Appalachian Trail

New Hampshire to Pennsylvania and Pause

Maybe the White Mountains scared me, or it might have been the $80.00 per night rates at the AMC Lodges in New Hampshire that dampened my spirit, but whatever the reason(s), I changed plans in North Woodstock, NH and returned south. Frankly it was not an unexpected diversion; I had been mulling over my schedule for days, because I could see there was no way I was going to make it to Katahdin before July 8th, the date I was due in Philadelphia to rendezvous with Jacob and Milana, Annice's grandkids.

But, something else came up that pulled me back there sooner, and so it was that on June 7th, I found myself on a Concord Trailways Bus, bound for Boston, and on to the Delaware Water Gap, and my car.

Since I was in Boston, I took the opportunity to drop in on my old friend Jude Monroe, her partner Mark Shub and Mark's father, Dr. Al Shub, who lives with them in South Dartmouth, MA. I transferred to the New Bedford bus and Jude picked me up and drove me to their grand country estate. It is a beautiful, but unpretentious property; very, very comfortable and complete with a standard-issue yellow Labrador retriever. Her name is Matilda and considering the way her parents slobber over her, I could tell they do not consider her standard-issue, but very special indeed. "Tillie' is a typical Lab; all heart.

I had a very good time there. It was a relaxing evening with good friends and good food, and the next day I caught another bus to New York where I transferred to the Delaware Water Gap, but I arrived there too late to retrieve my car from storage. The church-based hostel was closed for renovations and I pitched my tarp behind the local outfitter's store and next to a pond packed with melodious bullfrogs. They serenaded me to sleep. I drove to Philadelphia the next morning.

I felt fine when I left the trail, but over the next few days, my left hip, leg and foot developed strange symptoms. I had pain in the hip, numbness in the foot and weakness in the quadriceps muscle. Nevertheless, once I tended to my business, I headed back to the A.T. However, considering the short interval before I was due back in Philadelphia, instead of resuming my hike in New Hampshire, I returned to the Delaware Water Gap and hiked south, thinking I could knock off Pennsylvania before the grandkids arrived in early July. I lasted two days. After hiking only sixteen miles, the pain was tolerable, but my leg was weak; it was practically useless. The leg collapsed on the hills; the quadriceps muscle simply had nothing to give. I walked off the trail in Wind Gap, PA.

That launched another “Trail Angel” story. I was walking into Wind Gap, not even hitching, when a car pulled over and the driver shouted, “Where are you going?”

“To Philadelphia,” I said. “Is there a bus station in Wind Gap?”

“No, but get in, I have an idea,” he said.

Bill Hutnik drove to the post office and told me to wait in the car. A few minutes later, he came out with a cordless phone stuck to his ear, and said, “Will it help if I can get you to Lansdale?”

“Sure,” I said.

To make a long story short, Bill was talking to his son, who was in his car, about to leave Wind Gap for Lansdale, PA. He asked his son to take me with him. The son agreed, and Bill returned the cordless phone to the Post Office, jumped back in the car and drove me across town to rendezvous with my ride.

Bill’s son dropped me at the Wawa convenience store in Lansdale, and I downed two ice cream bars before Annice arrived and drove me to her house. Windgap to Philadelphia; three shuttles in less than two hours and I was in the shower. Could I make it up?

The next day I limped into the hospital emergency room. They x-rayed my back and leg, but the film revealed only minor arthritis in my hip. The doctor offered some educated guesses about my predicament, including a stressed ligament, but nothing that explained the combination of symptoms enveloping my hip, leg and foot. He prescribed rest and Ibuprofen. I will give it a few days before I consult another doctor.

Meanwhile my unexpected return to Philadelphia allowed me to hook-up with another old friend from California, John Puccini and his wife Patti, whom I had never met. John and Patti were visiting Philadelphia on their way to New Jersey and coincidentally called Annice looking for me. We joined them for dinner at Ralph’s, a famous Italian restaurant with much local color—and great food. It was an unexpected renewal of a very old and important friendship and we enjoyed a wonderful evening together.

