Date: 2012-09-05
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

      My chest is heavy and my feet sting with every step. The trees are a tunnel around the trail and straight ahead I can see the bright sky. It's nice that I'm at the point that my feet are churning automatically across the parallel bog boards. The ground is covered in the healthiest of greens. Toadstools look perfect in the carpet of moss. It's too beautiful to not stop, but my legs carry me onward.         I have a group to keep up with. It's nerve wracking to be in a group of seven, but Bonk is the one who invited me out here, so here I am.         I practically died climbing over Garfield Mountain. At the stream, on the downside of the mountain, Bonk was waiting for me.         ¢What took you so long?¢ he asked.        ¢I took some breaks.¢        ¢I waited at the top for like thirty minutes before I started getting cold.¢         ¢Sorry.¢ I gave a grimacing smile. ¢Thanks for waiting.¢        He turned up the trail towards the shelter.         If there is something I hate, it's being unimpressive. Sure I walked more in one day than I probably did in the last month, but what's that compared to a thru-hiker who has been walking for the last four months? Maybe I expected a little 'good effort' high five, but it surely wasn't happening.         I couldn't make it the last hundred yards to the shelter without a break. I sat on a rock, feeling like my lungs had decreased their capacity in half. The space in the middle of my ribs felt like a fiery vacuum. Once I got to the shelter, I sat in the corner silently recuperating. My body felt like it was in a coma.         The shelter was packed with southbounders, northbounders, and section hikers. Two Irish guys were entertaining the gang, while stoves boiled up water for ramen suppers.         There wasn't much talking on my part. This whole experience felt like culture shock and I needed time to acclimate myself. Once in a while someone would ask me if I was hiking north.        ¢Yes, I'm not sure how far, perhaps for a couple weeks. I'm just hiking a section,¢ I'd answer.         A hiker came to sit next to me. ¢So what's you're name?¢        ¢Amish,¢ I answer.         ¢Are you Amish?¢        ¢No, not really.¢        ¢So are you thru-hiking?¢ the hiker continued after a conversation broke out about Amish.        ¢No, I'm a section hiker.¢         ¢Well, Amish it's eight dollars to stay here. You can pay in cash or I can take debit of credit.¢        My mind raced. Crap, he's the caretaker. I should have asked for work for stay. ¢Uh, sir. Is it okay if I do work-for-stay?¢        ¢Um, are you ready to do some hard work?¢        ¢Sure,¢ I sighed. ¢I had a really hard day today, I'm sure it can't be any worse.¢         ¢You know what, I'm not giving you work-for-stay. You are being super awkward around all these hikers. Just pay up and get this over with.¢         I rolled my eyes and dug for the money. Why did I have to start out my hike with such a low point? I guess I just expected people to know me from before. I was a somebody back then, but now I couldn't be lackadaisical with who I was.         That night I didn't sleep. Every half hour or so I rotated. People rustled every once in a while, so I tried to match my turning with their noise. I couldn't wait for morning. I sat up in the middle of the night and looked out at the dark sky. I laid back down and tried to think of a story my brain could fixate on, hoping that it would turn into a dream. Instead I listened to the in and out breathing of the hikers, as well as the occasional farts and snores.         As soon as the sky started to brighten I was sitting up, just waiting to get out of my prison of silence. I couldn't sleep and I just wanted to get on with my day.         It was still the wee hours of the morning, when some section hikers got up and started making a racket.         ¢Dude, do you mind? People are trying to sleep. Could you set up your jet boil outside?¢        But, it didn't end there. His daughter was soon up, talking in a loud voice.        I didn't mind the noise, but when the section hikers left, boy did the thru-hikers hate on them.         ¢Fuck, they were loud,¢        ¢I am going to kill that girl. Did you hear her?¢        ¢Yeah, she was putting on her socks right next to me when her father asked a question outside and she answered, 'I can't hear you I'm putting on my socks.' I'm gonna find her and punch her in the face.¢        ¢I hate section hikers. They all suck.¢        ¢What about me?¢ I asked ¢Aren¢t I a section hiker?¢        ¢No, your a returning thru-hiker doing a section of the trail.¢        ¢Oh okay.¢ I felt saved from my identity crisis.         ¢You were totally awkward with the caretaker.¢         ¢Yeah, I didn't even know he was the caretaker.¢        ¢What? He collected money from a hiker right in front of your nose.¢        ¢He did? Yeah, I had no clue.¢        There is nothing easy about hiking the whites straight off the couch. Keeping up with a bunch of thru-hikers is even less easy. But this is what I wanted. I wanted to hike the majestic White Mountains with thru-hikers.         For me the group of six I joined was defiantly a puzzle. And I was the piece that didn't fit. I wanted to be useful so I turned into an information dump, saying stuff like, ¢The pictures you take here in the Whites will turn out looking the best of your whole hike.¢ Or, ¢You won't even notice the elevation gain, because it's so beautiful.¢ Half my advice was faulty. My memory was sketchy, the weather was different, and the huts had completely different croo members with different styles of dealing with guest. When I said, ¢The huts will make you wait outside, and Ethan Pond Shelter is most likely going to be packed,¢ I was unknowingly lying.