Date: 2009-07-17
From: Manchester, VT (Fox home in Dorset)

To: Manchester, VT (Fox home in Dorset)
Miles today: 0.0

It's 9:30pm on a cool, wet Vermont night. The stars are hidden by a thin screen of gray clouds, which the moon back-lights, giving the fields an eerie hue. The small, Vermont roads are ribbons of moonlight and the power lines, black in the days sun, sag whitely in the near-darkness. I find myself on what is essentially a strangers computer, typing away just outside of Manchester. Less than 550 miles of trail run between me and Katahdin, the end of this journey.We broke free from Pennsylvania weeks back and found ourselves moving through the wilds of New Jersey. Your laugh here ... but it's true. I too had a set idea of New Jersey: oil refineries, factories, heron needles on the beach, factories, William Carlos Williams writing a poem near Paterson, factories and, of course, a factory making factory parts. I, however, must admit that I was terribly wrong. New Jersey has lovely trails, beautiful woodlands and grand views. And wildlife ... including a curious bear cub and a bald eagle. It is also a short state.New York came with a rush. I had been looking forward to it for a while and I'm happy to say it lived up to every hope. I would have to say it has been my favorite state so far. After crossing the state line, we made a quick, four-mile climb up Prospect Rock. Sitting contentedly on the rocky peak, bathed in sun, eating a simple lunch, I scanned the horizon. Mountainous peaks loomed over valleys cupping lakes. It was breath-takingly beautiful and serene. Then, after a moment, I began to discern small irregularities along the cragged horizon. Something definitely not natural, but soaring high and strong none the less. I squinted towards the west, taking in the expanse. What was it? A sharp spire rising above several boxes. I smiled to myself. 'Why, that looks like the Empire State building,' I thought with a laugh. Then the smile faded into recognition. It was the Empire State Building! The skyline of New York City was clearly visible, only 34 miles away, rising above the rocky tops of the wilderness. It was a strange, surreal moment: the wilderness and the urban superimposed. It was the feeling I think all modern humans can grasp ... the homely, cradle-like pull of the outdoors, a place that feels elementally like home and the sterile, hard beauty of our fast urban lives, which we crave and move in live a log in a river. I could feel the pull within me at that very moment. Here I was, sitting smelly and joyous alone on a peak, and, with only a short drive, I could be sipping a martini, examining a Rothko in one of the largest cities in the world. The desires in me went both ways.We hiked down the hill and into a small town and made our way to a small bar on one of the many lakes we'd seen from our previous perch. We ate french fries and had a Guinness, relaxing, knowing we had only a few more miles yet to do. Three girls came in asking the bartender if she had a pool net. Turns out they had been standing on the dock and one of them had dropped their phone into the lake. Seeing a chance to be both a suave gentleman and get a bath, I offered to dive in for them. The bartender said that normally there's no swimming, but in this case, she wouldn't say a thing. However, after thirty minutes of diving and a handful of ashtrays and wine glasses rising from the depths, the search for the cell had to be called off. However, my smell had become much more bearable by that point.Several days later we found ourselves in West Mountain Shelter for the evening ... and once again, the New York City skyline rose from the wilderness before us. As we prepared for bed, several guys filed into the shelter site. It was a group from Hoboken, New Jersey, out for the night ... and these guys were a lot of fun. They had hiked in a cooler of (what else) Long Island iced teas, which they shared with us. From there a fire was built, smores were made and some sandwiches were even handed out. We were up until two in the morning with these guys, one of the latest and most fun nights on the trail for us. Thanks so much Oscar, Cory and all you guys for a truly unforgettable night. Sipping a cool drink on a mountain top while New York City twinkled before you like diamonds thrown across a black blanket.The next day we crossed the Hudson, climbed a few thousand feet and spent in the night on a baseball field in a friary. In the night our friends Loon and Hot Sauce caught up with us, sneaking into camp well after midnight. We hiked together for the next few days before taking some time off with Loons family in Connecticut. Yes, Connecticut. With so much time spent in Virginia and Pennsylvania, it felt odd to be able to go through a state in less than a week. But there we were, sitting by a lake in Connecticut, enjoying the Fourth of July. Loon's family was magnificent to us and life became a swirl of slack-packing, good food and swimming. Soon though, we found ourselves back at it, moving into Massachusetts.After pausing to moon the Massachusetts turnpike, we made our way to Dalton, where we took refuge with Tom Levardi, one of the kindest souls on the trail. I cannot speak highly enough about Tom. He has been taking in hikers for over 30 years, making them meals, giving them beds and driving them to slack-packs. Also, at Toms we met back up with Wags and Gangsta who we hadn't seen in quite some time. We all four slack-packed 23 miles the next day, up over Greylock Mountain.And then, bam!, we're in Vermont.Now this may sound silly to most of you, what with there still being 540 or so miles left and what not, but most of us on the trail see this as something of the home stretch. The end is immanent, and we've all gotten a little retrospective as that final step begins to loom in the distance. We met so many friends and enjoyed so many little adventures. We've laughed and cried, literally bled on the trail, made a small life for ourselves here in the green woods ... and it has to come to an end some day and that day is sooner than we think. I know Amanda and I have been asking ourselves the usual questions: where will be go after it's all over (we're thinking Seattle, by the way), what will we do? You know. The usual stuff. But there's more than just that. There are questions more elemental that we wrestle with; questions about what we've seen of ourselves, as humans. Where have these hard glimpses into our essential selves brought us and what will rise from the ashes of this time in our lives? So many questions. If there's one thing the trail has taught us, however, it's that tomorrow can never be more than a rough estimate. Life will change and we will change and, ironically, it will still be the same. It's like the old proverb says: "How do you make god laugh." The answer: "Make a plan."