Have I learned anything from walking hundreds of miles, day after day, week after week, month after month, mostly alone, with hardly a soul with whom to communicate?

Fortunately, I do not require constant companionship, but when one is alone 24 hours a day, you have to fill that void with something. I talk to myself constantly; I have revisited large parts of my life; I have thought about the mistakes I've made; I’ve reminisced about the people who are important to me, and why, and I have speculated about what I will do with the balance of my time on that thing I am walking on, the planet earth.

My mind skips around like a hard drive on steroids. My thoughts range from the stimulating to the boring, sometimes unbearably boring, especially when I repeat conversations with myself, but I am surprised by the passing of time; the clock seems to be on fast forward, and the hours and the miles evaporate as if on autopilot.

My attention is primarily focused on where next to place my foot—the Appalachian Trail is not made for walking; rocks, tree roots, mud and water are the common surfaces and they are all slippery—but it is impossible to ignore the surroundings. I prize the beauty around me; the trees, the water, the birds and the animals. They all contribute to an image I have come to appreciate, that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, but that if you took away any of its components, that would diminish the rest. My years on the water gave me a heightened sense of awareness for many of the natural and unnatural threats to the environment, and my time on the trail reminds me of that delicate balance.

However, I cannot claim that the environment has been one of my hot buttons. It is not a simple issue to come to grips with; opaque is the word that comes to mind. The zealots exaggerate their claims; Rush Limbaugh and The Sierra Club are equally sincere and persuasive but they both turn me off. Perhaps I can’t get past the messenger.

My new awareness first came in New Jersey. I had only walked a few days then, but I was in the most beautiful forested land you can imagine. Walking on a ridge 1,200 ft above sea level, I marveled at the unexpected beauty of the mountains and the countless natural lakes that dotted the landscape below, including the beautiful Delaware River. Decades ago, concerned citizens had the foresight to stop the damning of this important waterway and today it is the longest free flowing river on the East Coast. But conversely, as I looked out on hundreds of thousands of acres of undeveloped forestland, I thought, if New Jersey, the most densely populated state in the Union, is this natural and wide open, what is all the fuss about? Of course, my views from the ridge were only surface deep.

The birds entertain me. It is no accident that I named my weblog, Morningbird. Living on a boat, and before that in a country house with open windows (read no air conditioning), made me a fan of their merry early morning symphonies. Even the shrieking sea gulls produce a harmony that calms the soul. Coincidentally, in Vermont and New Hampshire, I hiked with Tom Banks, a veteran U.S. Park Ranger, who can identify birds by their sounds. That opened another window for me, and I looked forward to learning who was singing that tune. Woodpeckers are the noisiest birds and we heard many different kinds. I learned from Tom that woodpeckers have a protective layer of water around their brains to soften the impact of butting their heads against the tree. I could use that.

At night, books are my companions; I read on average, one book a week. I would read more, but in order to keep my pack weight down, I limit my inventory to one paperback at a time. I replenish my library when I stop for food.

I enjoy the absence of noise, the constant buzz in the background that over a lifetime, I unwittingly came to accept as normal, and not long ago I wondered when the hike was over, if I would return to TV-land and a world saturated with electronic media. I decided, no, I would not, but on my first night off the trail in New Hampshire, I found myself watching the NBA playoffs—not an encouraging transition. Nevertheless, reading remains my favorite pastime, and I am determined to wean myself from the tube.

I walked solo for weeks, and seldom saw other hikers, even on the weekends. At the end of the day, I looked forward to camping alone, and later when the weather turned warm, and I began to encounter other backpackers, I initially resented those hikers who ventured into the solitude of my shelter. That was shortsighted and selfish, because without exception, I enjoyed their company, and being a backpacking rookie, I invariably learned something from my shelter mates.

I have not met one disagreeable person on the Appalachian Trail and I’m told that is true of the backpacking community in general. It is true of the sailing world too; on the water, inconsiderate oafs become good Samaritans. Go figure.

