Date: 2005-11-30
From: the saga continues...

To: ...and continues...
Miles today: 0.0

Disclaimer: I make no promises or predictions on the length, breadth, height, width, or any other dimension of any and all detours and asides that may occur in the following entry. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.Okay, to summarize the tale-to-date (and spare you the tedium of having to re-read those interminably verbose entries):As we crept ever-nearer to Katahdin, I was experiencing a Major Freak-Out, whose symptoms include (but are not limited to) -- a decided reduction in sleep (in severe cases, the reduction reaching zero), an inability to focus on anything other than the object of the Freak-Out (ie, Katahdin), jittery nerves (or, jitterier, as the case may be), and butterflies performing Kung Fu in the stomach-region. The intensity of my Freak-Out was in direct proportion to the proximity of Katahdin and Summit Day. However, due to considerable prior experience w/ the afore-mentioned Freak-Out Syndrome, I was coping. Or, at least, co-existing. Actually, excepting the imminent inevitable end of the AT, things were pretty darn near perfect, that October day in the Maine woods -- the sun was shining, the skies a pellucid blue, birds were singing; autumn was tangibly and visibly surrounding us, the scent of fallen leaves permeating the air, the vibrant hues of fall foliage splashed across the landscape in an explosion of color; Maine was its typical extraordinary self; Summit Day, while alarmingly soon, was still 4 entire days away (For the mathematically disinclined, that¢s 96 hours. Or 5760 minutes. Or¢¦ a whole lot of seconds. And ¢a whole lot of seconds¢ was a reassuringly large-enough clump of time that I felt a comfortable displacement of reality and corresponding illusion of distance); Katahdin was still 50 trail-miles off; but, most importantly, what truly elevated the day to its near-perfect status, was the fact that the Pod was united. All six of us (Free, Serenity, Poet, Freedom, Thatch, and yours truly), all together, on this wonderfully glorious day. And, to add icing to the cake, the cherry-on-top, the cr me de la cr me (Hmm¢¦ all of these food references. You¢d think I was a hiker or something¢¦) -- anyway, to sweeten an already sugar-saturated day¢¦ we did the unthinkable¢¦ we defied the odds¢¦ we... drum-roll please¢¦ we completed¢¦ the Pod¢¦ Challenge! Pick those jaws up from off the floor. Yes, we did it! We overcame the anti-Pod force conspiring to scatter us. We exceeded the critical mass, and lived to tell of it. For one entire day, we stuck together. The Challenge had been laid, and the Pod stepped up to the task. Mind you, it took us six months, but that¢s an almost irrelevant detail. It was then, as we were still reeling from the heady jubilation and exhilaration of meeting the Challenge, it was then that some alternate universe descended on our happy little campsite, and the fate of our Summit Day came to rest on the flip of a coin.I realize that I¢ve veered away from simply summarizing the previously related details and have entered into untold territory. All I can say is -- Hey, you¢ve got complaints? Well, then, go and read that disclaimer up at the top of the page again. I¢m just the medium through which this story is telling itself. I can¢t really control what rambling paths my brain elects to veer off on. I just try to keep pace w/ the words and thoughts flitting around up there. And anyway, it¢s not as if anyone¢s twisting your arm, forcing you to read this. Although, I must say, I commend each and every one of you that is taking the time (and effort) to read this, and trying to follow my (often) circuitous and (frequently) incoherent thought processes. I sincerely do hope you enjoy these tales, b/c I certainly enjoyed living them. And now, to wrap up (yet another) aside, I¢ll return to the story-telling¢¦Ah yes, that pesky little coin. I keep returning to it. Of course, I then immediately go off on some incredibly long-winded tangent. And this time is no different¢¦ I will get to it, I promise. In due time. (At the rate I¢m going, it¢ll only be mid-December¢¦ By Christmas, for sure¢¦ At the very latest, New Years¢¦ I hope¢¦) But for now, the coin is going to be put away, back in the metaphorical pocket of the Pod-member who carried it. (Or, in this case, in the ziploc wallet.) B/c first I need to explain how on earth we actually managed to fulfill the Pod Challenge. Returning to my (incomplete) summary, the last time the Pod was collectively in the same place at the same time was back in Gorham, NH. And, as is par for the course, we were utterly incapable of keeping tabs on each other for 24 consecutive hours. Leaving Gorham, w/ every intention of entering Maine as a cohesive Pod and completing the Challenge then and there, we instead did as we normally do, and splintered into 2 groups (the Freedom and Thatch duet, and the rest of us). And then, you have to fast-forward 200 miles before we¢re reunited again. How could we possibly not manage to hook up again in that