelong resident, asked us if we were going to jump off the bridge. Before her query, I wasn't aware of the possibility. I couldn't resist, and soon found myself climbing over the railing staring down at the water 30 feet below. Four of us, including one SOBO named Moses, took the leap.I had three miles left to the shelter when I crossed under Interstate 89 and started an uphill climb. I tried to convince myself to no avail that the thunder I heard behind me was coming from trucks passing over a joint on the highway. With the skies growing steadily darker and the thunder louder, the only question in my mind was whether I'd make it to the shelter before the rain came. I didn't. Despite pushing a ferocious uphill pace, I was still a mile from the shelter when the deluge hit. Had I not done the bridge jump, I would have made it, but I don't regret it a bit.At the Happy Hill Shelter tonight are two SOBOs, Knives and Unplugged, and a section-hiking NOBO, Rocket Man, who hails from Auburndale, MA, two miles from where I live, and who was a counselor at Camp O-AT-KA on Lake Sebago in Maine, where I was a camper for several summers growing up.