The early going was hard; I was out of shape and woefully unprepared to hike up and down mountains day after day with 35-40 lbs. on my back. I dreamed that my body would quickly fall into shape, but that was not to be. I suffered for about 300 hundred miles and it was only after I detoured onto the Long Trail in Vermont, and hiked the Green Mountains, that I began to feel stronger. The Greens pushed me over the hump; after that, I stopped looking at the elevation charts; there was nothing to dread.

If you read my earlier postings, you might remember the fantastic breakfast we had at the Garlic Clove restaurant in Glencliff, NH. It was a memorable morning; not only because of the food, but also for an accidental meeting I had with another diner. The man was seated at the bar having coffee and conversation with two friends, all of them locals. When I looked over at them, I noticed a book lying next to his elbow. I do not know why the book grabbed my attention, and I don't know why I walked over and asked the man about it, but I did. He patiently explained the subject and the author's thesis and I wrote the information on a napkin. A few days later, I located a bookstore in Lincoln, NH and bought "The Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight" by Thom Hartmann, published by Three Rivers Press.

It is a mind-bending book and it will require more than one read for me to grasp the full impact of Mr. Hartmann's message. Simply put, it is that we are "fouling our nest." According to Mr. Hartmann, the depletion of energy is not a dilemma exclusive to our society, but a human failing existing for thousands of years and the leading cause of the demise of every major civilization; oil is simply the threatened “resource of the moment.” He contends that the problem is a by-product of culture, and because of that, band-aid solutions, e.g., recycling, birth control, and saving the rain forest, will not arrest the problem. It requires a cultural flush; a new set of values. We must accept that we are part of nature and not simply users, or masters. He caused me to rethink some of my beliefs and assumptions.

I’m glad I am walking this path. The fresh air has cleared my mind. When my leg recovers, I will lumber on down the trail.

New Hampshire

5.29. Hiked to the first shelter out of Hanover last night and shared it with two local hikers, Barbara Ricker from North Conway, NH and Tom Martin from the Boston area. They are both long-term backpackers and very knowledgeable about trail conditions and customs in the area.

The next morning, I left the shelter ahead of Tom, because he wanted to stay and chat with the other two. I had an important phone call to make and I could see that the trail crossed two roads within the next 5-7 miles and I assumed there would be a store with a pay phone nearby one of the trail crossings . I was so sure of it that I didn't even tell Tom I was going to stop; I thought, worse-case we will meet at the shelter for the night.

Bad assumption. There was a general store within a mile of the first crossing, but no pay-phone. I walked back to the trail and hiked two miles to the next road, but it was the same road; it simply wound around and met-up again with the A.T. Frustrated, I flagged a passing car and asked if there was a pay-phone in either direction.

"No," the driver said; there is not a pay-phone between here and Hanover, but get in, I will take you there."

I jumped in the car and a few minutes later, found myself back in Hanover at the Public Library (the driver's suggestion, because he said they had both a pay-phone and Internet access).

I made my phone call, checked email again and walked back to Main street to hitch back to the trail. By that time, I assumed Tom had passed me and I had taken so much time to hitch in and out of town, I assumed I might not catch him before dark, which meant I would stop at the next shelter, and not make it to our planned destination, which was the shelter after that.

I hitched back to the trail, and as I was getting out of the truck, a car was pulling away from the parking lot. I looked at the people in the car; they stared back at me, and screeched to a stop. It was Tom and Barbara, my shelter mates from last night! They had hiked back to their car and were driving away. Incredible timing. I told them about my dilemma, which was that I would probably not catch Tom and they volunteered to drive me ahead to the next trail crossing where I could walk back and meet him. I accepted and I yellow-blazed a few miles and I was waiting on Tom when he walked in. Barbara and Tom Martin later drove back to the same crossing, hiked in to the shelter and joined us for the night. A confusing day turned out perfect for me.

5.31. I don't remember if I mentioned this, but a couple of days ago, when I stopped in Hanover to pick up mail, we met a nice man on the Post Office steps. He recognized our hiking gear and stopped to ask about our trail experiences. We chatted for a few minutes and David Coker then invited is to stop at his house in a couple of days. David lives nearby the trail and volunteered to meet us, and take us to his house where we could wash our bodies and our clothes. Another Trail Angel! We agreed to meet him in the parking lot at 11:00 A.M., two days hence.

