Date: 2020-09-09
From: The Lookout

To: Hanover Co-op
Miles today: 30.2

I didn't wake up planning to hike my first thirty mile day, or to jump off a bridge. But life happened.It started early. I woke before dawn thanks to others stirring. Stitch was still asleep on the roof deck when I climbed up. Felix the German joined us just as the sun peered over the mountains. He kicked Stitch, who mumbled and tried to go back to sleep. "Just turn your head a bit," we urged. He did. "That's the most amazing sunrise I've seen this hike," murmured Stitch. "Actually, that's the most amazing sunrise I've ever seen." Irish and Felix had cowboyed on the porch. They were talking until 10 or so last night and up early talking around 5:30. I had earplugs, but Risotto seemed pretty upset this morning with the disturbance. Of course he also doesn't like Vermont because it's like Virginia. And when I mentioned he would see Thundering Falls today, ready to make a joke about the lack of thundering, he stole my thunder with "Each of these falls seems lamer than the last. If it's not Niagara I don't care anymore." And then promptly dismissed summiting Killington since he got his full of 4000-footers in the Whites. I don't know why he's still out here. He seems a tad high-strung and unhappy. I doubt the middle states are going to change that.Big Dog carries a kid's compound bow and arrows. He's not sure why. All four northbounders have huge packs and a week's food - they like their comfort. Big Dog snuck up to the roof to wake up Stitch again by bouncing an arrow off his bag.I headed out and inauspiciously missed a turn early on and went a half mile downhill to a gravel parking area. Bonus mile! Anyone who says you can't get lost on the AT because there are 80,000 blazes has obviously never hiked the trail. It's a dense forest criss-crossed by old trails and tracks - of course it's easy to get lost. Why do you think they blazed it so much in the first place? It takes so many unexpected turns, crosses creeks where water trails give false leads, veers off dirt roads with limited signage, runs over rocks with no obvious path, and often has infrequent, faded, or poorly placed blazes. If you're not looking for a turn and are in any way distracted - talking, looking at a map, watching the rocks - you can easily miss it. Yes, the PCT has far fewer markers. But it also has far fewer trees. You can often see the next several miles of trail carved into the mountain ahead of you. Often I passed old fieldstone walls. Some were just long piles of rocks, others nicely stacked. I thought about the settlers and farmers that built them. Once, these mountains were largely deforested and covered with marginal farms before the occupants left in search of more fertile land in the Midwest. What a difficult life it must have been, digging out a field of rocks just to be able to plant. If they could do that, we can surely dig all the rocks out of the AT!The AWOL guide promised farm stores near two of the road crossings in the first twelve miles. Both were closed, according to notes at the trailheads. Bummer! So hot today, so humid, so many climbs. I really wanted a cold drink. Over 7000 feet up, 9000 feet down, almost all steep, despite nearly all of it being below 2000 foot elevation. Nothing to do but press on. At a stream by one road a couple named Cobra and Mountain Cat were eating lunch. They thrued northbound a couple of years ago and love everything about the AT, so they're doing it southbound now. At another stream a hiker getting water pointed me to where the trail continued. I nearly took an unmarked side trail. See what I mean?Most of the day was rollercoasting over low but steep hills, nearly all PUDs (pointless ups and downs with no views). At one of the few (and partially obscured) views I found section hiker Dell resting in the shade. He's LASHing to Grafton Notch just over the Maine border and was in no hurry. Why did I always feel so rushed when I sectioned?Yard Sale reappeared and spent several hours leapfrogging with me. He still needs to finish Virginia once he reaches Katahdin. He's an unflappable kind of guy. Little seems to stir him up.Twenty miles in I crossed the White River on an auto bridge into the tiny village of West Hartford. Comments in Guthooks say hikers often jump off the bridge. Like the James River footbridge in Virginia, but without the hefty fines. I considered it, but as I crossed I looked over the side - a long three stories down - at the exposed bedrock banks and decided it seemed a bit shallow this time of year. "Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not gonna happen," I thought.Then I met Randy.Randy owns the house across from the bridge. He's got a big AT symbol over his blue barn. He and his wife have been giving hikers cold drinks and coffee, and often putting them up in their barn, for many years. When I arrived a 55-year-old Bostonite sectioning Vermont named Copter and a 24-year-old southbounder were hanging out. The younger guy turned out to be from my home county, a few miles from my town. He took the name Wawa after our locally dominant convenience store chain, and was in Coatesville boy scout troop 117.I asked if people really jump off the bridge. Randy said "Sure. I've been doing it for thirty years." Wawa piped in "I just jumped an hour ago." Randy has marked where to stand on the bridge to do it safely. He shows hikers all the time. So he led me over. I'm thinking he's going to point it out and let me sweat. But he just stepped over the railing and jumped right in. Wawa followed him as soon as Randy swam out of the way. Well, now or never I thought, setting my jaw as I swung over the railing. Don't think about it, you'll never do it. It's fine, you just watched them do it. Just let go. I had a fear of heights when I was younger. Later I