Date: 2017-07-19
From: VT 9 and Bennington

To: Seth Warner Shelter
Miles today: 11.4
Weather: clear sky

I am in a motel bed. I can and I should sleep in. I am not going to the trailhead until 11:00 am. I set an alarm. For 8:00 am. So lazy, so civilized.My eyes snap open at 5:50 am. I laze there on my side, half in and half out of a soft sheet. I feel my lower back. I haven¢t told you about the scaly heat rash I¢ve had for three days. It¢s right on the hip belt line and on the first day it was angry. But I¢ve borrowed a cotton t-shirt from Guy On A Buffalo and the rash has had a good chanace to air out instead of being squeezed by a hipbelt like a sweaty vise.I write two emails, then do a truly lazy man¢s version of a food resupply out of the gas station convenience store 100 feet away. Hey, they have top ramen. (Frodo: We never once ate top ramen on the PCT and I don¢t think you ever ate it on the CDT either.  What¢s up?) I buy and eat two breakfasts and a large hot chocolate. The convenience store has a large shelf with the free local community newspaper. And, lo and behold, a copy of today¢s New York Times.While I pack my ramen, a quartet of mini sweet rolls, frosted animal crackers, honey roasted almonds and the rest of the gas station store¢s best in my food bag, Guy On A Buffalo and his family have set up trail magic at the trailhead ¢ fruit salad, oatmeal and apple cake, scores of _____ (Frodo: Slovak?) cookies that look and taste like dinky ____( Frodo: maybe ruggalah??), chairs, big jugs of iced tea and lemonade.Guy¢s aunt¢s friend uses a term I¢ve never hear before ¢ ¢wasband¢ ¢ to refer to her Johnny Weismuller-handsome ex. She has knitted 15 mini scarves, 4 inches wide, to give away to hikers to ward off the chill. What a dear heart. (Albeit misguided, since we are shedding clothes, cutting off shirt sleeves with tiny Swiss Army knives.) (I felt Frodo¢s frown when I said I might do it.) I chose out a variegated blue scarf and asked Guy to please mail it to Frodo. I¢ll ask for it back again months hence, in October.All Guy¢s family were primed by me to await three special hikers. ¢Watch for Dot, Franky, and Buck. I promised them treats.¢ Guy brought three local beers for them. When I came out myself at 11:00, I was chewing on a Friendly¢s burger and fries and I brought burgers and veggie burgers for the three. Here¢s what trail magic recipients look like: http://www.trailjournals.com/j...I hike off with them, for the first time in 300 or 400 miles ¢ maybe since Rolling Thunder?! ¢ I head off from a trailhead with other SOBOs. The first part is a half mile of stiff Maine-like climb. Franky and Buck take off, finding a gear Dot and I don¢t have. I get to talk with this delightful young woman for the next few miles ¢¦. College, her good friend who is diligently transcribing Dot¢s trail journals (look them up ¢ they¢re on this same trailjournals site), the book The Power of Now that we both took to heart. The trail unwinds under our feet as if we were singing, as if the words ¢tedious¢ and ¢tough¢ had never been invented. At the first shelter, Congdon, 4 miles along, Frank and Buck have waited.Did you know Buck is short for ¢Last Buck?¢ The name is his trail name, but unlike the rest of us who got ours on a long trail, he got his three decades ago, when his age was single digits. This tattooed, ex-Marine, ex-champion wrestler softens into warm emotional putty when he talks about being in the YMCA Indian Guides with his dad, how they¢d go on campouts, how his Indian Guide name was Lost Buck. (Frodo: I think they¢re now called Adventure Guides.)I was in Indian Guides with my father. I still have the vest my mother sewed. It was the only time he took me camping. And for ten years I did Indian Guides with our son and Indian Princesses with our two daughters. I was Red Fox, Sean was Silver Fox, Jordie was Little Fox and Nicky was Rainbow Fox. What dear times. Frodo got a weekend to herself while the kids and I made memories. A photo from 1988: http://www.trailjournals.com/j...At the shelter I startled, surprised, and then all in a rush, someone was calling my name as I was calling hers, a trail name I¢d ¢suggested¢ more than 500 miles ago. ¢Sheriff!¢ ¢Scout!¢ I thought I¢d never see Sheriff again after that fun-filled dinner with her and her ¢posse¢ of friends deep in the Hundred-Mile Wilderness. Here we were, leaner and trail-hardened versions of ourselves.Dot took off with Franky and I tucked in behind Sheriff, drafting in her wake. It was so sunny and the trail was great, even if it was muddy. We have the luxury of time; we¢ll get to the shelter early regardless, so we stop and talk to nearly every northbounder we see. And we talk ourselves, each a storehouse of pent-up trail tales to share, and the tales of our lives, too.I write these last few pages of this journal entry well after midnight ¢ yes, you can chide me, Frodo. I deserve it. My eyelids grow heavy, ¢I¢ll just close them for a moment.¢ I wake to nature¢s call (just like the Scotsman) and here is my pen, next to these pages, waiting for me to finish.I¢ll turn the headlamp off. A week from tomorrow I¢ll see Frodo.IMF.