Date: 2003-07-14
From: MA Hywy 2, N. Adam, MA

To: Congden Shelter
Miles today: 14.1
Weather: clear sky

Alli wakes us to a sumptuous feed of scrambled eggs and fabulous blueberry pancakes. This woman has a touch of the gourmet in her. Even Itchy-the-non-pancake-eater inhales several. Alli shares her secret: a hint of lemon, a dash of real vanilla, and a touch of chocolate extract. Crispy on the outside, studded with blueberries...Mmmmmm, blueberry pancakes...Blue Jay has taken the day off, so he and Alli drive us back to North Adams, MA. We are walking to Vermont today! I tell Itchy the news gleaned from the Internet - it's the newest way to keep up with Trail friends. Notes and Carry have split up. She went home and Notes is about 100 miles south, about a week. He might be in the vicinity of Benington, VT when I return to the Trail there.Cindy (Commander in Chief) wrote that she is off the Trail for an unknown period of time. Our energizer bunny had to return home to care for her mother, AND move her, as well as settle some probate issues for a friend. What rotten timing! So close to the end. We both express hope that Cindy can find a way to finish this year.A stop at the post office reveals a horrible oversight on my part - my money, ID and pocket contents are back at the farm in NY. Aaaaargh! I left the contents of my pockets in the upstairs bedroom last night, in that newspaper, and it's a long drive away.Alli and Blue Jay are awfully good sports about my stupidity. They come up with a plan. I get my maildrops first. Next, we drop ItchyFoot at the Trailhead because he is, after all, itchy-footed. I took his picture with everybody, then we made fists, grunted and bonked knuckles - something he taught me. I think this is a Marine thing, a substitute because he doesn't like to high-five. And then he walked off. I wondered if it was the last time I would see my partner of the last two months. He likes to travel, and I would be getting a late start today.Blue Jay had a yen to drive his Harley back, so he and Alli drove home after stashing me at the local library (I can always amuse myself in a library). Blue Jay would find the pocket items, then climb on his Harley and drive back. He wouldn't take gas money, anything.(As a side note, I must note that the historic N. Adams library was, literally, "closed for renovations." Itchy had just laughed. I was plunked at the Williamstown facility.)When Blue Jay arrived at the library, he startled me - he looked like a bad guy from Superhero comics, all black arm guards, visored helmet and chaps. He handed me a helmet. I wasn't so sure about this, with a tipsy backpack and poles, but I liked the look of the helmet. Very James Dean-ette.We corralled a pleasant fellow in the parking lot to take our picture on the Harley. Another unanticipated Trail experience. And then off we go, me backpacked and swaying on the back of a chopper, poles strapped to the pack. BJ promised we wouldn't go over 35, but I believe the limit was exceeded a time or two. It was awkward and windy and too much stimulation for a mere hiker of woods - but it was a huge KICK too! My mother would be rolling over in her grave - her daughter on a Harley. Those things are dangerous!Once again, Trail magic beyond expectation. Blue Jay helped me figure something out. He's a past thru-hiker. It's re: his and Alli's unsolicited efforts, ie, Trail magic. I don't believe it is "me" people are helping out, even though I'm the beneficiary. It's something larger they are honoring, if you will.I think it is the spirit of "the journey" that people respond to, and assist that along. They see the human spirit rising up and doing something against the grain (harmless, but definitely against the grain). Certain people not only are not threatened by that, they want to validate and encourage it. Whatever it is, I am grateful. To be afoot in a wheeled world is quite a challenging flip in perspective.As I wave good-bye, it's 12:30 pm, the hottest part of the day. My foodbag is overly full, thanks to those last-minute goodies mailed from my very first Trail guru, Wendy in Maine. The Trail out of town is, as always, uphill. Really uphill. Sigh.Once again, the Universe fails to conform to my preferences. Where do I file my complaint?In truth, this is where the piper gets paid for all this unrestrained eating, billions of calories and endless saturated fats. Time to "make it burn," as Jane Fonda used to say.So, I do what any sane thru-hiker would do - I dig in and set to work peeling off yesterday's intake of lard. But first, I eat some of Alli's Amazing Ultra-halvah to, uhhhh, ... lighten my load! Yeah. That's it. Yeah...Up on the ridge, I pass the top of the Pine Cobble Trail, a testy, 2-mile pipeopener that doesn't even "count," as it's not part of The Long Trail.I'm getting nostalgic here. I remember the Pine Cobble kicking my tail last year as Clyde and I began our very first long-distance hike, The 270 mile Long Trail of Vermont. I also remember us collapsing on the hot, pinkish rocks at the top, while two-day companions Art Cloutman and Suz Buchanan (now my faithful transcriber, and the reason these get posted so fast) chattered on, never out of breath. There are more blueberries on the rocks at the top, ripe and sweet. These are tiny berries, and it takes a lot of gathering to make a handful. I do my best, but to all those following behind - I've left you some. It should be along here soon... Yes! I see the boulder, the register box, the border. There's Vermont, just over there. Just as I remembered it. Darn it, Itchy should be here. Our ninth state of hiking together: VA, WV, MD, PA, NJ, NY, CT, MA and now this one, Vermont.Who thought last year, when I sat on those rock, innocently setting off on the Long Trail, that in less than a year I would walk there again, all the way from Georgia this time ?I wasn't so sure I wanted to do the AT then, I was so tired and beat up after the LT. I thought I would never backpack again. Yet, within a month I'd backpacked the Art Loeb Trail in NC...In the register, I wrote:"Well, here I stand once again, on the border of Vermont. It was less than a year ago when I left from this spot on my first long distance hike. The Long Trail was a buttkicker, but I survived and here I am again, at the state line. This time, on the AT from Ga. I don't feel like I'm the same person. Why, I'm NOT, I'm, I'm... (looking down) MARTHA STEWART ?!!? omigod, suicide is the only solution. That or a hike of purification to Katahdin..."About six minutes beyond the border is a small, cold spring I remember, though the flow seems less this year. I swab down to cool off.The Trail is mostly up, it seems. I'd forgotten that. Backpacking is like childbirth, I imagine - you forget the misery and only remember the coos and smiles.Itchy has left me a message at the first shelter that he has gone on and will camp near the Trail. "Don't stop here," he urged.With the heat, I would have liked to tarry, but I trudge on. I don't want my time with Itchy to end at North Adams. I gotta find the guy.As the day drags on, so do I. I don't seem to be making very good time. I don't spot Itchy's tent in any of the likely spots I know, and the sun is dropping.With a sigh, I dig out my headlamp. By my calculations, Itchy may be at the next shelter, and I won't get there until 9:30 or so.But as the dim gathers, as I am mustering my courage for another assault on the dark, the shelter looms out of the fir.Itchy calls out: "Is that you?" It is. We make plans to hike out in the morning, our last day as hiking partners. He offers to help me set up my tent, but it is easier to just crash in the shelter. Inside are Smoky and Cefus, good old North Carolina boys, graduates of NC State in Raleigh. Good kids, friendly, and my second pair of southbounders. I don't get much sleep this night as a mouse insists on crackling an old peanut wrapper all night. I think it is the boys playing with their gear, and at one point snarl "What the HELL is going on down there?" Angels are very cranky when wakened.Smoky points his headlamp at the noise, and the mouse runs off. I have to pee now anyway, so I creak down off the top bunk and toss the scrap in the fire ring for packing out tomorrow.As I gimp down the path looking for a secluded spot, I turn my headlamp off. The moon, only a day past full, is sending shafts of white light streaming through the leafy canopy. Awesome. Thank you, mouse.I stare a long while at this lunar beauty, before completing my business and trundling back to bed.