We were sauntering down the trail at 10:50 that morning when we looked up and saw David approaching on foot. He had walked out to meet us. He drove his back to his house (a very nice ranch property with stables, barns, horses, the whole deal) and we met his wife, Helene who escorted us inside where there was a wonderful lunch set-up for us. Too much! We showered; we washed clothes, we ate, and best of all, we visited with David and Helene all afternoon. It was the best, most relaxing time I have spent in two months. Very nice people and very gracious hosts.

Later that afternoon, they drove us back to the trail, stopping on the way for ice-cream, which topped off a beautiful day.

But the day was not over. We hiked to the next stop, the "Hiker's Welcome Hostel," and spent the night. More food. It was Memorial Day and the owners were BBQ'ing chicken and vegetables. They loaned us a car and we drove to a convenience store, bought more chicken, and added it to the fire. A day of good surprises.

The next morning, a resident hiker, trail name Lion King, drove us to the "Garlic Clove" for breakfast. It was the most impressive breakfast I have ever, ever eaten. You would have to see it to believe it. The quality and the quantity of food was unmatched by anything I have experienced.

Lion King is a friend of the hostel owner and he is staying there while he finishes a filmed documentary of his A.T. thru-hike. He previewed parts of the film for us and it is quite good. He said it had been optioned to a producer, but no commitment to publish yet.

Fast forward. The next few days ran together in my memory as we trudged over the early White Mountains. We crossed Mount Moosilauke in 34 degree weather with icicles hanging off the runty above tree-line trees. The descent from Moosilauke was the worst for me. In the 62 days leading up to Moosilauke, I fell twice. I fell three times descending Moosilauke, twice falling on my trekking poles and bending them like pretzels.

That was just a warm-up for the next day and the twin peaks of Kinsman Mountain. Another steep descent in three separate hail storms, interspersed with rain. When I finally walked off the trail that night, I was a happy camper to be in Lincoln, NH and to know that I would sleep in a dry bed that night.

Tom did not have a trail name and I had been suggesting various names for him, but nothing clicked until we got to Moosilauke (4,900 ft) and we were walking in the clouds. I remembered that he has climbed all of the 46 peaks above 4,000 ft in New Hampshire--or was it Massachusetts--or was it the White Mountains? Whatever, it is an admirable feat, and I named him Cloudwalker. He likes it. I do too. I suppose that would make me Cloudcrawler .

Tom and I agreed to split the next morning. He has a tight schedule and I was slowing him down. I really enjoyed my time with him and I'm sure we will stay in touch. After he left, I found the Cascade Lodge, an inexpensive B&B ($19 a night) popular with hikers in North Woodstock, NH where I remain writing this on Saturday, June 5th, an historic day, I hope, for Smarty Jones. My fingers are crossed.

I'm sending this from the Cascade Coffee House, a neat coffee bistro across the street from my B&B. Internet service is free. Check it out: http://www.cascadecoffeehouse.com

I'm outta here in the morning.

Back on the A.T.

5.25. My hitch from Rt. 108 back to the A.T. was an experience to remember. I stepped on Rt. 108 and 10 minutes later a man in a pick-up stopped. I got in and was greeted by "Mack", his large and friendly Golden Retriever. This man went out of his way to take me all the way into Stowe, where Rt. 108 intersects with Rt. 100.

I copped a quick Ben & Jerrys from the mini mart and hit the street with my thumb out, because I had a long commute back to the A.T. and a long hike to the first shelter. I was worried about making the trek before dark.

A few minutes later, I was picked up by a French-Canadian couple in a VW Vanagon. They took me several miles and let me out in the country where they turned off for a day hike.

Then I was picked up by a young woman who said she thru-hiked the A.T. in 2001. We had a lot to talk about and the ride ended too soon, but she too, took me farther than she intended to go.

After that, it was a professional photographer who regaled me with stories of his trips to Alaska and Russia, and his Russian girl friend (acquired in the U.S., not imported, he said).

