Date: 2018-08-20
From: Carrabassett Valley

To: Bethel Maine
Miles today: 88.0

http://www.trailjournals.com/M... - Trail Journals link to my site https://share.garmin.com/Willi... - Map allows you to follow my travel including location of stops for each night. BLUE FLAGS ¢ Start and finishRED FLAGS ¢ Daily night stops along the Appalachian TrailYELLOW CIRCLE ¢ Down time locations where I got off trail to enjoy area and couple days of real beds / food. Also for those with access to FACEBOOK and want to see PICS, please view ¢SCAMPING WE WILL GO¢  CARRABASSETT VALLEY to BETHEL MAINE 88 miles Dates: 10 August to 20 August 2018 Epiphany Two: Woke up to a beautiful day with sunshine, low humidity, cool temps, clear skies and no rain in the forecast. The first climb would be yet another monster with two climbs in the plan for the day. The first took me up behind Sugarloaf Mountain nearly 4000 feet followed by a steep rugged descent then a second climb again back to 4000 feet on the back side of Sugarloaf Mountain. When I reached the top I mentally swore that I would hunt down those that thought this would be a great route ¢ the only thing it is was brutal.  I found a short side trail that led me to the top of Sugarloaf around 4200 feet. As I reached the summit, the trees gave way to a large rock expanse with a view that was nothing short of stunning. A 360 degree view where I could still make out White Cap Mountain and Chair Back Mountain in the Hundred Mile wilderness to the North East and the White Mountains to the west. Below laid Carrabassett Valley covered in trees and rivers, dotted with small towns all around. It was impossible to determine what so far was the best view ¢ this or White Cap mountain. In any case I was happy I made the short side trip. It was cool on the verge of cold with a strong northerly wind whipping across the top.  I wanted to stop for lunch while enjoying the view and saw several very small buildings in support of the two large Antenna¢s on the top of the summit so I headed for the leeward side of the larger structure where I came across a family of four (mom, dad, son and daughter) also resting out of the wind. They were doing a day hike with their son who was home from the Coast Guard Academy, living close by in Maine there. As we talked I asked them what is that tall peak on the horizon to the west. Mom told me is was Mount Washington and the others were the peaks of the Presidential Range. A sense of accomplishment and motivation came over me as I could see my next big section including a location I always wanted to visit, the windiest spot on planet earth. We decided to take the side trail back to the AT (Appalachian Trail) just a quick hike down the trail. They turned right to connect with a gravel road where they parked their car and I left to the next shelter for the night.  The next several days were pretty boring and for the most part I stayed to myself even at the shelters. I finally reached a Maine State Highway that was nine miles south of the town of Rangeley. By guide book showed that just a quarter mile up the road was a hostel named ¢The Hiker Hut¢. By this point all I could think of is food so I opted first to bypass the hostel and hitch a ride into Rangley. The town was a beautiful as it was quant. All I could think of was the small New England town in the TV Series, ¢The Bob Newhart Show¢. The town had all of the New England charm I envisioned growing up with large old Colonial structures dating back to the early days of America. The town sat right on a large wilderness lake dotted with small boats and signs of local regatta¢s of days past. Food drove me to the Parkside Caf© and Pub on the lake shore. When I entered I asked the hostess for an outside seat as I knew that I was stinky and dirty, and she laughed telling me to not sorry. I stuffed my face with the largest burger with double cheese, bacon, and all the toppings, a bowl of their New England Clam Chowder, a side salad and dessert ¢ oh and one of those large glasses of a local brew. I was now happy. As I ate several other customers chatted with me asking me about my adventures to date.  We had great conversations, well other than taking about the New England Patriots as the start of football was in progress. I let them know that there was only one team for me and that was my Minnesota Vikings. Several of us shook hands as I left heading back down the road to the Hiker Hostel.  I began hiking out of town looking at my GPS for the best way back to the highway. Something inside me told me I was lost so I approached two local women (a mother and daughter) walking on the sidewalk across the street for help. They informed me I was going the wrong way then insisted I follow them back to their house as they were already in the process of calling dad to drive me back. This is the Americana I loved, small town America with great values and open hearts.  When dad dropped me off I tried to give him some cash to take his family to a local outdoor ice cream shop on me at one of the beaches in town but he simply refused no matter how hard I tried.  