timespan? You might ask, incredulously. You should. We all certainly did. I mean, the Appalachian Trail is a linear footpath; it¢s a friggin¢ line, for crying out loud. How can you not find someone (or, someones, in this case) on it? Well, grasshopper, let me tell you, it takes skill. Mad skill. It¢s a friggin¢ art form and, as Pod members, we are the Michelangelos and da Vincis of this particular art. Not that we didn¢t try. In fact, there were some Hollywood-worthy near-misses, and at one point, we even managed to corral Freedom for a whole, like, 12 hours. It was the day we hiked in to Stratton, ME. Ach, here I go again, heading off on another tangent. But, aw geez, it¢s just such a good story. (Well, I think it¢s a good story anyway. And you don¢t really have much say in the matter¢¦) And, oh heck, you know I have to tell it now, b/c my brain has firmly decided that this is where it¢s going to head right now, my stroll down Memory Lane is gonna take a little detour, and hey, I¢m gonna drag you along for the ride. (And hopefully, there won¢t be too much kicking and screaming from you¢¦)So, the 4 of us were on our way in to Stratton. We¢d just spent the night in the ski hut on top of Sugarloaf Mtn. (I highly highly recommend taking the 12-mile side trail up there to the summit, by the way. The views are phenomenal. The colors in the sky at sunset were breathtaking. And, yes, the wind was admittedly a little intense, but, hey, there were 4 walls and a roof. And, I mean, c¢mon, how often do you have the opportunity to sit on a ski lift on the Appalachian Trail? Okay, real-estate pitch is over now.) In the morning, Poet and I got an early start, b/c we had a date at the Post Office. A special delivery, for Serenity. Well, for all 4 of us, actually. Serenity¢s dad, hearing that she was still feeling perpetually nauseous (suffering from the recently-diagnosed giardia), wanted her to have some real food (rather than our standard fare of processed crap), and was overnighting a dry-iced package of broccoli rabe sandwiches. Now, I had only a vague notion of what exactly broccoli rabe was, but truth be told, knowing that there were fresh vegetables, and freshly baked bread, and cheese, waiting for us in town, I didn¢t care that I wasn¢t 100% sure what I¢d be consuming. There was good, gourmet-level food, in a box, in that Post Office. What else does a hiker need to know? So, as Serenity and Free were both under the weather, Poet and I (graciously, and selflessly) volunteered to make sure that the box was retrieved before the PO closed. Equipped w/ Serenity¢s ID and prepared to impersonate her should it come to that, Poet and I set off for town.The hike itself was pretty uneventful; you might even say, ¢routine¢. I mean, there was the minor incident of my impromptu swim in the Carabassett River, but, pfft, that was nothing, not even really worth mentioning. I mean, ¢swim¢ isn¢t even really the right term, it makes it sound much more¢¦ dramatic that it actually was. It was more that, during the course of fording the stream, it¢s possible that I might have slipped, just a little bit, and splashed in the water, just a little bit more, but only to the extent that some, or, I guess you could conceivably go so far as to say, most of my clothing became waterlogged. But, that was it. Nothin¢ more than that. Well, yes, okay, it may be that one of my trekking poles was almost swept away by the current. But, it wasn¢t. And I retrieved it, just, you know, like 15, or maybe 20 (or 30), feet downstream. No big deal¢¦ Okay, fine, it was a freakin¢ slapstick comedy routine. Poet and I were sitting on the banks of the river, taking a break. (And, although I should be exaggerating, embellishing even, how swift and treacherous and ferocious this river was, in order to cushion my ego from the blow it¢s about to receive, my sense of integrity prohibits me from doing so; in actuality, this was just a pathetic little stream, reaching mid-calf at its deepest, and at most 20-feet wide.) Chuckles and Gotta Go joined us shortly thereafter and, as we all enjoyed the snack break, we also all eyed the upcoming ford, each of us plotting our optimal route across. Poet opted to attempt a boulder-hop, which had been our standard mode of fording to-date. However, eyeing these boulders, which were all wet and looked to be hazardously slick, I thought I¢d explore a different route. I was simply gonna take my sandal-clad feet and march straight across. What did I care if my feet got wet? Just another perk of the sandals. However, what I had neglected to thoroughly take into consideration was that, while the rocks above the water might have been wet (and consequently a little slippery), the rocks below the water, having been exposed to centuries of a steady current flowing across their surfaces (and consequently being worn incredibly smooth, as in sheet-of-ice smooth); these rocks would indubitably be exponentially slipperier. But, did my brain, at all other times annoyingly over-analytical, did it bring this helpful little tidbit to my attention? No