Next a very young woman in a 4X4 pickup with a stick-shift; my kind of woman.

Then a very nice woman, who took me into a small town with only a gas station, Post Office and library. She was delivering something to a local resident and she dropped me at the library. She said if I was still there when she came back that she would take me on the the A.T., another 10-12 miles.

But I was not there when she returned, for I was picked up within minutes by an employee of the Killington Resort. He grew up in Vermont, moved away for thirty years and recently returned. "Never to leave again," he said.

My Killington friend dropped me in the parking lot where the A.T. intersects with Kent Pond on Rt 100, and I hiked the 7 miles to the shelter before dark. It was an incredibly successful hitching day for me. An amazingly quick transition from the Long Trail back to the A.T.

About half-way to the shelter I met Tom Banks, another north-bound hiker. Tom is a U.S. Park Service Ranger who is taking a break to hike the A.T. from Massachusetts to Maine. We hiked that day and the next day together, but today (as I write this) he went on ahead of me. He has a tight schedule, because he must get back to work, and that forced him to hike twenty miles today. "No thanks," I said.

Tom is a genuine, 100% liberal. We had some spirited discussions about political and social issues. I like him. Hope we meet again.

I'm in the Woodstock, VT library. Hitching back to the A.T. when I leave here.

Peregrine Falcons and other Obstructions

5.24. I left the Stowe Hostel at noon and walked in the rain and fog for about four miles before I got a ride back to the Long Trail. My ride was a house painter from Bennington (no work in the rain) and he drove me all the way to the intersection with the trail, another 5-6 miles.

By that time it was raining hard and I ducked under an overhang to a Park Ranger hut on the edge of a parking lot. It was early in the day and I decided to wait and see if the rain let up before I went on. A few minutes later, a green (everything in Vermont is green) pickup rolled up and two uniformed official types got out and walked over to the hut. They were there to stock the hut with supplies for the upcoming Memorial Day weekend, and I followed then inside.

We chatted for awhile and then they asked me where I was headed with "that backpack."

I said, "North to Canada on the Long Trail."

They traded glances and frowns and then one of them informed me that the Long Trail was closed to hikers above 2,500 ft until Memorial Day. "A $50 fine per violation," the other one chimed in.

And then they told me about the Peregrine Falcons. It seems that Vermont is re-introducing Pegregrine Falcons to the Green Mountains, and it is a $500 fine if you hike into one of their nesting areas. Don't ask me how one knows when they have committed such an act.

I said, "I'm confused, because I have already hiked over several 2,500+ ft peaks. And I encountered a Federal Park Ranger at one point, and she did not say anything about the restrictions."

Nevertheless I had no desire to violate their regulation; I love birds, I love the $500 in my pocket, and I did not want to create a bad name for visiting hikers. I told them I would cut short my Long Trail hike and return to the A.T. (At that point, I was about 60 miles from Canada.)

They left, but the rain remained, as did the heavy fog. I stood under the hut overhang for several minutes, but there was almost no traffic on the road, and hitching back to anywhere seemed remote. I decided to go ahead a hike to the next shelter, only a couple of miles North and return to the road the next morning and hitch back to the A.T.

I hiked up Sterling Mountain, but before I got to the shelter, I crossed a ski-run and spotted a large lodge at the head of the ski-lift. I walked over. It was unlocked and there was a big "Welcome" sign next to the door. I went in. It was wonderful. A big empty room with a sofa and table and a big picture window looking out over one of the downhill runs. I was in heaven. Outside the rain was crashing against the windows and off the roof, the lightning was lighting up the sky, and the fog was swirling around in crazy patterns. Reminded me of sitting in Tiburon and looking across the bay at San Francisco. I slept like a baby.

The next morning I walked down the ski-run to the resort and out to Rt 108 which would take me back East and South to the intersection with the A.T. I'm mildly disappointed that I didn't make it to Canada, but I'm very glad I made the Long Trail detour. I saw more interesting little towns, met more nice people, and I think "The Green's" in Vermont helped prepare me for "The Whites" in New Hampshire. I may have shed my training wheels in Vermont.