realized it wasn't a fear of heights, but a fear of falling. I like the joke, but it's basically true. Recently someone went a step further and said it was really a fear of landing hard. Well, that's also true. But the fear of falling is real. Just thinking about skydiving makes me physically ill. And there I was, willing myself to step into the void. I knew it was safe. I knew I would land in deep water with people nearby if needed. But letting gravity take over completely...well, I've never done that beyond a few feet. All this swam through my head in a couple seconds. Get out of your comfort zone, I told myself. The only thing holding you back is you. This isn't about risk, it's about fear of the unfamiliar. You've never done it, so it's scary. Do it once, and the spell is broken. But you have to take the first step yourself. So in telling myself to do it quickly it wasn't because logic and reason were about to take over and prevent it. Quite the opposite. If I delayed, I knew my fear would take over. Panic would take hold and overwhelm reason and facts. Logic had brought me here. It'd been proven safe beyond any doubt. I had made a rational, conscious decision to try this new experience, like getting on a rollercoaster. But my lizard brain wanted to back out and flee at any cost. It was out of my comfort zone. Way out, in fact. But that didn't mean it was dangerous or wrong. Those were rationalizations for my fear. I do not consider myself particularly brave, but neither do I want to be hostage to my own perception of my limitations. I didn't start a months-long journey because it was comfortable, because it was familiar. I did it to get out of my own skin, to expand my conception of the possible. And before I could change my mind, I was falling. Time didn't slow down. It took 1.2 seconds to hit the water and it felt like that. My limbs flew wildly about, never having known freefall for so long. I hadn't even thought to take a breath. I hit the water as if it were just denser air, and was several feet under before instinct sent me upwards. I didn't even notice the temperature of the water.I had to thank Randy for giving me the opportunity, and the example to follow. My rational side otherwise would have had no evidence to fight my phobia.I still have a fear of landing hard. But I hope my fear of falling took a big hit today.Randy offered to put me up in his barn, but I thanked him and booked out of West Hartford to get to Hanover. I saw an opportunity to have a full zero tomorrow. I'd made good time all day thanks to the farm stores being closed and having no views. The bridge jump had burned an hour, but it was more than worth it. Fortunately the ten miles to Hanover were easy, if hilly. The last three miles were all on the road. And that's how my thirty mile day just happened.Around 7:15 I reached the bridge over the Connecticut River where New Hampshire begins. I wanted a good picture at the state line, so I asked a passerby if he'd do me a favor. He shrank like I'd pulled a gun on him, then said meekly "From a distance...". I explained I just wanted a photo, if he didn't mind holding my camera. But it was too much for the poor man - he outright refused - and I told him it was no big deal. I took a selfie. I might add he was not wearing a mask when I first saw him.So I entered Hanover, passing prominent signs that demanded everyone entering this protected enclave wear a mask. And nearly everyone was, even joggers, bikers, and people sitting by themselves far removed from others. It was surreal. In just the last few weeks I've been in cities like Great Barrington and Rutland, college towns like Williamstown, busy tourist attractions like Manchester and Bear Mountain, suburbs like Warwick, and countless small towns. All of which are getting along just fine without blanket mask mandates. Dartmouth and Hanover, I realized, hadn't really changed since I left them thirty years ago as an undergrad. They are still an island of provincial insanity masquerading as erudite and sophisticated. I longed for the normality of West Hartford, where jumping off a bridge is as crazy as it gets.As I walked into town I smiled and greeted people who almost to a man were surprised to be spoken to on a public sidewalk. The one exception to masks is apparently when you are seated for dining. The sidewalks were jammed with outdoor diners, maskless, in animated conversations while waiting for their food. None of these tables were six feet apart. The rules we accept are strange indeed. If you stand up, you are a disease vector and must wear a mask. If you sit down, you enter an immunity zone. If you walk past someone for a second on a sidewalk or in a store you could kill them. If you eat next to them for an hour everyone will be fine. I slipped into the burrito place to satiate my hunger and was able to dine inside the empty restaurant. Beats sitting on a curb as I've often had to do. I worked my way over to the food market, already closed by 8, and was picked up by Evan from the Hanover Adventure hostel. At the hostel there were a couple of guys - Travis and Jason - who were LASHing Vermont to Katahdin and feeling beaten up by their first few days, an older guy named Bill just passing through, and a woman staying the week between houses. For such a large hostel it was a small crowd. Travis has a heart condition which caps how much blood his heart can pump, so climbing mountains is a long process for him. But he refuses to limit himself. He just adapts to what his body needs.One of the employees was Calamity Jane, who turned out to be Bumblebee's sister. Bumblebee is the guy I hiked with in New Jersey and tented at Catfish firetower. He skipped a few hundred miles to Vermont and stayed here a few days. I just missed him by a day. He skipped again up to Moosilauke, but I'll catch him yet!