Date: 2003-07-29
From: Upper Old River Rd

To: Wallingford
Miles today: 11.7

The smell of coffee woke me. I wandered down in my borrowed flannel jammies and Cindy stuffed blueberry pancakes into my hungry maw; husband Larry poured coffee. Then they let me on the Internet to gather the news.And the news is good. Commander-in Chief is getting back on the Trail in North Adams August 3! She's planning a grueling 8-day schedule to cross Vermont. She's such a go-getter, I have hopes she will catch me before Katahdin. That would be excellent. I also discover that another friend, rental-car Dale (aka Dewman) of Wisconsin has started a TJ site for his Ice Age Trail hikes. Wonderful! This Wisconsin Trail interests me and deserves a little trail-breaking PR. I might try to finagle a joint hike on the Kettle Moraine section. Larry helps us drop a car at the south end of a 12-mile section, and lets us off at the top of it. Then, equipped with only a fanny pack, Cindy and I set out southbound on the AT. We hear a beautiful bird call. Cindy tells me it's a white-throated sparrow. The ta-ta-ta-TAAH sound like the opening notes of Beethovens Fifth symphony. Cindy laughs at this. "How do you get Beethoven's Fifth out of that?" She hears "Peabody, peabody."As we walked on this sparkling morning, we shared our knowledge of plants and birds. Cindy is an avid gardener and outdoorswoman, so it is a treat to walk with a fellow enthusiast. Cindy (Mrs. Gorp) tells me that my beloved nibble, the shamrock-like woods sorrel of the northern sub-alpine, can crystalize in the kidneys, so it's a good idea to just nibble, not eat large quantities. This is useful to know.She also coaches the mountain trees. I know hemlocks and balsams and white pines. She further offers: "Friendly fir, spiky spruce... the firs are soft and the spruce are stiff and spiny to the touch."Cindy has hiked the whole AT, and hiked the Long Trail twice, as well as 500 miles of the PCT. She'd started her 2nd thru-hike last year, when her mother died. She started again this year, doing big miles, and severe achilles tendonitis stopped her in her tracks. The doctor warned her she was in danger of a rupture. "You're not going to walk out of those woods if it happens, you'll have to be carried out," the doctor had said. That got her attention. She spent the spring in an air cast.We exchanged news of hikers she'd started with this year. So many have dropped off! Those that have made it this far seem to have worked through the head stuff that was causing folks to leave the Trail as recently as New York. The internals.What is taking hikers off the Trail now are external circumstances: knee problems, family crises, fractures, severe illness, extreme loss of body fat and the subsequent fatigue. The men look rail-thin. The women, whose bodies conserve fat, look in better flesh.Going SOBO, Cindy and I meet everyone going north. Patience and Hungry Hiker, two Israeli hikers, have found each other. They'd been searching for each other, only a day apart the last several days. It's funny how close you can be and still be separated. Ahead is some reliable trail magic for hikers. In the cool stream, corralled by a bit of wire fencing, are a variety of sodas. I select a root beer. The Hiking Gnome keeps the supply stocked. We sign the register, leave our spare change, bag the empties as instructed so The Gnome can recycle the cans. I see that Notes is so far ahead, I won't catch him unless he pauses.Cindy and I lunched on a rock on Beacon Hill, munching on sandwiches and cookies. It's a lovely day for a tramp. The temps are cool, the sun is out, there is a bit of a breeze.Poncho and Sage join us on Beacon Hill. I share my cookies with Poncho, and feed Sage all the dog biscuits Cindy has given me to distribute. Sage gobbles them hungrily. HIS hiker appetite is kicking in.We pause at Clarendon shelter to sign the register. I am looking for sign of Chief, but he hasn't shown up yet? Where could he be? It was here last year that a local, "Po Boy," had lumbered up here in his truck with wood. He keeps an unofficial eye on the place, cleaning out the firepit, etc. He'd taken our packs ahead to The Inn at the Long Trail, slacking us. We'd decided to go down for ice cream at the WhistleStop diner at VT 103, as the day was growing quite hot. After all, we'd earned one. But we couldn't get a hitch, the pavement was hot, and my bunions ached, so we gave up and hiked on. The idea of a swim in the gorge also appealed, but about a dozen others had the same idea, so we hiked on from there too. The Clarendon Gorge suspension bridge is a kick, very bouncy and it sways. It was built as a memorial by the family of a 17-year-old boy who was swept away in high water trying to backpack across the gorge.More hiker encounters: We meet up with three friendly sectioning guys who I'd been leapfrogging. Anders is the name of one, the others have initials I can't keep in mind. I gave them a cookie apiece, and Cindy gave them advice on Achilles tendons, which was a concern.Anders had taken off a month once from his "computer geek" job in NY - he's a graphic designer - and had gone to Montana to mountain bike and do pottery. "When I got back, nothing had changed," he said. "Everybody was doing the same thing. Yet I'd had this exciting secret life."I wonder what will have changed back home in the seven months I will have been gone.We also meet Finch, a NOBO thru-hiker. He tells us that Chief, Sparky and Zapman were two hours in front of him - but we hadn't seen them. NO! Perhaps they'd been in the Whistlestop when we were trying to hitch? Ha! I'd walked right past them!We walk on to the Minerva Hinchey shelter. This is Mrs. Gorps's shelter, the one she cares for as a GMC maintainer. All day she's been tugging branches to the side.The two U-VT girls are here, still plugging away at their Long Trail hike. Leaving, we meet the hard-driving Typhoon, who had been off the Trail for two weeks getting an evaluation for a hernia. The first doctor advised surgery. The second doctor told him to watch it and keep hiking. So, he's hiking.Today, now, I am at the "500 mile" mark. Less than 500 miles to Katahdin. To the finish. It is a brew of mixed emotions, contemplating the end of this trek. Relief from the grueling physical demands, yes. I'd like to be able to get up without hobbling the first five minutes. But also sorrow for the liberating spaciousness of a thru-hike. I feel as if I am really coming into my own out here, and I didn't expect that.I like what is going on.