Stowe,VT

I came off the trail yesterday to buy some groceries, and to wash clothes, and I was going to hike back to the next shelter after that, but the rains came and the forecast is for 3-4 days of steady wet stuff. I chickened out; no desire to get everything wet after I just washed it, and I searched the Internet for hostels near the trail. Found one in Stowe for $15 a night! I stepped out on the road and the first car picked me up and brought me to Stowe. The driver moved here from Towson, MD, a town I know well from my Lab Rescue days, and he is a boater too, so we had some things to talk about. "Besides," he said, "this gets me out of my Honey Do chores."

So, I'm in Stowe at the nicest library I have ever seen; feels like a high-class funeral home. Very plush, exquisitely furnished, and hush-hush quiet.

I'll stay here another night and see what the weather does. It's nice to walk around without 35 lbs. on my back.

Book store next. I was reading "The Devil Wears Prada" by Lauren Weisberger, but I gave it up about half-way, because it was too much of the same thing, and it was heavy, meaning that to send it back, lightened my load, and so, it is in the postal system. It was a NY Times bestseller, but I don't know why. However, if you know anyone who thinks they have a bad boss, tell them about this book; it will lift their spirits.

The Green Mountains are getting higher and steeper. Day before yesterday was my hardest day yet; a lot of climbing. I didn't get to the shelter until 7 PM, and I slept in yesterday morning and didn't hit the trail again until 10:30 AM. Starting late is a bad habit, because it reduces your options later in the day.

The Long Trail

A bit of history for reference.

The Appalachian Trail joins another trail in southern Vermont called The Long Trail, and they proceed on the same path for about 125 miles until they cross Rt. 4. There the Appalachian Trail turns east for New Hampshire and The Long Trail continues north to Canada. The Long Trail, built between 1910 and 1930 is 275 miles long stretching from the MA/VT state line to the Canadian border, all of it in Vermont. It is the oldest long distance hiking trail in America and the inspiration for the Appalachian Trail.

I first became aware of The Long Trail when I crossed Harmon Hill, southeast of Bennington and saw a sign which said, "Katahdin- 55x miles; Canada (via The Long Trail) - 22x miles." (I had been walking on The Long Trail since I crossed the MA/VT state line, a few miles south of Harmon Hill.) I was intriqued by the notion of walking to Canada, and by the shorter distance; and I was ready for some fulfillment, success, whatever you call it, but I put that thought away and slogged on.

When I walked the wrong way and ended up in the Rutland outfitter, my mind was stewing with options. I thought, I have already hiked about one-third of The Long Trail; why not finish it, and then go back to the A.T.?

That is what I'm doing; I think I can do the rest of The Long Trail in 2-3 weeks. I turned off the A.T. yesterday. Last night I shared a shelter on The Long Trail with a nice young couple hiking with two beautiful Golden Retrievers. They were very well behaved. Today I'm writing this from Brandon, VT about 10 miles--and a difficult hitch--off The Long Trail (I stopped here for groceries--the options are fewer and farther apart than on the A.T.) It is a different world; no helpful guides like the A.T. publishes to tell you where the next grocery store, or library or laundromat is. I like it. It is closer to the real thing.

Here is my new plan: I will hike The Long Trail to Canada, and assuming Homeland Security does not arrest me as an illegal alien, from there I will catch a bus to Baxter State Park, ME and restart my A.T hike from Mt Katahdin. I will climb Katahdin and then hike south on the A.T. back to the Maine Junction at Willard Gap, just off Rt 4 in Vermont, where I left the A.T. for The Long Trail.

From there, I will take another bus back to Delaware Water Gap and resume hiking the southern part.

There is a black lab in this library named Jack (he belongs to one of the employees). He is to die for.

Wrong-Way Again

5.16. I walked out of the Clarendon Shelter in the wrong direction! Ended up back on Rt 103. I was highly agitated by this, and rather than walk back on a path I had already walked twice, I decided to hitch into Rutland, VT and look for a library. I read that there was an outfitter there and that was added incentive to detour into town.

