July 15, 2001
Backlog journaling. If I do it chronologically, I will remember some of the neatest things.
Got back a day later than I expected from NYC--just in time to watch the fireworks that had been postponed from July Fourth. The boys and I ate Burger King and watched an underwhelming celebration from the parking lot. It was a lot like the Whitewater display. The boys left before the finale.
The next day my cockiness came back to bite me in the butt. I left the Penthouse of hostels at noon to walk an 18-mile day. That wouldn't have been a big deal in Northern NJ, but suddenly I crossed into southern NY and all hell broke loose. Ginormous granite boulders loomed out of the ground like humpback whales. The whales had had morning sickness and spewed slime over their backs, making the slopes slickery and treacherous. I picked my way carefully up and down the rocks like an old woman with a hip replacement. Unfortunately, I also had a feeble mind. Racking darkness and concentrating on every footstep all afternoon, I eventually lost my focus. Our heroine fell down the mountain.
Ignoring injuries on three of four limbs, she continued to the shelter. Tent city! The shelter was full, the spring sucked, and after many successful deployments, our heroine made a grievous mistake and pissed all over herself shortly before entering camp.
I fannagled a dry spot at everyone's feet, only to have my head sat-upon in the night when Flash had to use the bathroom. Thereafter, I woke up to (surprise!) my period and diarrhea that would last a week.
The next day was even longer.
Luckily, it was also better. Another 20 mile day over NY whale rocks. But this time they were dry. Most rugged trail I've seen since the South. There was even a spot where the trail had been routed through two boulders (clear forest all around--about body width apart: the Lemon Squeezer.
Hiked 10 miles in this fashion to the Arden post office. Whereas 10 miles once took me just over three hours to walk, with the terrain I was back to two miles per hour. It's a little known fact that Arden, NY is the only post office in the free world to close at noon on weekdays. Actually, it's written in all the trial literature and it was my own inattention that caused me to miss my mail drop at 1:00.
The post office is the size of a shoe box. Not a size 13 EEE men's cowboy boot box, but perhaps a box for infants' flipflops. It would have been totally unrecognizable if not for the hand-painted sign above the door.
I could look in through the slot and see my name on the list with two packages. I could look in the door and see boxes with my name on them. I considered breaking into that rickety sandal box of a p.o. But a federal offense might put me off trail. I considered walking down to the five houses that make up that community. Surely one of them had a key to the post office. In the end, I opted to mail the postmaster a postcard to forward my packages and hitched into the nearest incorporated town for a few groceries.
Everyone says that NY and NJ are difficult to hitch in. The man who picked me up was from Canada. He was a computer specialist on contract work in NY who liked to stay in small hotels outside the big city. He had done mountaineering and climbing all over the world. He took me to the next town and returned me in his shiny black Jeep Cherokee.
The day turned then. The next 5 miles were less difficult and brought me to a lake. The beach had just closed, but I walked further and had a fine swim. I cooked dinner with Pendragon and Smittee, whom I'd just met. A family stopped me to chat and gave me a soda. I walked the last 5 miles in waning dusk with Smittee to make my bed in soft grass near the shelter.
When I woke up the next morning, everyone was gone except Greenlight. We started the same day on Springer Mountain, which in itself makes us old friends. We had a nice long talk about life and relationships as the sun climbed higher in the sky.
At 10:00 I set out for Bear Mountain and the Graymoor Friary. I started late morning because I only planned to walk 15 miles that day, but it was wicked-hot and an early start may have been preferable. I hoped to catch Norway that night, as her Mom's biopsy was that day. All day long people mentioned her. In fact, Ranger Mike stationed atop Bear Mountain told me that she had nearly quit the day before.
Bear Mountain is one of the most visited places in NY and one of the most talked about places on trail in all of the NE. There is a big tower erected in some man's honor for doing so much work in the Palisades. The Palisadse include everything close by formed from the basalt rock. From the top of the tower, you can see 4 states.
