Date: 2009-08-19
From: The Hemlocks Lean To

To: Great Barrington
Miles today: 8.0
Weather: scattered clouds

Town beckoned. I seem to have been saying that a lot recently but, looking back, the last town I actually stayed in was Vernon and that was fully eleven days ago. Of course, there were quick (and refreshing) trips into Fort Montgomery, Kent, Salisbury, not to mention a deli or two. But on each of these occasions I left town as dirty as I had entered and spent the night, not surrounded by 4 stout walls, but rather under the modern, lightweight equivalent of canvas. Today promised something different though. Today I planned to fully avail myself of all the glorious, and sometimes overwhelming, facilities that combine to turn even the smallest and most unremarkable town into a veritable Aladdin's Cave to the weary hiker.With El Dorado lying just a short distance ahead I sauntered along, following the ridge to 'Jug End' where I stopped to eat a leisurely breakfast. It was filling in its own way - a 'did the job' kind of a way, where the job in question was really only to sustain me through the next 8 miles.I descended down to the valley floor and then fairly flew on towards my destination. Not so much pulled by the gravitational forces created by ice cream and beer but rather harried, harassed and shooed along by the unrelenting cloud of mosquitos. At one point I calculated my pace at a whopping 3.2 miles per hour, a veritable blur in comparison to this usually sedate hiker's pace and quantitative evidence, I think, of the areas abnormally high blood sucking quotient.It was a longish road walk from the trail to town but at 10ish I arrived at a mall located on the edge of town. It had a laundry and a grocery store and as it was still a little early to be thinking about checking into a hotel, and as I certainly didn't want to make what would be a potentially long walk back here later, I decided to take care of my laundry related chores now while the opportunity presented itself.It's strange walking straight in of the trail and immediately going about the business of doing your weekly laundry. It not the same as first going to a hotel; getting undressed; showering; putting on clean clothes; collecting together your grimy, grundgy, dirty stuff; stuffing a newly acquired newspaper under your arm and then heading out for a leisurely stroll to the launderette. No, you need to find a reasonably quiet, and out of the way, space where you proceed to empty your pack of all your worldly possessions; you need to very publicly identify and collect together your dirty laundry, but even then you are still wearing some of your dirtiest clothes; you need to get out (dare I say 'strip' yourself) of all dirty attire (OK - all attire) and then find something appropriate to wear. But what is appropriate, clean stuff on a dirty body just doesn't seem right, not right at all and so I plumped for a clean hiking (as opposed to town) T-shirt and my admittedly slightly whiffy rain pants. Anyway, now standing before the loaded machine and as a final act (which still seems a little surreal even now) I proceeded to peel off, first one and then the other of the filthy, disgusting socks that I was wearing before finally closing the lid and pressing start. It just doesn't seem like the sort of thing that should happen in civilised society, but there I was, circumstances overtaking civility; I felt ever so slightly self conscious, maybe even a little guilty, but what else could I do?Its also funny how the veneer of clean(ish) clothes on a still dirty body can fool the wearer into a feeling presentable. They feel so good you think you must, once again, be fit for public consumption. Maybe its like Superman's transformation once he dons his red Y-fronts. We, the viewer, know that he doesn't quite fit in but he, the wearer, seems completely, and a little strangely, at ease. I dread to think what confidence a clean pair of underpants would have given me but I was certainly quite content that my own particular transformation had been , more or less, effortlessly completed.Town was pleasant enough. It seemed touristy and being too lazy to walk the extra mile to a row of cheaper motels I paid maybe 30 bucks more for the privilege of staying in the somewhat more central Days Inn. I got a nice room for the money though; big bed, 2 writing tables, a sofa and a great bath with lots of piping hot water. In the end I would have 3 baths during my stay; one to get clean (followed by a shower); one to relax, soak and to work my way through 3 beers; and one, well, one just because I could.After, or, indeed, between or even during great baths I treated myself to a great Hawaiian Melt sandwich at the Diner, some great ice cream from the Soco Ice Cream shop, some great beer from the Package Shop (because that is where you have to buy beer in Massachusetts) and I was also (and to show that towns are not all great and to remind me, not that I needed reminding, that the woods are better) the victim of a drive-by shouting."Nice Shorts, Homo!"That's what the spotty (I assume that he was spotty) male (they are always male) youth (they invariably are 'youths') shouted from the back seat (note it was the back seat - low social standing even amongst his peers!) of the passing car (they are always cars - seldom get a walk-by shouting - its strange how all that bravado evaporates in a face to face situation).Now I must admit these shorts were certainly no advertisement for fine Italian styling, nor could they claim to represent the best in English tailoring. In fact as half of a £5 pyjama set the best they might be able to claim is that a small Bangladeshi boy only lost one finger during their production but hikers wardrobe is by definition limited (even in the immediate aftermath of a laundry visit) and I had believed that these shorts were, in fact, presentable enough. It appears, that in at least one critic's eyes I was mistaken.NB - credit for the 'Drive-by Shouting' line goes to Half Man Half Biscuit and their song 'What is Chateris'. It made me smile and laugh and I plagiarise with glee. Its fair to say that anything in this journal that seems moderately intelligent, interesting or witty will probably have been plagiarised - the rest I take full credit for.