A very nice man picked me up and took me to the library, but it was closed on Sunday. He then took me to the outfitter, which was quite a distance from the center of town, but conveniently on the road back to the A.T. It was about 10:30 AM and the outfitter didn't open until noon, but there was a Dunkin Donuts next door and a NY Times on the newstand. Homerun!

I spent the afternoon at the Outfitter and left with a trail guide to the Long Trail and a new backpack. My old pack was killing my shoulders and it was coming apart at the seams. I guess it was meant to be that I walked backward, huh?

I left the Outfitter and hitched back to the trail, a long uphill transit that would be brutal on foot. A very nice older lady picked me up an took me all the way, about a 5 mile trip. I stepped on the trail about 5 PM.

Lost and Found

5.14. I spent tonight in the Little Rock Pond Shelter where I met an 81 year old man who is on his 5th thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. "Are you nuts?" I asked. He said no and went on to show me his gear; homemade everything, bivy sack, backpack, stuff sacks, etc.

5.15. I got lost this morning. I think my mind sub-consciously kept me on a logging road after the A.T. turned off. Didn't know where I was until I passed a big lake and found that on the map. By that time I had ventured way off the trail and I continued on the logging road which ran in the general direction (Northeast) that I wanted to go. It crossed a ski slope, and eventually ended at a T-intersection. I flipped a coin and turned right. Soon got picked up in a pickup and rode a spare tire into East Warrington. East Warrington has a Post Office and a general store, and it is on Rt 103 which intersects with the A.T. All was not lost; I bought groceries, hitched back to the trail and continued on north. By that time, I had covered 14 miles on the map, but I had walked much less. Being lost was fun; took the drudgery out of slogging along on the trail one step at a time. I hiked to the Clarendon shelter and spent the night.

Bennington to Manchester, VT

5.10. I got up early and walked to the grocery store to stock up. Tom Bluto drove me back to the A.T. and I hit the trail at 10:00 AM. It was a warm day and I stopped at the first shelter to change into shorts. Two young guys were settled in there and told me they were on the 5th day of a 25-day fast. Right. I chatted with them and they seemed OK, but my antenna was raised, and I quickly changed and got back on the trail.

Hiked 10 miles to the Goddard Shelter and stopped for the night. Goddard is the nicest shelter I've seen with a real porch and a covered roof. Also a view to die for.

5.11. It rained last night harder than anything I have experienced--maybe ever. It was like the clouds turned updside down and dumped the water all at once.

It's noon and I'm at the Kid Gore Shelter for lunch and to change into shorts; getting warm again.

4:30 PM. I stopped at the Story Spring Shelter for the night. The famous black flies greeted me here. Didn't see another hiker all day.

5.12. Last night was the first night that I slept without long pants, long sleeve top, socks, and hat. Starting today in shorts and tee-shirt, another first.

Officer Taco walked into the shelter as I was packing. He is the #2 dog, about 100 miles behind Magic. Officer Taco is a nice young guy from Holland, Michigan and studying to be a police officer. He cooked tacos on the trail one night for some other hikers and they anointed him with his trail name on the spot.

I checked my map before heading out and I noticed that the Stratton Pond Trail led straight to the next shelter, as compared to the A.T. which zigged and zagged all over the map. I estimated I could cut the mileage by 30-40% and I blue-blazed it to the Stratton Pond Shelter. I ate lunch there and continued on to the William Douglas Shelter and stopped for a break. Officer Taco, who took the long route, sauntered in a few minutes later and I could tell he was shocked to see me there; I fessed up and told him how I got ahead. We were both headed for Manchester Center to pick-up mail and he said he was going on the next shelter and spend the night, then walk in to Manchester the next morning. Sounded good, and I told him I would see him there later.

The A.T. soon joined a gravel road, and I looked at the map to see where it went. The road ran off my map, but I could see that it was headed Northwest toward Manchester. It was mid-afternoon and I gambled that the road led to Manchester or intersected with another road that did and I kept walking. About an hour later, I came out on a highway leading to Manchester, hitched a ride, and got to the Post Office at 4:50 PM, with ten minutes to spare.