This stop would be my second epiphany of my journey. The hostel was tucked away into the woods and off the highway. The gravel road leading in was lined with all kinds of stunning flowers (both botted and planted) and small square hanging flags on a long string hung between tress with Indian writings on them, much like the flags you see lining the sites around Nepal for the climbers of Mount Everest. Next to the flags were pitchers and old bottles with more Indian or Oriental character. I got to the entrance of the hostel where a small bell hung with a sign to please rind to inform them of my arrival. I saw a campfire in progress with several people enjoying popcorn and talking. Off to my left was small wooden shelter with a open front only covered by netting overlooking a large bubbling stream right in front of the building. Inside there was a queen size bed and mattress. It appeared to be empty and all I could think is if how lucky I could be if I could get that to sleep in. A woman named Pam approached indicating that sleeping structure was one of the private ones and available. I was in heaven. After dropping my pack off in my structure I joined the others around the campfire. A young woman on my left had a chipmunk sitting on her hand. She was the niece of the owner and told me that for years the chipmunks had become comfortable with people. One jumped onto my hand as I put it out then onto my leg and just sat there like a puppy dog. I was amazed. He then jumped off scrambling around looking for food. She gave me some pistachios and told me to put them back on my knee. When I did the chipmunk jumped back on my lap and entertained me as it filled up its cheeks with seeks, then scramble off to store them for winter only to return again a few minutes later. This I let repeat for about an hour. As we sat there chatting by the campfire, I also met Steve, the owner of the Hiker Hut. Steve was a quiet yet approachable individual that I sensed love his place. He indicated that he preferred hikers that wanted time to reflect and relax rather than the typical group of hikers coming in fast and leaving even faster to keep on hiking. Steve has operated this hostel for over twenty years and also lived there. This was him home. As it turned out Steve was a world class professional athlete that specialized in both triathlons and marathons. He had lived the life of charm, fame, fortune and excitement most would expect athletes of that caliber would enjoy, but Steve and Pam told me a much deeper story.  Steve was competing in an international event but failed to make the final qualifier. This was two decades ago and was the start of his epiphany they shared with me. Steve was very depressed for a long time as an athlete looking for something to define him that competition did not. He sensed he needed a higher purpose. He decided to stay in India and travel around for a few days until the competition was over rather than travelling back after his loss. He came across a family with two new infants, both who contracted a terrible disease that would define them for life of misery and isolation. The family and the country were not capable of helping those children as the care needed was not available. It was his turning point in his life. Steve decided to give up professional sports and would spend the next 20 plus years bringing in doctors, medical care and support to these and other families where poverty had left them behind. Steve exchanged a life of charm for one of simplicity running this hostel. Every penny he earned he used to keep the hostel running and allow him and Pam to come back every year since first meeting the family opting instead to spend all the money on them instead of himself. They would close down the hostel for the winter, travel back to India and stay with those families bringing with them the care those children needed.  As Steve talked he would bring out pictures of the two children over the years growing up. I could tell by his voice his love for them and happiness he was getting from helping them. There was no doubt that Steve¢s epiphany was his lost race that would change who he was. There was no doubt Steve was at peace with himself. I am not implying we should all give up the life we have to find peace. Instead all I could think of was that 28 year old Jessica at Baxter State Park, the one I prejudged who suggested I would find answers I am seeking because they were and are always right in front of me, and that all I needed to do was just open my eyes to see them, and just like Steve I hope my epiphany will become as obvious as his.  After one of the best night¢s sleep in three weeks to the sound of a bubbling stream, loons in the distance and chipmunks running amuck, I departed the Hiker Hut to continue my journey. I intended to continue to Gorham before my next stop off the trail. That night at the Sabbath Day Shelter I looked up to see Sam (Treefall now Tree Breaker) looking at me. It was great to again come across the two brothers I met so early in my journey.  