sirree. I just blindly plunged right in. And, two steps later, found myself floundering around, on my hands and knees, frantically arching my back to keep my pack from becoming submerged. Quite a performance I put on, though to their credit, none of my audience laughed at my antics. Well, at least, they judiciously and generously waited until I was no longer present before being consumed w/ laughter.See, honestly, as I said before, not really much of a story; just a little mid-morning comic relief. And, the rest of the day¢s hike truly was uneventful. The most challenging aspect was simply obtaining a ride into town. Eventually getting a lift from a local, Poet and I set about making friends w/ the Postmaster. Discovering that the package had not yet arrived, and getting an ETA for the UPS truck, we began scouting out potential overnight accomodations. We opted for the White Wolf Inn; $36 for a room w/ 2 double beds and plenty of floor space? Heck yeah. Showering and donning clean clothes, we settled in to wait for the arrival of the UPS-man, or Free and Serenity, whoever came first. As we lazed on the beds, zoning off into TV- (or town-, take your pick) -induced comas, we left the door propped open to allow the gentle breeze to waft through. (Hiker funk, anyone?) And then, wafting up on that gentle breeze, from the parking lot, came an all-too-familiar voice:¢I¢m looking for four women. They¢re hikers. Have you seen a group of four women walking around town?¢(unidentified male voice): ¢Nope. Think I¢d remember that.¢Looking at each other in incredulity, Poet and I simultaneously yell ¢Freedom!¢ and dash to the balcony to see if our eyes can confirm what our ears just told us. (And these weren¢t Mel Gibson-as-Braveheart-esque ¢FREE-DOM¢s; they were more of the ecstatic, giddy, higher-pitched variety.) And there she was, smiling up at us. Popping up, out of the blue, as only Freedom can do. We trip and stumble our way down the stairs -- You know, for all that we walk 2000-odd miles through the woods, it seems that by far the most dangerous and hazardous moments happen when you combine hikers and civilization. Especially if you add streets. Throw in some vehicles and¢¦ whew. Successfully navigating the treacherous staircase, we envelope Freedom in massive and copious bear hugs. And then, the incredulous questioning ensues:¢How did you get here?¢¢Where are you coming from?¢¢Where¢s Thatch?¢¢What exactly happened to you guys, the day we left Gorham?¢Freedom patiently fielded our incessant, rapid-fire interrogation, knowing full-well that there¢d be an encore performance the moment Free and Serenity arrived. (And there was.) It was here that we finally learned what happened that fateful day we left Gorham, w/ dreams of Pod Challenge successes dancing like sugar-plums in our heads. (And, by the way, what exactly are sugar-plums, anyway? Someone once gave me a round piece of hard candy, telling me that that was a sugar-plum, but it just seemed like a round piece of hard candy to me. And, even if that was a sugar-plum, I still don¢t get the fascination. And why would you be dreaming of a piece of candy whirling around in your head anyway? And, how does a piece of candy dance?) We learned what had become of Freedom and Thatch. They had, indeed, left the very same day we did, w/ freshly-laundered clothing and packs hefty w/ resupply. But, as we had likewise experienced, the trail leaving Gorham was especially, and inexpicably, hard. I don¢t know if it was a combination of the humidity, and the heavy packs (why does food have to be so bloody heavy? and so bloody essential?), or just that it was a relentless uphill. But, for whatever reason, the trail kicked each and every one of our respective butts that day. As we had a several-hour headstart on them (and thus, opportunities for more frequent breaks), when Freedom and Thatch came across a campsite 2 miles shy of the intended destination, they opted to crash for the night. As Thatch would later lament, ¢If we had known that those were the easiest 2 miles in all of southern Maine, we would have pushed on.¢ But hindsight, as they say¢¦ The relentless terrain convinced them to just call it a day. The following day, dictated by the constraints of water sources, they ended up at a shelter about 4-12 miles behind us. But, they were determined to make up the distance on the morrow. However, the next morning dawned, foggy and misty and rainy and all-around bleh. (That¢s an official meteorological term, ¢bleh¢ is.) And so, rather than subject themselves to crappy weather and no views, they opted instead to stay put, and zeroed at the shelter. And that¢s how they not only became separated from us, but also why, given that the shelter was 1/3-mile off-trail (and consequently, not highly trafficked), nobody seemed to know where they were. Their ¢vanishing act¢, so to speak.I should mention that this rainy, crappy, bleh day was the day that we hiked through Mahoosuc Notch. B/c, why hike the most difficult mile of the entire Appalachian Trail in sunshine when instead you can do it when