Then I walked into town, replenished my groceries, got my coffee fix, my Ben & Jerry's fix, stopped at REI to buy a part for my backpack, and headed back to the trail. It is 5.5 miles to the trailhead and I walked 4 miles before I got a ride. It was almost dark by then, but I thought I could get to the next shelter before I lost all daylight. Not to be. I was still walking at 10 P.M. when I lost the trail. I ventured left, then right, but I couldn't find the trail under my feet nor could I see the next blaze. I pulled out my tarp and slept on the trail. When I woke up the next morning the first thing I saw was the Privy roof; I was only 50 yards from the shelter. Go figure.

5.13. Hiked from my "trail-bed" to the Peru Peak Shelter and stopped for the night. Officer Taco breezed in later, and was again surprised to see me ahead of him. I told him about my "country road to Manchester" detour. He went on to the next shelter.

Bennington, VT and The Knotty Pine Motel

5.07. I stepped back on the trail at 4:00 PM, passed over the MA/VT state line at 6:00 PM, and walked into the Seth Warner shelter at 7:40 PM. Had the shelter to myself.

5.08. Cold this morning; I couldn't get out of the sleeping bag and didn't leave the shelter until 9:30 AM. Not a good hiking day for me; my old muscles were without energy and I stopped at the Congdon Shelter at 3:00 PM. Two young couples with two dogs walked into the shelter at 5:30 PM. One dog was very friendly, but the other, a large Husky, was very aloof and barked at me from time to time. This behavior continued until everyone went to bed, and I'm thinking, OK when my bladder calls during the night, how do I get past Brutus? Luckily, my bladder did not call.

5.09. I got up at 6:30 AM, packed--with only one warning bark from Brutus--and left. After hiking for about five minutes, I felt something; I don't know how to describe it, but I felt like I was not alone. I turned around and there was Brutus tracking me down the trail, and away from his master. I shooed him back and went on. Another five minutes went by and the same feeling returned; I looked back. He was still there. I shooed him away again and that was the last I saw of him. I don't know if he decided he liked me, or if he was simply escorting me out of the area; probably the latter.

Arrived at Harmon Hill, elevation 2,325 ft. at 7:40 and I noticed a mile marker posted there. 557 miles to Katahdin, but only 252 miles to Canada.

I crossed VT Route 9 at 9:00 AM and the rain began. It takes me about five minutes to switch into rain gear, which I did on the side of the road, and I impusively held out my thumb as an old van approached headed in the direction of Bennington, VT. The van stopped! The driver took me into town and dropped me at a local coffee shop and I had eggs and hash browns with the NY Times. Bennington is another pretty little college town. I walked around the historic district in the rain after breakfast.

This return to civilization weakened my resolve and I pulled out the A.T. guide and perused the listings for a motel in Bennington. The listing for the Knotty Pine Motel said they had a shuttle to take hikers back to the A.T., and I called and verified that before I hiked the 1-1/2 miles to the motel.

I got to the Knotty Pine and I was greeted by Tom Bluto, the owner. We started talking and one thing led to another and I discovered that Tom is a serious yachtsman. He and is wife are leaving in June on their Chris Craft, THE KNOTTY LADY, for a circumnavation of the East Coast, starting north on the St. Lawrence, into the Great Lakes, down the Mississippi River to the Gulf Coast and then back around Florida and up the East Coast to the Hudson River. Small world, huh? He is a nice man and a generous one; I am typing this entry on the computer in his office. Saves me a trip to the library tomorrow. And Mrs. Bluto just stuck her head in the door and said she was fixing me a plate of food from her Mother's Day dinner to take back to the room with me. What can I say? Very nice people.

If you know someone hiking this way, tell them about the Knotty Pine. Very convenient location. There is a diner next door, a McDonalds one block away, and two blocks the other way there is Dunkin Donuts, Wendy's, Walmart and a major grocery store.

My next town stop will be Manchester Center, VT where I have a mail drop. Probably be there Thursday or Friday.