Jake (Firefly came in about an hour later as he again decided to go fishing at a campground about four miles back. He caught several large brook trout and decided to clean and cook them right there sharing the meal with another camper there. Jake told me he had tipped the canoe he found in the woods over in the lake laughing about it as he stated he never before tipped over a boat. They had planning for three long hikes as their parents were coming to visit and check up on them. I knew they wanted to have me stay with them but I knew that those kinds of miles were more than I cared for and more importantly would bring me to Gorham far too yearly as my AMC Hut dates in the White Mountains were now reserved and set in stone. As we left the shelter I again said goodbye to the two brothers from Geogia. About four miles after leaving I came across what was now a tie for first place for best views called Height of Land. The AT came out on a paved Maine Highway far above a huge (tens of thousands of acres) expanse of land filled with wilderness lakes, mountains and forest solid green in color. The highway had a pullover lot lined with informational signs all around talking about the wildlife, lakes, etc. As I knew that the Maine border was just ahead, this would be the last awesome view of Maine I have seen along the AT. Two days later I realized that I was still far outpacing the plan and if I continued I would reach Gorham nearly a week early. There were simply not enough shelters left between me and Gorham to slow down and the thought of staying at each shelter for a couple of days was not in my plans. I opted to get off on yet another Maine highway crossing the AT and hitched a ride into the town of Bethel Maine, about a twenty minute drive south of the trail. The driver was a local and knew the area and hikers well. He offered, and I accepted a quick stop at a Walmart to resupply near the town of Rumsford. As we were leaving I saw Paul Bunyan and his ox BLUE standing tall (very tall) next to a local information stop. I got the drive to stop so I cold get a picture and accuse the people inside the information building that they stole ¢OUR¢ mascot. Apparently they were very familiar with the Minnesota version of these two icons and before I could say anything more they handed me an already printed sheet with the story of Paul and Blue which explained that Paul lived in Maine in his younger years but as he grew along with Blue and several other oxen that Maine was no longer big enough to care for him and moved him to Minnesota. We both laughed and shook hands. The driver dropped me off in the center of the small town of Bethel by a grocery store. He told me about a campground just on the edge of town along the banks of the Androscoggin River just a few minute walk from town. That was my goal to stop for a few days to relax and kill time before heading to Gorham and the White Mountains. The history of the town was written in the buildings all around me. Old Colonial structures even a couple of old historic wooden covered bridges. I saw a large clock perched in the center of the town square and was amazed to see the date in it ¢ 1796. This was in fact one of the birthplaces of America, just twenty years after the American Revolution with the vote to become the United States of America. I visualized what life must have been like back then, the struggles and success of people leaving tyranny to begin a life in a place they never knew existed. Just like the town, the people were as Americana as the town with flags flying on just about everything and small store owners peddling their wares on sidewalks in front of their shops. After getting some basics, I headed for the Bethel Outdoor Center just across the river bridge where I would spend the next three nights. For dinner that night I walked north on the road about two hundred yards as a small English Pub and B&B. They only served English / Irish and Scottish beer and the one I had was awesome, as was the food. Each morning I would walk back into town for breakfast at the Crossroads Caf©. For lunch I walked north on the road about a quarter mile where a small store had set up an outdoor BBQ stop with the smell of the food smoking for hours finding its way back to the campground. It was well worth the short hike.  I also found a small salon to get my hair cut and beard trimmed to look and feel a little more presentable. I hate the feeling of hair sticking into my lips as I try to eat. At breakfast I ran into someone I had not seen since Franklin Tennessee in 2016 when I was northbound.  Her trail name was Miss Janet and she is the unofficial queen and organizer of the Trail Angel concept. She was travelling up the trail in support of the hikers. She actually remembered me, well not actually, she remembered Riley with the blanket coat I got him he was wearing around town that day. We talked and reminisced about the 2016 hiking season. She was with several other prior AT hikers now trail angels, Hog Driver, Sherpa, and Trail Mom.  Today is spending time at the Bethel library updating this journal. Then this afternoon a four hour tube float down the river supported by the campground. I will be part of a larger group and look forward to meeting them. I have been told a restaurant by the campground has a fantastic Hot Meatball Sub and that sounds like my name is written all over it. Tomorrow brings reality back to the journey as I will say goodbye to Bethel Maine.