all of the rocks are wet and slippery? No, we like challenges. I mean, geez, look at how much we love the Pod Challenge. We love it so much that we can¢t bear the thought of completing it b/c, then, what would we have to look forward to? So, yes, we hiked through Mahoosuc Notch in the rain. Although ¢hiked¢ is probably a bit of an overstatement. There was actually very little ¢hiking¢ involved in that mile. Not too much ¢walking¢ either. There was a lot of ¢slithering¢. And ¢sliding¢. Some ¢crawling¢. Some ¢straddling of rocks¢. And a great deal of ¢assing¢. (¢Assing¢ is a technical term, coined that very day. See the definition below.) Yes, ¢assing¢ was definitely the most prevalent form of locomotion that day.And now, returning to our newly-(re)found friend -- once we got the Gorham-scoop, our next question to Freedom was: ¢Where on earth had she just come from?¢ I mean, we all know that Freedom has magical powers when it comes to hitchhiking, such that, the more improbable and seemingly impossible it appears, the more likely she is to pull it off. But, it wasn¢t as if there were a whole lot of roads in that last stretch of trail, heading into Stratton. I dredged up memories of a pothole rutted, slightly overgrown logging road or two, but, that was it. Ah, silly me. I should never have doubted Freedom¢s supernatural abilities. She and Thatch had been almost exactly one day behind us for quite a while. That very morning, which was a Friday, she realized that she had a package in Stratton. Oh, the ever-annoying Weekend Post Office Dilemma. Murphy¢s Law dictates that, if you absolutely have to get to a Post Office (any post office), you will invariably arrive in town on a Saturday. And, just as invariably, unless you start hiking at 3 in the morning, you will not arrive at said PO until exactly one minute after it closes. For the weekend. So, Freedom was looking at the unpalatable truth that, already one full day behind the Pod, she and Thatch would lose another entire day, waiting in Stratton ¢til the PO opened again on Monday morning. The guidebooks told her that there weren¢t any promising roads to hitch from. But, you¢re forgetting, this is Freedom. Freedom. The woman who hitched from a train station in New York to a state park in New Jersey. At night. The normal rules do not apply. Not w/ Freedom. And, wouldn¢t ya know¢¦ Freedom and Thatch come across a gravel logging road, and she comments that it doesn¢t look as if there¢s really a whole lot of traffic on this road. Complacently accepting this, they continue up the trail. And make it a whopping 50 yards, whereupon they encounter a man hiking south. Striking up a conversation, they discover that he¢s a day-hiker, a peak-bagger who¢s just come from summitting one of the nearby 3000-footers. And, coincidence of coincidences, he¢s on his way to his car right now. Which just so happens to be parked right there on that road. And, what¢s that? ¢You need a ride into town? Sure, no problem.¢ And that was that. Un-friggin¢-believable. I¢ve personally witnessed this mystical ability that Freedom wields, and I¢m still in awe w/ every new tale. I mean, Poet and I spent a solid half-hour, unsuccessfully hitching 5 miles, from the trailhead into town, and Freedom lands a ride in the middle of the woods, w/o even trying?Whew! Okay, another incredibly long entry, and I still haven¢t gotten around to describing the fulfillment of the Pod Challenge. Heck, forget about Summit Day, I haven¢t even gotten the Pod united in the same place yet. Well¢¦ ummm¢¦ okay¢¦ I¢m not really coming up w/ a good excuse here. I hope, at least, that I¢ve provided some small modicum of entertainment, something to warrant the (considerable) investment of your time and mental energy. And, all appearances to the contrary, I am making progress towards explaining that dratted coin toss and, ultimately, a description of Summit Day (which will be worth the wait, I promise). Snails may be outpacing me, but there is forward movement. Even if it is invisible to the naked eye. But, in all seriousness, I really hope that you enjoy reading these anecdotes, b/c I am having an absolute blast, reliving them, and re-telling them.definitions:to ass: a technical hiking term, describing a maneuver frequently utilized when bouldering or scrambling over particularly large and/or steep rocky slopes; defined as when a person lowers him- or her-self so that both cheeks of the buttocks come into full contact with the surface of the rock. The person them slides down the face of the rock, maintaining a full, continuous contact between the buttocks and the rock. assed, assing; see also half-assto half-ass: the same as to ass, except that the contact between the buttocks and the rock surface is either incomplete or non-continuous. For example, only one buttock coming into contact with the rock.bleh: a meteorological term, describing any day in which the weather conditions are anything less-than-optimal, including any or all of the following: rainy, cloudy, foggy, windy, bitterly cold, excessively hot, overly humid, etc