Bear Mountain has been a big deal for a long time. You can tell by the exorbent prices even if you don't go up the mountain. It is a multi-use area once used by hot-dog ski jumpers, camp and scout groups, the US military, and as a swimming pool and orphanage. There is also a plush hotel there and a museum and zoo that the AT goes right through. It was small scale with mostly native animals in captivity, which was neat for me because I didn't know what kinds of reptiles were specific to NY. Can you guess what the best part was? (Hint: It was not the domestic dispute going on in front of the Revolutionary War and Native American exhibit.) The best part was the river otter whose cage may have been too small or who himself needed to take a luud (I just learned that 80s phrase from Norway:)
Since Bear Mountain, the trail has been smooth compared to rocky PA and lemon-squeezin', whale-backed NY. SO I had a nice stroll to the Graymoor Friary, where I missed diner by an hour (Are you noticing a trend here? Don't think it just started. Kelly just reminded me I was born almost a month late.) No dinner for me. No beautiful monastery tour either. But I had a monk-sighting. He told me I appeared to be radiant and alive. I also reunited with friends including Norway and Summer-Dog, who had by then quit and re-embarked on this adventure.
The next day was wicked-fantasmagorical (you like the sound of that, don't you?) We hiked only 12 miles to a state park beach, had burgers and a long sit in the sand. We camped for free with our thru-hikers' special privileges and had a celebration for completing two thirds of the trail. Norway even got a chocolate ice cream cake that said "2/3 !" in red gel.
Our neighbors were rowdy and gave us cat-calls as we walked to and from the restroom. They said they'd been living there for 2 weeks. We awoke to the sound of them barfing in the bathroom the next morning :)
Jared is also a regular there while he landscapes in the area. He thru-hiked in '99 and gave us a ride back to the trail the next morning.
It was so cold that night that I got up and took a scalding shower before I left at 6:30. Against my better judgment, I walked into a deli that afternoon to call Kevin for his birthday. Soon I was fast asleep on the lawn and didn't wake up from my power nap until the Budweiser man had left us water and sports drinks. So I was powered up for the last 11 miles and had another great talk with Green light, who is a really great listener and talker. The next day was into Kent, with a thoughtful three hour lunch break and another deli stop. I also stopped to harvest blueberries at a scenic overlook.
Here's a few hints for your next thru-hike:
Hint #1 Don't talk to men in pick-em-up trucks adorned in fatigues and sleeveless polo shirts with FBI on the breast. As it turns out, real FBI agents don't advertise. Fake agents, however, may tell you that they've hiked part of the AT. When you call them on their bluff because Colorado is nowhere near the AT, they might tell you that you have beautiful legs.
Hint #2: Don't hitch hike on holy days.
Hint #3: Don't hitch hike on holy days in front of a church.
Took a relaxing zero day in Kent to celebrate the gateway into New England and get some errands done. Kent has the first outfitter we've seen in a long time, which they took full advantage of. They charged $2 for a solar shower (on a cloudy day) from a backpacker set-up in their backyard. There was an inflatable curtain that came to my shoulders and a black bag overhead with a sprinkler nozzle on it. Only the entire wait staff of the Chinese restaurant next door saw me change. Quite amusing experience, but it did the trick. Then back to the shelter .3 out of town for a BBQ with the gang.
Went back to town the next day for more phone time, which I'm becoming famous for. Then I hiked a short day along a river bed. A woman in town, Johanna, with beautiful long red hair made me feel famous. She asked me tons of questions, introduced me to all her friends, and offered to buy me a burger. What a gal.
The trail that day went down a steep section called St. John's ledges. There were ropes hung on one route, but no climbers to be seen on that massive rock face.
Met a few ridgerunners--one from Southern Illinois, who had thru-hiked last year. Neat job, but the PR would take away from the experience for me. That brings me up to today, now 7/16, where I am taking a slow morning on a beautiful campsite complete with a composting privy, sink, and lake-house style swing. There's even potable water from a hand pump. Crazy. So far the highlight of the morning has been the beautiful morning itself and the fact hat I finally almost successfully cooked grits in the woods after 4 months.
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